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. ‘I’m 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 you’re looking at?’
There was silence while she flipped through the pages. Then she heard him snarl, ‘No you don’t, 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. Laurie’s 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: she’d almost overlooked a bare foot with a birthmark like blood spilt across it. And there was Clode’s 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.’
‘Don’t make it worse, Laurie. Let Mr Kellock go, so that DC Murphy and I can arrest him.’
Kellock struggled. He still hadn’t 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. There’s 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 you’ve 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 Alphen-that wasn’t you, I take it?’
He shook his head.
‘And Kellock and van Alphen killed your nephew.’
There was a twist of pain on Laurie Jarrett’s 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. ‘Don’t 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 you’d seen the worst, and then someone would go one step further. ‘Oh, Laurie.’
She ran the shooting of Nick Jarrett through her head again. She’d never doubted that Kellock and van Alphen had ambushed him, but she’d always seen it as a case of rough justice. Now she could see that Kellock had an additional-or different-motive: he feared that Nick Jarrett might have learnt about his involvement with Clode and Duyker. Nick Jarrett probably wasn’t part of the ring-Clode was merely a source of ready cash-but he might have known about it. Clode might have boasted about his other activities and acquaintances.
‘Laurie, let him go.’
‘I should’ve realised what was going on,’ Jarrett said, his distress growing. ‘I can’t 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 Kellock’s kidneys with the barrel of the shotgun. ‘Get in.’
Kellock hauled his huge mass over the driver’s seat and across the gearstick to the passenger seat. Jarrett climbed in after him, first motioning the shotgun at Ellen and Pam. ‘We’ve leaving now. You two won’t try to stop us.’
Ellen said, ‘Don’t 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 won’t stop me.’
Ellen glanced around at Pam, who gave her a complicated look. ‘We won’t stop you,’ she murmured.
The Toyota threw gravel at them as it started away but it wasn’t 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 Clode’s body-Clode bent in a foetal position in a pool of blood, his private parts perforated from a shotgun blast-Scobie 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 didn’t 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?’
‘I’m fine, Scobie.’
‘I’m on my way there now.’
She got a little short with him. ‘No need. Go back to Clode’s. But keep an eye out for Laurie Jarrett. He’s 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.