by Garry Disher
I wont, Ellen said, immediately taking Pam with her to Gideon House to hunt for Kellock. Theyd barely reached the outskirts of Mornington when her mobile rang and Superintendent McQuarrie was barking at her.
Tell me this is all a bad joke, Sergeant Destry.
No, sir.
Armed response officers? A warrant for his arrest? What the hell is going on?
Ellen had to go carefully here. Everyone knew that the super used Kellock for information and influence, but did the relationship go deeper than that? She didnt say anything about the paedophile ring, or police involvement, but merely said that Kellock was apparently unhinged and had shot dead a witness.
I hope you know what youre doing.
There had been a time when Ellen might have said So do I to herself, but not any more. I do, sir, she said with some force.
McQuarrie muttered and broke the call.
Gideon House came into view, set one block back from the Mornington seafront in an overgrown garden. Once a gracious residence, and later a boarding house, it now sheltered street kids and the homeless with funding from the shire and the state government. It looked run-down, and Ellen wondered if the Kellocks were siphoning the upkeep funds into their own pockets, along with abusing the kids in their care.
Thats if Kellocks wife was involved.
Ellen knocked. A shy-looking kid answered.
Is Mrs Kellock in?
Er, yep.
Could you fetch her, please?
A moment later, Kellocks wife appeared from the gloomy interior. She was bulky, blowsy-looking, with short, stiff, carroty hair, an affronted jaw and a hard face. She wore dressy black pants and a silk shirt, with plenty of gold on her fingers, wrists and neck. Narrow, tanned feet in elegant sandals, with bright red nails. A woman who tans joylessly all year round, Ellen thought.
Mrs Kellock, Im Sergeant Destry and this is Constable Murphy. May we speak to your husband?
The reply was guarded. Hes not here.
Do you know where he is?
He doesnt tell me his every move. Why do you want to know? Hes in charge of the station. He doesnt have to justify himself to anybody.
It was absurd pride. Ellen said firmly, We need to speak to him.
Try his mobile.
Ellen knew that would spook himthats if he hadnt already flown the coop. She asked, Do you and your husband live here, Mrs Kellock?
We have a flat at the back.
Could he be there? Maybe he slipped home while youve been in the main building?
No.
Can you think where else he might be?
Why?
Because hes on a murderous rampage, Ellen thought. She cleared her throat, suddenly uneasy: had she sent Scobie Sutton into a trap? We need his input on something, she said with an empty smile.
The eyes narrowed and an expression passed across them, as though Kellocks wife knew why they were there, and that everything was about to fall apart in her life. She recovered and said tartly, He could be at a conference, at divisional headquarters, at one of the other stations. Check his diary.
We have, Mrs Kellock.
Pam had been silent until now. Your husband is closely involved here, Mrs Kellock? Hes close to the children who live here?
Whats that got to do with anything? Who do you think you are? My husband is senior in rank to both of you and I want you to remember that.
It was pointless grandstanding. Ellen said, Do you have another house?
Of course.
Where is it?
Kellocks wife scowled, then muttered an address in Red Hill, twenty minutes south.
Could your husband be there?
Well, why dont you go and look, snapped the woman, stalking off around the side of the big house.
Ellen got out her mobile phone, walking around with it in the grounds of the building until she got a clear signal. Scobie? Thank God.
He cut in hurriedly: I was just about to call you. Clodes dead.
She breathed in and out. Any sign of Kellock?
No.
Same MO as Duyker?
Yes. Shotgunned in the groin and bled out on the floor.
You know the drill, Scobie. Secure the scene. Were heading for Red Hill: the Kellocks have a house there.
She gave him the address. He grunted. Hell have done a runner.
I know that, Scobie, Ellen said. She ended the call, jerked her head at Pam. Lets go.
They sped down the Peninsula, taking the freeway south and exiting onto a road that climbed steeply away from the coast, past vineyards, orchards and little art-and-craft galleries. Red Hill was a ribbon of houses amid huge gums, with vines and hobby farms on the nearby slopes. It was a well-heeled town, home to wineries that offered costly wines and meals to weekend tourists from the city. Ellen navigated, directing Pam to Point Leo Road and finally a gravelled track that plunged between dense stands of gum trees. A firetrap in summer. Pam braked suddenly.
Theyd come to a clearing, a house fronting a tight turning circle. There were two vehicles, a police car and a Toyota twin-cab, a dented working vehicle. The house, of sandy brick, red tiles, gleaming aluminium window and door frames and potted ferns, looked out of place amongst the native trees. Ellen leaned forward, one hand on the dash. I know that Toyota. It belongs to Laurie Jarrett.
Both women glanced at each other then. I should have realised, Ellen said.
We need backup, Sarge.
Yes.
But their arrival had alerted Jarrett. He burst from the house, pushing Kellock ahead of him with the barrel of a shotgun. Stay out of this, he yelled.
Ellen and Pam alighted from the car. They did not approach him but stood behind their open doors.
