‘Human?’ said Kellock sharply. He threw down his pen. ‘Even if it is, there’s no way of determining how it got there. Meanwhile the procedures of that lab don’t exactly inspire confidence.’
‘Back to time-honoured methods, eh, Kel?’ Ellen said.
Kellock looked fed up. ‘Always been good enough for me.’ He pushed back his chair, gathered his files. ‘Have to go. I’m giving a talk at a retirement home this evening.’
Ellen was reminded again that a police station had a community role, a welfare role. Officers like Kellock went to schools, hospitals and other institutions, giving talks and assistance. It was something she hadn’t done for many years and she felt chastened.
‘Thanks, Kel.’
Kellock left and the briefing continued. Everyone was tired, dispirited, and finally Ellen dismissed them. But as they filed out, van Alphen took Ellen aside. He looked sly and satisfied. ‘You need a decent witness, Ellen.’
Ellen didn’t bother to reply. She was pissed off with him.
‘Well,’ he murmured, ‘I’ve found you one.’
‘Who?’ she demanded. ‘What kind of witness? Witness to what?’
‘Keep your voice down,’ he said hoarsely. ‘A street kid called Billy DaCosta.’
‘What’s his story?’
‘Abused by several men over a period of three years, from when he was eight until puberty, when he no longer interested them. It happened at a house here on the Peninsula, but he’s not sure where.’
Ellen straightened her back, feeling her old keenness returning. She looked fully at van Alphen, who was giving her his most cryptic half smile.
‘Several men. Like who?’
‘Clode and Duyker, among others.’
‘Jesus Christ, Van. When were you intending to tell me this?’
‘I’m telling you now.’
‘This kid identified them? How?’
‘Photos,’ van Alphen said. Suddenly he stiffened, and called, ‘Everything all right, Constable?’
John Tankard had been hovering in the corridor. He came in, looking embarrassed. ‘Sarge.’
‘Haven’t you got work to do?’
‘Sarge.’
Tankard turned back toward the door, looking stung. Ellen called after him: ‘John, you’ve been a great help to this investigation.’ She paused. ‘I’m confident we’ll see some results tomorrow.’
‘Thanks, Sarge.’
When the room was clear again, van Alphen said, ‘Is he our media leak, do you think?’
Ellen cocked her head. ‘You’ve been wondering about that, too?’
‘Sure.’
‘It can wait,’ Ellen said. ‘What we need to do now is get this kid of yours to make a formal ID. Can you bring him in first thing in the morning?’
‘No problem.’
‘Meanwhile I’d better tell Kellock about him.’
Van Alphen grabbed her upper arm, his fingers like manacles, but his voice was mild and apologetic: ‘Not yet, Ellen, okay?’
‘Why ever not?’
‘Look, Kellock and I go back a long way, but he’s the senior officer in this station, and the eyes and ears of the superintendent. If you tell him I’ve found a witness, he’ll be obliged to pass the information on, and I can’t afford for the super or the shooting board to learn that I’ve been out in the field instead of desk bound.’
Ellen wasn’t convinced by the argument, but said, ‘Suit yourself.’
42
It was odd having a kid around the place again. Kees van Alphen decided he liked it. His wife and teenage daughter long gone, living up in Melbourne now, he’d spent too many years living alone in this soulless house. Sure, a teenage boy is not the same thing as a teenage girl, especially if he sells his body for a living, but certain factors remained constant-the noisiness, the irreverence, the untidiness. Van Alphen decided that he’d been too obsessed with silence, solitariness and order. Billy DaCosta was doing him good, especially with investigators sniffing around the Nick Jarrett shooting. It could be months before they reported back to the commissioner, and he didn’t know if Scobie Sutton would withstand the pressure.
‘You can’t keep me here forever,’ Billy said.
On this Monday evening they were sitting at the kitchen table, going over Billy’s statement, van Alphen also preparing Billy for the types of questions he could expect from Ellen Destry and others. It was 9 pm, Billy wired, van Alphen weary. Cooking odours hung in the air: roast chicken and potatoes, salad with a sharp dressing. Billy had wolfed down the chicken, ignored the salad. He was extraordinarily thin, and van Alphen suspected that he’d slipped out during the day, maybe taken the train to Frankston and scored dope near the station.
‘I know I can’t keep you here forever,’ he replied, ‘but these are dangerous people.’
‘I can handle them,’ said Billy sultrily. ‘Got any ice cream?’
Van Alphen went to the fridge, passing close to Billy’s chair, Billy stinking a little. You can’t expect a street kid to feel immediately at home and want to shower and launder his clothes regularly. Van Alphen longed to teach him these things, longed to meddle and guide, but he’d lost his wife and daughter that way, so kept his trap shut. Billy’s fingernails were grimy, his jeans torn at the knee, his T-shirt funky. Billy projected a certain look to attract the punters. It was a skinny urchin look, with a touch of cheekiness and vulnerability. Van Alphen was taken by it, but not sexually-although Billy thought he was.
Billy shovelled the ice cream down his throat. ‘When are we going to do this?’
‘First thing tomorrow morning. Sergeant Destry’s getting impatient.’
‘I don’t want to appear in court.’
‘You might not have to.’
‘I could just disappear. You’d never find me.’
That’s what van Alphen was afraid of. ‘Let’s at least get you on record,’ he said. ‘Video and audiotape, and a signed statement. That, together with other evidence we have, will help nail these bastards.’
‘They’re not the ones I’m scared of.’
‘I know,’ said van Alphen gloomily.
His mobile phone rang. He only did police business on it, he never ignored it. He answered, Billy pouting prettily, playing with him.
‘Van Alphen.’
‘You gotta help me, Mr V.’
Lester, one of his informants. ‘That’s not how it works, Lester. You help me, and you get paid to do it.’
‘It’s me brother. He’s bipolar.’
‘I know that.’
‘Well, he’s threatenin’ to kill me sister with a knife.’
‘Call triple zero.’
‘Can’t we do this off the books? Keep the authorities out of it? I’ll see he takes his meds, I guarantee it.’
No one would accept a Lester guarantee, but van Alphen was feeling in the mood to be helpful. He asked for the address, somewhere on the Seaview Park estate. ‘I can’t promise anything.’
‘Thanks, Mr V, you’re a champion.’
‘Meet me there,’ growled van Alphen.
‘Count on it.’
You didn’t count on Lester, either. Completing the call, van Alphen pointed to the papers spread out upon the table and told Billy to go through his statement and the photographs again. ‘I have to go out for a while.’
Billy fluttered his eyes, hung his mouth open, spread his knees wide in the kitchen chair, and stretched to show his slender bare stomach. ‘I’ll wait up for you.’
‘Cut it out, Billy,’ said van Alphen, who had no interest in touching him. ‘Don’t answer the door. Don’t answer the phone.’
‘You’re no fun,’ Billy said.
At about the same time, Ellen Destry was startled to see headlights swoop across the sitting room windows and then she heard tyres crushing Challis’s gravelled driveway. She checked her watch, faintly perplexed. Maybe Challis had enemies she didn’t know about. Ditto vengeful ex-girlfriends. She opened the front door a crack and saw her daughter lumping bags from the back seat of her car. Larrayne saw her, and at once crumpled up her face and said, ‘Oh, Mum.’