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For she was sure there’d be a body, crammed into a culvert somewhere, or tossed onto waste ground. Katie Blasko would be torn and bruised, internally and externally. Ligature marks on her wrists and ankles, maybe her neck. Things organic and inorganic would have been inserted into her. She’d have been photographed and videoed by the creep or creeps who abducted her, the images transferred onto compact disc and sold overseas or stored on computers and e-mailed all over the world, catering to a range of perverts: those who liked pre-pubescent girls posed in their cottontails, those with rape and incest fantasies, sodomites, all the way up to those who got a kick out of killing children or seeing it done.

Challis’s house was dark, her footsteps a lonely series of slaps on his floorboards. It was a house to her, not a home. Without Challis there, it was just a house she’d be living in for the next few weeks. None of the angles were friendly, even with all of the lights on.

She’d collected Challis’s mail and rolled copy of the Age from the letterbox at the foot of his driveway. Now she poured herself a gin-and-tonic and tried to free the Age of the plastic film that wrapped it, but couldn’t find the join. Frustrated, she got one of Challis’s kitchen knives and cut and sawed at the plastic, tearing the paper here and there. She could cry.

Instead she did a stupid thing and picked up the phone.

‘Al? It’s me,’ she said in a small voice.

Her husband didn’t know how to read it. ‘Oh, hi,’ he said neutrally.

He was renting a flat in Frankston now. She didn’t know what his life was like. ‘How are you?’

‘All right.’ He was wary. ‘Is everything okay, Ells?’

He hadn’t wanted her to leave him. She heard from his voice that he was a little encouraged that she’d called. ‘I’m fine,’ she assured him hastily.

‘You don’t sound it.’

‘No, honestly, I’m fine.’

‘I heard on the news they acquitted Nick Jarrett.’

‘Yes.’

‘Bad luck.’

Ellen tried to detect satisfaction in her husband’s voice. Like her, he was a cop, but he was also liable to be pleased by any reversal that came her way. She changed the subject. ‘I saw Larrayne while I was in the city.’

‘She told me.’

‘Oh. She had a boy with her.’

‘Travis.’

‘So you know him. You could have told me. Are they living together?’

‘Why don’t you ask her? She’s your daughter.’

‘No,’ said Ellen, feeling hurt and nasty, ‘she’s her dad’s daughter.’

They were silent. The past and the present sat heavily. Ellen sipped her drink and said, ‘I wasn’t sure you’d be home.’

He was attached to the accident investigation squad. He rarely had Friday nights free. ‘Meeting up with a friend later,’ he said.

Code for a female friend, a lover? Ellen wondered if he was telling the truth. It hadn’t occurred to her to think about his love life, for she hadn’t wanted to sleep with him again. Now she felt a faint twinge of something she hoped wasn’t jealousy. Was it jealousy because he had a love life, or jealousy because he had a love life and she didn’t? There was a world of difference between the two.

‘Oh yeah? Who?’

‘Are you jealous, Ells? Lover boy’s gone away and you’re all on your lonesome?’

‘Go to hell.’

She almost cut the connection, but found herself telling him about Katie Blasko. There had been a time, long ago, when they’d talked over their day’s work, the hassles and triumphs. That was before she’d become a sergeant and he’d failed the sergeant’s exam. That was before he’d decided she was sleeping with Challis.

‘I might be able to help there,’ he said, when she’d finished.

She sipped her gin-and-tonic. Challis’s sitting room began to take on warmer configurations. She liked its plain furniture and simplicity, the mix of wood and leather, the CD collection under the rows of books along one wall. ‘How?’

‘I don’t know, Ellen,’ he said impatiently, as though she’d doubted his abilities. ‘Check speed cameras in the area, infringement notices, stolen vehicle reports.’

‘Thanks,’ she murmured, oddly touched.

‘Yeah, well…’

Into the pause that followed, she said, ‘Don’t be late for your date.’

‘Oh, okay,’ he said mutedly, and she didn’t know if he’d been hinting for an excuse to break his date, or keeping up a pretence to make her jealous. She felt about sixteen again.

As she was getting ready for bed the phone rang, and Hal Challis said, ‘Burnt my house down yet?’

Relief flooded her. There was no cluttered history, he was rock solid and he’d be able to help her. Then, just as instantaneously, complications took shape in her mind. Her boss was a thousand kilometres away. He had troubles of his own. He’d left her in charge.

She cleared her throat, trying to rally. ‘Burnt the toast,’ she said.

He laughed. ‘How’s the grass?’

‘Long, getting longer.’

He said apologetically, ‘Get someone in to mow it for you. I’ll pay you back.’

They were far apart in the night, the staticky murmurs of the atmosphere sounding on the line between them. ‘Bad news,’ she said. ‘Nick Jarrett was acquitted.’

‘Hell.’

‘Tell me about it. McQuarrie’s steaming.’

‘I’ll bet. Look, don’t beat yourself up about it. We’ll get Jarrett on something else.’

‘Yeah, something minor, no jail time.’

They were silent, acknowledging the frustrations of the job. ‘Hal, there’s something else,’ Ellen said, and told him all about it: Katie Blasko, Katie’s home life, the delay, the indifference of van Alphen, McQuarrie’s grandstanding, and, more than anything, her doubts and fears.

‘You’re right to treat it as a worst-case scenario,’ Challis assured her. ‘When it’s a kid, you can’t afford to take chances.’

‘But I did take chances, Hal. Instead of sticking around this afternoon and mounting a proper search, I left Scobie in charge and swanned off to the city. What if she’s dead because I didn’t take it that one step further?’

‘But you have to cover the obvious bases first,’ he said soothingly, ‘and that’s what Scobie was doing.’

‘I know, but I feel guilty.’

‘And you’ve made up for it.’

She laughed without humour. ‘Now everyone thinks I’m overreacting.’

‘You’ve got good instincts,’ Challis said. ‘Better instincts than I have.’

Did she not believe him, or not believe that he believed it? She was about to reply when he said, ‘Get Kellock and van Alphen on side. They’ll look out for their own interests first, but they’re straight and they’re canny. Above all, don’t let McQuarrie stage-manage everything.’

‘I know. It’s just that I keep imagining Katie Blasko somewhere dark,’ she said. ‘She’s hurt. She’s scared. I know you have to take a step back and not get involved, but it’s hard.’

‘Actually,’ Challis said, ‘I don’t think you can be a good investigator if you don’t feel something. Feelings are an essential part of imagination and intuition. You can’t do those things cold.’

They’d never talked like this before. Perhaps it was the phone. She liked it. ‘You think so?’

‘Positive.’

‘Thanks, Hal.’

They lingered on the line. Eventually she heard him say, ‘Goodnight. Call me if you need me.’

‘How’s your dad?’ she said, because she wanted to know, and to prolong his voice in her ear.

9

Early on Saturday morning, Ellen was back at Katie Blasko’s house, acting on the firm principle that you always examine the home situation first. In this case she wanted another look at Justin Pedder, the mother’s de facto. His alibi for Thursday afternoon was sound, but that didn’t mean anything. For all that Ellen knew, he’d been sharing Katie with his mates, only this time something went wrong and they’d killed and dumped the girl. Or he’d stoked them with photos and fantasies and they’d decided they wanted some of that action while he was away at the races.