Chain of Evidence

by Garry Disher

  Riggs was silent. Its our procedures, he offered finally.

  Ellen went cold. She understood at once. Youre saying the evidence is contaminated.

  I cantwe dontwhat I mean is...

  Spit it out, she snarled.

  We had several blood samples come in from several jurisdictions and agencies over a short period of time, said Riggs in a whining rush. Were overworked and understaffed. He paused, coughed. Unfortunately victim blood samples were somehow stored with suspect and offender blood samples. If this comes to court, were not in a position to say for certain which Clode sample is which, or even that there are two separate samples. He coughed again. Procedures werent followed.

  Youre kidding me.

  Im sorry, said Riggs. If it helps, I dont think there was a mixup in this particular instance, and theres the presence of mucus in the sample, possibly from a nosebleed, but weve had a few stuffups in the past couple of years, and a good lawyer will cast doubt on our procedures in this case. We cant lie on the witness stand.

  Ellens head pounded. A few stuffups? Now this stuffup. I have nothing but contempt for you, she said.

  Theres no need to be like that.

  * * * *

  Wanting to lash out further, Ellen tracked van Alphen and Kellock down to the sergeants lounge.

  If not for you two clowns, we could have arrested Neville Clode eighteen months ago and Katie Blaskos abuse need never have happened.

  She was rigid in the doorway. Kellock turned his massive head to her slowly, then back to his newspaper, which was spread open on a coffee table. He flicked slowly through the pages, stopping at the crossword. He uncapped his pen, tapped his teeth with it. And hello to you, too, Ellen.

  Ellen advanced into the room. Just because shes a Jarrett doesnt mean shes a liar. Before he went to prison, Laurie noticed changes in Alysha. Nightmares, inappropriate sexual behaviour.

  Van Alphen was a few metres away, arms folded and legs outstretched in an old vinyl easy chair. He gave Ellen a chilly smile. Maybe he was diddling her himself. Wouldnt surprise me.

  Or its all bullshit, said Kellock, rapidly beginning the crossword as he spoke. You know the Seaview poverty, poor parent supervision, parents in jail, all leading to kids wagging school, shoplifting, getting their kicks out of gullible punters...

  Id like to know where the main file is from that time, Ellen said. Which one of you two characters got rid of it?

  A couple of Traffic sergeants, rocking an old pinball machine in the corner, looked up with interest. Lower your voice, said Kellock contemptuously. And act with professionalism.

  Ive looked everywhere in the system, said Ellen. Its missing, and one or two reports have been tampered with.

  Dont look at us for that, van Alphen said. Plenty of agencies are after the Jarretts: the drug squad, major crimes, fraud...

  There was nothing to the case anyway, said Kellock.

  The school counsellor thought there was. A psychologist thought there was. And now, after talking to Alysha, I think theres something worth investigating.

  Get more evidence.

  Her face twisting aggrievedly, she told them about Neville Clodes DNA. Kellock gave her his wintry smile. So you cant use it in court.

  No.

  He was attacked last weekend?

  I think Laurie Jarrett ordered that as payback for molesting Alysha.

  It had nothing to do with the Katie Blasko case?

  Ellen gestured irritably. Clode could be part of a loose circle of paedophiles. They dont do everything together. Perhaps Alysha Jarrett was his own project.

  Van Alphen was contemptuous. Alysha Jarrett is a little slut.

  You decided that before you even investigated the complaint, said Ellen hotly, and thats the story you gave the sex crimes detectives from Melbourne. You didnt even bother speaking more closely with the other girls who claim Clode molested them.

  Claim being the operative word.

  They support her story.

  Now van Alphen got heated. In the little room where the sergeants got their rest and recreation while in the station, she could smell him, his perspiration and stale aftershave. If there was anything going on, he said, it was at the Jarrett bitchs hands. I know for a fact she was standing over Clode for favours, demanding money, booze and smokes or shed go to the police and say hed raped her.

  Know for a fact?

  Yes.

  The fact being that he told you that?

  Yes.

  What amazing insights you have, Van. So youre saying paedophiles dont groom their victims, dont coerce them into abusive relationships. Maybe you even believe that paedophiles are the victims themselves. The children take charge. Is that what you think?

  Kellock interrupted mildly. Its not unusual, Ellen. Kids enter these relationships willingly in exchange for gifts, then when they get found out or the supply gets cut off, they claim they were forced into it.

  An unholy alliance, Ellen thought, her gaze shifting from one man to the other. Kellock had flown through the crossword. Van Alphen sipped at a mug of coffeemarked, she noticed, like hers: Our day begins when yours ends. I cant believe Im hearing this. In effect, you both let Clode carry on abusing children for another eighteen months.