Laurie, Ellen said, feeling futile and pointless, put the gun down.
He was coiled and powerful behind Kellock, who looked soft, depleted, in shock, his shirt hanging out and blood around his nose. Im doing what you lot should have done a long time ago, Jarrett said, prodding Kellock closer to the Toyota.
He had something in his free hand: a rolled magazine. To distract him, Ellen said, What have you got there, Laurie?
Have a look.
He tossed it deftly; the magazine fluttered then fell like a stone. Ellen emerged cautiously from the shelter of the car and retrieved it. She was now about fifteen metres from Jarrett and Kellock, who were beside the Toyota. She straightened the pages of the magazine. It was printed on glossy paper, with plenty of pale, defenceless flesh on show, the children otherwise dressed in Little Bo Peep outfits, nurses uniforms and schoolgirl tunics. It was called Little Treasures.
What am I looking at, Laurie?
His face burned with a kind of exultation. What the fuck do you think youre looking at?
There was silence while she flipped through the pages. Then she heard him snarl, No you dont, sweetheart.
Ellen glanced up: he was gesturing with the shotgun. She looked back over her shoulder. Pam had moved away from the car, her hand on her holstered .38. Both of you, Jarrett said, guns on the ground. Now!
Do it, Pam, Ellen said.
She placed her own gun on the gravelled driveway, watched Pam follow suit, and then she returned her attention to the magazine. A moment later, she found Alysha Jarrett. Lauries daughter had been allocated a four-page spread. Her smiles were mostly empty, but there was pain in the emptiness.
Feeling sickened, Ellen looked up. Laurie was watching, still burning. Now you know, he said.
Yes.
Look closer.
Ellen forced herself to comply. Hairy groins, but no faces, no way of identifying the abusers. Then she froze: shed almost overlooked a bare foot with a birthmark like blood spilt across it. And there was Clodes spa bath. She looked up again. Taking care of business, Laurie?
Yes. First Clode, then Duyker. Clode told me about Duyker, snivelling piece of shit. They both told me about Kellock.
Dont make it worse, Laurie. Let Mr Kellock go, so that DC Murphy and I can arrest
him.
Kellock struggled. He still hadnt spoken. Jarrett clubbed him with the shotgun, a meaty thud. Fuck that, Ellen, he said savagely. The police will protect their own, just like they always do.
No. Theres too much evidence against him.
Kellock looked at her then, as though relieved to think that she might sway Jarrett. She felt nothing for him and looked away. Mitigating circumstances, Laurie. The judge will understand. No one should have to bear what youve had to bear.
He seemed to be listening. She went on: We failed to protect Alysha or punish her abusers, we hassled your family, we blamed you for shooting van Alphenthat wasnt you, I take it?
He shook his head.
And Kellock and van Alphen killed your nephew.
There was a twist of pain on Laurie Jarretts face. He shook his head as if to clear it. Killing Nick was the only good thing they did, he muttered.
Ellen and Pam exchanged puzzled looks. I thought you hated them for that, Ellen said, while Pam asked, What do you mean, Mr Jarrett?
Laurie Jarrett looked from one woman to the other. The pain outgrew him as they watched, his voice and manner breaking apart. Dont you understand? Ellen, I took your advice, really sat down and talked to Alysha. Know what she told me? Nick and the others had sold her to Clode.
Ellen gulped. You thought youd seen the worst, and then someone would go one step further. Oh, Laurie.
She ran the shooting of Nick Jarrett through her head again. Shed never doubted that Kellock and van Alphen had ambushed him, but shed always seen it as a case of rough justice. Now she could see that Kellock had an additionalor differentmotive: he feared that Nick Jarrett might have learnt about his involvement with Clode and Duyker. Nick Jarrett probably wasnt part of the ringClode was merely a source of ready cashbut he might have known about it. Clode might have boasted about his other activities and acquaintances.
Laurie, let him go.
I shouldve realised what was going on, Jarrett said, his distress growing. I cant bear to think about it.
Kellock twisted violently as if he knew it was his end. Jarrett clubbed him again. Ellen cringed at the meaty sound of it. Laurie! Listen to me! Did Clode owe money to Nick? Is that why he was beaten up?
He blinked. What?
Did Clode owe Nick money?
Who fucking knows?
We need details, Laurie. We need to speak to Alysha. We need you there. Come on, put the gun down.
You must be joking, Jarrett said, bright and unequivocal again, as though his heart had never broken. He struck Kellocks kidneys with the barrel of the shotgun. Get in.
Kellock hauled his huge mass over the drivers seat and across the gearstick to the passenger seat. Jarrett climbed in after him, first motioning the shotgun at Ellen and Pam. Weve leaving now. You two wont try to stop us.
Ellen said, Dont do this, Laurie, and Pam began to circle around him.
In answer, he shot out the tyres of their car. They froze, their insides spasming, pellets and grit spitting and pinging. He said again, You wont stop me.
Ellen glanced around at Pam, who gave her a complicated look. We wont stop you, she murmured.
