Chain of Evidence

by Garry Disher

  Ellen closed her office door carefully and called the lab. What? said Pam afterwards, seeing the expression on her face.

  The fake Billy is in the system. The prints we lifted from the drink cans in the Victim Suite belong to a Kenneth Lloyd.

  She logged on to her computer. She knew what she was about to do would generate an electronic record, but would Kellock be checking for that? Had he flagged Lloyds name? She had to risk it.

  She typed, her hands flying over the keys. Soon Lloyds face and record filled the screen. Thats him, all right, said Ellen. The false Billy DaCosta.

  She scrolled down. Charged with inappropriate sexual behaviour when he was fifteen. Two arrests for soliciting last year. She stopped, then looked up at Pam, who was peering over her shoulder. Arresting officer, Senior Sergeant Kellock. She peered at the screen again. Charges were reduced. Rap over the knuckles.

  Kellocks influence?

  Probably.

  There was an address for Lloyd. Ellen tapped her finger on the screen. I know this place. Gideon House. Its a kind of shelter for homeless kids. Lets see if our boys at home.

  Pam shuddered. I dont hold much hope of that, Sarge. Either Kellock has topped him or given him a thousand bucks to make himself scarce.

  We have to try.

  Ellen used her office phone, for its number was blocked. She heard it ring, and then a voice came on. Gideon House.

  Please, Im going out of my mind, said Ellen, her voice whiny and adolescent. Im tryin a find me brother. Hes run off

  Behind her, Pam snorted. The voice said, Im afraid we cant give out the names of our clients.

  Im really, really worried about him. Mums desperate. His names Ken Lloyd. We call him Kenny.

  There was an assessing silence. Well, I guess its all right. He was here, but he left.

  Did he say where he was going?

  Look, said the voice, Ill put Mrs Kellock on the line. Shes the supervisor here. Please hold.

  Ellen hurriedly cut the connection. Pam saw the tightening of her face. Sarge?

  Shaken, Ellen looked up at Pam and said, I was asked to hold for the supervisorwhose name is Mrs Kellock.

  Pam sat, her face etched in a kind of fierce concentration. Hell, Sarge.

  It could be a coincidence, Ellen said, another Mrs Kellock entirely. Or she doesnt know what her husbands been up to.

  Come on, Sarge, it all holds together. Thats how these guys get their victims.

  Ellens desk phone rang. She stared at it in consternation, then answered it. Hello?

  A familiar voice said, Sergeant Destry. I was hoping youd be in.

  Mr Riggs, my favourite forensic tech, said Ellen, trying not to let her tension show, and failing.

  No need to be snide.

  Good news, or bad? said Ellen. Maybe youre ringing to tell me youve sacked all of your incompetents and our DNA evidence is solid after all?

  The silence was hurt and sulky. Well, if you dont want to hear this...

  Im sorry, said Ellen, meaning it. A long day.

  Ditto, said Riggs.

  Ellen sighed. What have you got?

  That blood on the dog collar.

  Ellen had completely forgotten about it. You have a match?

  Kind of

  Let me guess, Neville Clodes, and we cant use it because you already have his victim sample.

  Not Clodes, said Riggs, but yes, it does match with a victim sample.

  Who?

  One of your officers. He was stabbed in the forearm in an altercation with a burglar.

  Senior Sergeant Kellock.

  Yes, for what its worth, said Riggs.

  There were heavy footsteps in the corridor. Ellen froze. But it was only John Tankard. Can I knock off now, Sarge? Got some car business to take care of.

  Of course, John.

  Thanks, Sarge.

  * * * *

  Tank walked around to Korean Salvage on the industrial estate, and there was his rebirthed Mazda. Shell pass scrutiny? he demanded, one sausagy hand thumping the gleaming roof.

  Under the bluster he felt jumpy, uncertain. Something was going on at work and he didnt know what it was. Maybe Destry was onto him. He wanted one constant in his lifehis car.

  Yep, said the proprietor of Korean Salvage, wiping his hands on a rag.

  I mean the design and safety regulations. Shell pass any test?

  Yep.

  The sun was streaming through the garage doors, lighting oil spills, car bodies and parts, chrome tools and Tanks Mazda. On the outside, this was the car hed fallen in love with, sleek and red, a real head-turner, but on the inside she was a different car. He saw no irony in the fact that he was pinning all of his hopes for fulfilment on an object of false provenance.

  I dont want to take her in for a roadworthy and have the guy say shes iffy.

  Not going to happen.

  To be doubly sure, Tank vowed to take his car to a different roadworthy tester next time. He began to feel uncomfortable. Several ethnics were standing around in the shadows, mechanics, car strippers and thieves, watching him inscrutably, some holding wrenches. He played Spot the Aussie and scored only two, himself and the boss. Mate, he said, hurriedly, I dont know what you did and I dont want to know, but Im pumped, a very happy boy.

  The proprietor of Korean Salvage was not happy. He didnt like it that a cop had something over him. Sure, he had something over the cop, but he preferred it when it had just been him, his mechanics and the Jarrett kids who stole cars for them.