  We talked to Mr Clode, said van Alphen, smooth now, his outburst forgotten. Alyshas story was a complete beatup. Id look more closely at the Jarrett household if I were you.

  Ellen flashed mentally on the Jarrett household and wondered irrationally who Laurie was sleeping with. She sensed all kinds of murkiness, but not father in bed with daughter. But what of the legions of cousins, brothers, stepbrothers, family friends and uncles?

  The attack on Clode, she said.

  Van Alphen shrugged. Could be a simple ag burg, could be Laurie decided to get revenge for the kids false claims, could be anything.

  Laurie is vengeful, Ellen said. Id watch your backs if I were you.

  That prick doesnt scare us, van Alphen said.

  Is that all, Ellen? said Kellock. Were entitled to unwind without plainclothes coming in and hassling us.

  Us against them, muttered Ellen.

  Van Alphen smiled. Thats what policings all about.

  She felt tired and discouraged, and changed the subject. Van, have you found any cold cases of interest?

  Still looking, he told her.

  Chain of Evidence

  * * * *

  That evening Ellen told Challis about ForenZics and the DNA cockups.

  He was perplexed. Go back a step. You used a private lab?

  She told him about McQuarries cost-cutting measures. Ill call you back, Challis said.

  She prowled his sitting room, restlessly scanning his CD collection. One caught her eye: k. d. lang, Hymns of the 49th Parallel. She supposed it made sense: Challis seemed to like female vocalists: Emmylou Harris, Lucinda Williams, even Aretha Franklin. What did it say about the role of music in her own life that her car radio was set to a news station and she owned very few CDsand they were in storage? Her daughter liked techno, her husband the edgier kind of country music, but her CD purchases had always been random and sporadic. Did that denote a formless mind, or the pressures and anxieties of her professional life? She felt obscurely that shed hate to disappoint Challis.

  With her slender forefinger Ellen flipped out the k. d. lang, removed the disc and played it. The strong, sad voice filled her up. She played two of the songs again: Neil Youngs Helpless and Leonard Cohens Hallelujah.

  What was keeping Challis?

  Twenty minutes later, he said, I had a word with Freya Berg.

  The government pathologist. And?

  Good and bad. Shes lost some highly trained people to ForenZics. They pay a lot more and have better equipped labs. But some of their procedures have been suspect or careless.

  He listed a number of instances. Technicians had transported and stored items of clothing with recently-fired automatic pistols, thus transferring gunshot residue; they had stored victims clo
thing with suspects, thus transferring blood, semen and fibres; they had handled the evidence from different cases over a period of time without changing their gloves; they had even contaminated new evidence with old. In one notorious instance, the DNA of a 2003 rape victim had been found on the clothing of a 2005 murder victim.

  Great, said Ellen. She paused: Maybe McQuarrie holds shares in ForenZics.

  It was good to hear Challis laugh. It was good to hear his encouragement. She told him about Peter Duyker. He and Clode are close, apparently.

  If you cant get Clode, get Duyker.

  Thats exactly what I intend to do.

  Shed called his mobile; now she could hear his fathers house phone ringing in the background. Id better get that, he said.

  Miss you, she said.

  * * * *

  33

  Challis pocketed his mobile and hurried through to the kitchen before the phone disturbed his father. Then he realised: Ellen had said Miss you. Grinning, he answered the phone.

  Hal, said his sister. They think theyve found Gavin.

  She sounded panicky. It was seven oclock and stars hung in the sky, a vastness of sky above the plains, clearly visible through the window above the kitchen sink.

  Where?

  Megs voice was tight, barely controlled, as she explained it to him. It was a vivid account: he could see the lonely cemetery and the body coming into view, the latter image coloured by his years as a homicide inspector. He knew what time and certain conditionswater, air, chemicals, earth, and the lack of thesecould do to a corpse.

  How certain is it?

  His wallet was in his pocket. And his keys.

  Challis sat at the table. They will still need to carry out a proper identification. Dental records, DNA.

  I know. They told me that. Hal, they said hed been shot in the head and did I know anything about that and where was I when he disappeared.

  Challis straightened. Who are you talking about? Whos asking these questions?

  Two detectives. They came up from Adelaide.

  Homicide Squad, thought Challis. Ill come over. Is Eve there?

  Shes staying the night with a friend. Theyre studying together. I havent even had time to tell her.

  Challis checked on his father, wondering what to tell him. That was Meg. She

  I didnt see her today, he replied querulously. Why didnt she come to see me today?

  The voice and manner were fretful. He had good and bad days, good and bad periods every day. Challis sat on the edge of the bed, where the air was stale, close and redolent of age and illness. Dad, theyve found a body. They think it could be Gavin.

  The eyes turned sharp. Suicide? Out east? Hell be a skeleton by now.