The Toyota threw gravel at them as it started away but it wasnt speeding. It moved sedately through the trees, exhaust toxins hanging in the still air, and they heard it pause at the main road above, and turn right. Waterloo lay in that direction, where the land levelled out to meet the sea. But before that there were many other roads, and back roads, full of secret places known to men like Laurie Jarrett.
* * * *
61
After finding Neville Clodes bodyClode bent in a foetal position in a pool of blood, his private parts perforated from a shotgun blastScobie Sutton secured the scene, putting a senior constable in charge, and then sped away to help the girls in Red Hill. He hated to think of them going up against Kellock. Kellock scared him. He hated Kellock.
He was driving a police car, there being no unmarkeds available. He rocketed through Bittern and turned onto Bittern-Dromana Road, which had a reputation for a couple of dangerous intersections. If you were drowsy or inattentive, you were alerted by a series of speed humps. Not short stubby ones, like in a suburban street, but broad shallow ones. They didnt harm your suspension but they sure made you jump and take notice.
He was mentally mapping his way to Red Hill when he heard the dispatcher warn all personnel to be on the lookout for a white Toyota twin-cab, registered owner Laurie Jarrett, last seen in the Red Hill area. Jarrett was believed to have a hostage and be armed and dangerous. Oh God, Scobie thought. He accelerated. He was still down on the coastal plain, fifteen minutes from Red Hill. Frantic, he thumbed the speed dial on his mobile.
Ellen! You all right?
Im fine, Scobie.
Im on my way there now.
She got a little short with him. No need. Go back to Clodes. But keep an eye out for Laurie Jarrett. Hes taken Kellock hostage. It was Jarrett who killed Clode and Duyker.
Her voice unnerved him, it was so matter-of-fact. But he supposed it always would be and always had been. She broke the connection. Distracted, he tossed the phone onto the passenger seat, and so was unprepared for a sudden and dramatic series of percussions under the car. Warning humps: he was approaching one of the dangerous intersections. He braked. The car swerved, alarming a motorcyclist. His face went red, his palms damp: Ellen had never hidden the fact that she considered him a bad driver.
He came to a halt at the stop sign. A white twin-cab was approaching from the opposite direction. It also stopped. Scobie peered intently: dimly through the windscreen he could see Jarrett, one hand on the steering wheel, the other holding a shotgun under Kellocks jaw.
He fumbled for the siren. He hadnt been in a patrol car for fifteen years. Not that he needed a siren. It was unmistakably a police car that he was driving.
Jarrett accelerated through the intersection and swept past. Scobie made a wild U-turn and went after him. Afterwards he wondered if he should have done that. It panicked Jarrett. He was later told that Jarrett would have killed Kellock anyway, but right then Scobies job was to save Kellock and arrest Jarrett.
He put his foot down. Both cars flew along the stretch between Balnarring and Coolart Roads, through undulating farmland, spring grasses tall in the ditches and the roadside trees heavy, sombre and still. Up the gradient and there was Coolart Road and another stop sign and warning humps. The Toyota hit the first one at speed, and Scobie was told later that Jarretts finger must have tightened involuntarily on the trigger of the shotgun. All he knew now was, the rear window of the Toyota was suddenly messily red, opaque, and the vehicle was slewing across the road and into a tree.
* * * *
62
It was several hours before Pam Murphy could go home. She went to her little house in Penzance Beachweatherboard cottage under pine trees, ten minutes walk from the beachwondering if shed participated in something that would alter her perception of the job, and of herself. She went home wondering if she and Ellen Destry could have affected the outcome in any way.
Pros and cons.
On the pro side, their .38s were on the ground and Laurie Jarrett was holding a shotgun on them. Plus, hed shot out one of their tyres. Plus, theyd done the right thing and formally reported the incident, alerting the police of several local jurisdictions and calling for roadblocks.
On the con side, they hadnt called it in with any urgency. There had been an air of inevitability about their actions after Jarrett had taken Kellock away. The inevitability had been in the air even before that. Jarrett was going to kill Kellock and they couldnt stop him. But they hadnt tried very hard.
On the pro side, Kellock was a killer. He also abused children sexually, procured them for sexual abuse, and stood by and watched and encouraged the sexual abuse of children. He was a police officer. You could argue that he deserved to die.
And Laurie Jarrett was entitled to get his revenge.
On the con side, I am a police o
fficer, thought Pam. So is Ellen. We have protocols to follow, standards to meet. We have a duty to save and protect, just as much as we have a duty to exert justice.
On the pro side, there had probably been nothing they could have done about any of it.
And so Pam went home, showered and poured herself a big, strong gin-and-tonic. My body is my temple, she said wryly to the hollow air of her sitting room. Normally she went for a run or a long walk on the beach after work, but that could wait until tomorrow. She didnt want cheering up, necessarily, or even to wallow in misery. She wanted to think. She wanted to think about ethics, responsibilities, chance and fate. She played a Paul Kelly CD. His wry take on things suited her perfectly just then.