  The paperworks solid, okay? he said sourly. VIN number, engine number, chassis number, it all belongs to a legit car. It all checks out.

  Cool, said Tank.

  It wasnt cool, but that was the price of doing business in this town, apparently. The proprietor of Korean Salvage watched the beefy young cop get behind the wheel of the Mazda and peel out of the shed. Burning a bit of oil. Maybe the engine was knackered. He took some comfort from that.

  * * * *

  Ellen worked until late evening. She drove home under a scudding moon, the shadows tricky, especially when she came to the tree canopy over Challiss rain-slicked road. But shed driven this road at this time of the night ever since the Katie Blasko kidnapping, and was familiar with the bends, the contours, the gaps between the roadside trees particularly the gap where a stock gate had been set in Challiss front fence. The gate, never used now, dated from an earlier era, when the house had been part of a working farm. She liked to glance through the gap: Challiss house was set on a gentle slope, and she found it reassuring to look up and see the floor lamps glowing behind the sitting-room curtains, lights that shed left on that morning to welcome herself home.

  This time she saw a shape slip past one of the windows.

  Ellen did not vary her pace but continued along the road, up and over the hill, past the farm with the barking dogs, letting the sound of her car apparently dwindle into the distance. She drove for a kilometre, and then pulled into the driveway of a hobby farm. The owner, a Melbourne accountant, was never there during the week.

  She went back to Challiss on foot, avoiding the loose gravel of the road, which would announce her presence and fill her own ears with distracting sounds. Instead, she headed overland, trotting carefully through grassy paddocks, vaulting over the wire fences, until she came to the rear of the house. Behind her was another slope and another hobby farm, several hundred metres away and also empty tonight.

  From here she was slightly elevated and could look down on the back of Challiss house. His rear boundary was another wire fence. She paused for a while, listening. Her eyes were accustomed to the darkness now and she was alert for all sounds and movements. She waited for ten minutes before she saw Kellock. A brief, chancy beam of moonlight caught him, just as she was about to advance on the house. It was not so much his face as his stance, his bulky alertness, that she recognised. He watched and waited, and so did she, for a solid hour. He was patient, she was patient. She could smell him, she realised, an amalgam
of aftershave and perspiration. Did he sense her? Her perfume, this mornings scented shampoo and conditioner? He gave no sign of it. She was distracted by thoughts of Challis then. How would she characterise his smell? Clean, undisguised. There wasnt much in the way of scented soaps in his bathroom. No old aftershave containers. Skulking like this in the nighttime and its shadows was arousing her.

  Kellock broke first. One moment he was there and the next he was gone. Ellen shrank deeper into the grass and waited, just in case he was flanking her. She thought about the blood on Sashas collar. Of course it was Kellocks, and of course hed got it when Sasha bit him. But a defence lawyer would have a field day with that evidence. Hed cite the discredited lab work and Scobie Suttons balls-up at the scene of the Jarrett shooting, and propose another scenario: My client is in charge of the Waterloo police station. Naturally he keeps abreast of all its functions and activities. He patted the dog when it was brought in to the station on its way to the lab. The dog bit him. There is nothing sinister in his blood being found on the collar.

  Ellen tensed. She heard a motorbike fire up in the distance. It revved once or twice, idled, and then howled away. Shed wondered how Kellock had got here, and now she knew. She slipped inside the house, gathered together a change of clothing and spent the night in the Sanctuary Motor Inn, up in the hills northeast of Melbourne, where she paid cash and used a false name.

  * * * *

  59

  She drove to work on Wednesday wondering if shed be able to control her face. Shed had plenty of practice over the years, hiding her reactions and feelings from the men around herhiding attraction and repulsionbut shed never had to hide something as monumental as the information she held in her head.

  She used the front door, feeling almost sick, expecting to encounter Kellock.

  But Kellock wasnt in his office. No one had seen him, and he hadnt called in. What did that mean? Had the lab, apologetic, contacted him to say theyd found his DNA on the dogs collar but it was all a mistake? Ellen had expressly told Riggs not to inform Kellock, but Kellock had cronies everywhere. All kinds of paperwork crossed his desk. Was he out there somewhere, getting rid of evidence? Were his mates covering their tracks?

  And so she was predisposed to find significance in anything Scobie Sutton did. When she walked into the incident room and saw him hunched covertly over his desk phone, she was immediately suspicious. When hed completed the call, she asked, Everything okay, Scobie?

  He looked hunted, a little sulky, and went very red. Just the wife.

  Then Pam arrived. She wore tan slacks and a white T-shirt under a crumpled cotton jacket. Her hair was pulled back severely from her face. She looked scrubbed, athletic, ready for action. They worked in silence and the morning passed, empty coffee cups accumulating. Ellen put Scobie to work watching videotapes from the closed-circuit security cameras; she and Pam read documents. Then, when Scobie and Pam went out to buy pastries for morning tea, she pressed the redial button on Scobies phone.