  Challis touched his fathers frail wrist. Buried, Dad. They suspect foul play.

  The eyes grew sharper. They suspect Meg, you mean.

  Possibly. Im going over there now. Ill see what I can find out.

  Im coming with you.

  Dad.

  Im coming with you.

  It took Challis thirty minutes to get his father ready. They took the old mans boxy station wagon, driving in silence, his father leaning forward as though to speed them through the evening to Megs house on the other side of the Bluff. It was a ramshackle place, with plenty of small pens and shelters, from when Gavin had rescued orphaned, injured or mistreated animals. The animals were long gone and the garden looked untamed, the spring growth getting away from Meg and Eve. The gravelled turning circle glowed white in the moonlight and the headlights flashed on the lenses of three cars: Megs Holden, which was in the carport, a police car and an anonymous white Falcon.

  Challis braked and switched off the engine. His father fumbled with the door catch, dropping his cane between his seat and the door. Let me help you, Dad.

  Before he could do that, Meg was there, opening the door. Dad, you shouldnt have come out. She glanced reprovingly at Challis across the roof of the car as if to say, Are you trying to hasten his death? Challis shrugged.

  They went into the house, to the shabby but homely sitting room, where three men waited. All three stood politely, the local man, Sergeant Wurfel, saying, Hello, Mr Challis.

  Challiss father gestured impatiently and turned to the other men, who were hard and suited, but weary looking, aged in their forties. Challis recognised the type: they were dedicated, hard working, cynical and exhausted. They werent about to take anything at face value. They also knew that you start looking close to home when its a homicide.

  They stepped forward expressionlessly and shook hands with Challis and his father, announcing their names as Stormare and Nixon.

  Stormare was dark-haired, Nixon carroty and pale. Challis needed to get something out of the way immediately. Did my sister tell you that Im

  An inspector in the Victoria Police? Sergeant Wurfel told us, Stormare said.

  May I ask what you have?

  They gave him their flat looks. Nixon jerked his head. Lets talk in the kitchen. He glanced at Wurfel. You stay here.

  Wurfel flushed but nodded.

  Challis followed them into the kitchen. Here the three men stood tensely for a moment before sitting, mutually untrusting, around the little table. Cooking odours lingered: a garlicky sauce, guessed Challis.

  According to Sergeant Wurfel, youve been asking questions about your brother-in-law.

  Yes.

  Why?

  Hes my brother-in-law, said Challis with some heat. My father is dying, my sister and my niece havent been able to get on with their lives because they didnt know if Gavin was alive or dead. Wouldnt you want answers?

  He wasnt reaching them. He knew he wouldnt. Like them, he always treated these situations with an unimpressed mind.

  We dont want you meddling in this.

  At least tell me copper to copper about the body.

  Nixon shrugged. Fair enough. It was found in a garbage bag, which slowed decomposition. Not a pretty sight. Pretty much a soupy sludge.

  Challis nodded. He knew exactly what the body would have looked like. What forensics do you have?

  Well try to get prints off the bag, but dont hold your breath, Stormare said.

  Weve sifted the soil, said Nixon. Nothing.

  They stared at him. Thats all we can tell you.

  What did the autopsy reveal?

  Were not at liberty to say.

  But he was shot. My sister told me hed been shot in the head.

  We can confirm that, yes.

  Both men were watching him almost challengingly, as if to say: We know our job, pal.

  If theres any way I can help... said Challis.

  You cant, said Nixon flatly.

  My sister didnt do it, Challis said. Nor did my father.

  They gave their empty smiles and said nothing. They all returned to the sitting room, where Wurfel sat awkwardly on a stiff-backed chair and Meg and her father shared a sofa, holding hands. Meg looked washed out. The old man looked mulish. Dad, she said warningly.

  He shook her off. So its not suicide.

  Doesnt look like it, Stormare said indifferently.

  The old man smarted at his tone. Gavin made enemies. He wasnt himself at the end.

  Is that so?

  He rubbed several farmers up the wrong way. He came down hard on anyone who wasnt treating his sheep or horses or dogs right.

  Mrs Hurst, do you own a gun?

  Megs hand flew to her heart. No. Of course not.

  Surely your husband owned one, to shoot dangerous animals, put sick and injured ones out of their misery.

  She frowned. Now that you mention it, he did. A little .22 rifle.

  It was found in his car, muttered the old man.

  It was? said Meg. What happened to it?

  I handed it in to be destroyed.

  You didnt tell me that.

  Challis was watching Nixon and Stormare, who were in turn watching the exchange. His sister and his father were asking some of the questions they wanted to ask and ge
tting the answers they wanted to hear. Stormare turned to Wurfel. Dig up the paperwork.