  Grace Duyker speaking.

  This is Sergeant Ellen Destry, of the Waterloo police station

  The woman cut her off. Are you taking his side? Is that it? Now Im the ogre?

  Im sorry?

  Look, hes a nice guy and everything, but its inappropriate. Im happily married. Hes married. I swear I never encouraged him, but hes got it into his head that I

  Thinking rapidly, Ellen said, I think he understands that now.

  I dont want to get him into trouble. I dont want him to get me into trouble.

  You have my assurance on that, Ellen said.

  Pam and Scobie came in, Scobies gaze going straight to Ellen on his phone. He looked as though he might burst into tears, but Ellen said pitilessly, feeling like a stern aunt, I was just informing Grace Duyker that she can rely on us to be discreet. Scobie, youll endorse that?

  Ellen, he muttered, head down, while Pam cocked her head and said nothing.

  Ellen watched him and pondered. His mortification was genuine: she should trust him. Still, she withheld that. She wanted a stronger indication that he could be trusted.

  It came just before lunch. Ellen walked down High Street to the delicatessen, bought three smoked salmon and avocado rolls, and came back to find Pam and Scobie side by side in the incident room, deeply absorbed. She stood back to watch and listen for a couple of minutes, trying to read Sutton. He was explaining the progress and lack of progress in the Katie Blasko case. Pam was asking him questionsbut she, also, was trying to read him, Ellen realised. She watched them sift through the statements, photographs and other documentary evidence, Scobie gesturing once or twice as if overwhelmed by the workload. He hadnt spotted Ellen yet. A ton of stuff to go through, he said. Just look at it all: CCTV footage, parking and speeding fines, witness statements to check again. He glanced at Pam, trying for humour. I bet you wish you were back in a patrol car.

  No thanks, Scobe, she said brightly. She peered at the sheet of paper in her hand. Rising Stars Agency, she read. Whats this?

  Scobie almost broke then. He told Pam about Duykers scam, his voice catching as if he couldnt comprehend the evil that Duyker represented. My own daughter could have been his next victim.

  Pam was watching Ellen over his shoulder. They communicated silently, instinctively, and Pam said, Oh, hi, Sarge.

  Scobie turned. Sorry. I was just catching Pam up on some things.

  Scobie, Ellen said, theres something you should know.

  * * * *

  It took her ten minutes. He was shocked, now and then glancing uneasily at the door, as though Kellock might materialise there.

  Scobie, keep your cool.

  I cant.

  Yes you can. Youll have to.

  They ate lunch hurriedly, and then resumed work, Scobie throwing himself into it, as if work might cure his fear and agitation, and punish him because hed felt desire for another woman and been naive about human wickedness.

  And he found salvation of a kind. I think Ive got something, he said two hours later. Duyker gave us a cash register receipt to prove he wasnt in Waterloo between three and four on the Thursday Katie was abducted?

  Correct. A big newsagency in the city.

  Duyker wasnt there, Scobie said, leaning forward and tapping the monitor screen, but Neville Clode was. Ive got him picking discarded receipts off the floor inside the main door of the newsagency that same afternoon. Five-thirty, to be precise.

  Pam and Ellen joined him. That devious little shit, Pam said.

  They watched Clode peruse the receipts and dump all but one into a bin. Model citizen, muttered Ellen. Back it up, Scobie, to around three-thirty, then roll it forward to five-thirty. We need to double check that neither Clode nor Duyker were there between those times.

  Scobie complied. It took a while. Nope, he reported.

  Okay, lets pick both of them up. Duyker first.

  They crossed the Peninsula in a CIU Falcon, Scobie directing while Pam drove, flicking the wheel expertly, her pacing and anticipation giving them a smooth ride. Ellen closed her eyes in the back seat and let Scobie twitch and prattle on in the passenger seat.

  Finally the car slowed. Ellen opened her eyes. His vans here, Pam said.

  Scobie, go around the back, said Ellen. Pam, you come with me.

  She knocked on Duykers door and the fact that it swung open, and the air was saturated with the odour of blood and the buzzing of springtime flies, told her that she was too late, Kellock had got here ahead of her and taken care of a loose end.

  * * * *

  60

  She went into action. Scobie, head back to Waterloo, grab a couple of uniforms for backup, and arrest Clode.

  Will do.

  When he was gone, she made a series of calls, first arranging an all-points apprehension order on Kellock: air, sea and ferry ports, bus terminals, train stations. Then she called Challis. She didnt need his advice; she wanted to hear his voice, thats all. But his mobile was switched off or out of range, and had been since yes
terday. Finally she called Force Command headquarters and asked for a team of armed response police. There was a pause when she said who the target was.

  One of ours? You sure?

  Perfectly sure. Armed and dangerous. Hes already shot one man dead.

  Another pause. Where exactly are you?

  Ellen gave directions.

  Take a while to get there. Hour and a half, maybe.

  I realise that.

  Meanwhile dont do anything rash.