Violent, devious. Was he working the highway now?
The phone rang. It was the new constable. Could someone in CIB be present at an interview of a burglary suspect? Ellen pushed Ledwich’s file to one side and went downstairs.
‘The time 2.30 p.m. on Wednesday, 20 December. Present in the room are the accused, Daniel Holsinger, Detective Sergeant Ellen Destry, and myself, Constable Pam Murphy. Now, Danny, this interview is being recorded. You say you waive your right to have your lawyer present?’
Danny gave a whinnying laugh. ‘Her? She puts words in my mouth. Last time, she let me talk my way into a month in jail.’
Sergeant Destry stirred. ‘Danny, she’s not on our Christmas card list, but if she hadn’t intervened that time you’d have got six months.’
Pam waited. The sergeant sat back again, indicating with a nod that it was her arrest, she should run the interview. Returning the nod, she said, ‘Danny, let’s start with the backpack.’
He bristled. ‘It’s mine.’
‘It’s also Italian and worth a lot of money.’
‘So?’
Sergeant Destry cut in, ‘So I’d have thought a vinyl gym bag was more your style,’ and Pam wanted to shoot her. Danny flushed, looked hurt and angry at the put-down, and now she would have to work hard to bring him around again. After the arrest, as they’d waited for a divisional van to collect them, she’d developed a kind of rapport with him. There was nothing vicious or bad about him, just a lack of grey matter.
Danny was pouting. ‘What would you know, you bitch?’
‘Danny, that’s enough,’ Pam said. ‘Now, a lovely bag like that, weren’t you worried you’d get grease on it?’
‘Never been out of work since I left school,’ Danny said, still angry. ‘You think I can’t afford to spend money on nice things?’
‘Let’s leave the bag. What we’re most interested in is what you had inside the bag.’
‘My own gear.’
‘Hardly.’ Pam picked up a page from a file. ‘Items found in suspect’s backpack: one ladies’ wristwatch, Citizen; one camera, Nikon; one Visa card in the name of Anne M. Francis; forty-five dollars in cash; a Peninsula Library Service card, also in the name of Anne Francis; amethyst earrings set in gold.’
‘My girlfriend.’
‘I don’t think so, Danny. Mrs Francis is seventy if she’s a day.’
‘My grandmother.’
‘Cut it out, Danny,’ Pam said. ‘I caught you leaving the premises by way of a window. I checked with Mrs Francis and she’s never heard of you.’
‘Yeah, and I bet she never heard of no backpack, neither, because it’s not hers.’
‘Danny, give yourself a break.’
‘So I done her place over, so what.’
Sergeant Destry said, ‘Were you alone in this, Danny?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You hang out with Boyd Jolic, am I right?’
Danny looked hunted. ‘Sometimes.’
‘Do you burgle houses with him?’
Danny muttered, looking away, ‘No. Look, it’s hot in here. Gis a Pepsi?’
Pam glanced at Sergeant Destry, who gave her a tired smile, said, ‘Interview suspended while Sergeant Destry leaves the room,’ and went out.
Danny said, ‘Look, miss, can’t we do something here?’
‘Like what?’
‘I know things aren’t looking real good for me. What if I had something to give you?’
‘You offering me a bribe, Danny?’
Danny waved an arm. ‘No, no, nothing like that. Well, kind of. I mean, I hear things from time to time, might interest you.’
‘There’s a lot going on, Danny. Abductions, murder.’
Danny looked shocked. ‘Hey, come on. Don’t know nothing about that.’
‘What, then? You hang out with people who firebomb mailboxes, Danny? Or heavier people, the kind who pull aggravated burglaries?’
‘Don’t know nothing about no ag burgs,’ Danny was muttering as Sergeant Destry entered the room.
The sergeant went very sharp and still. ‘What ag burgs, Danny?’
Pam immediately turned the tape on again, saying, ‘Sergeant Destry re-enters the room. Interview continues, 2.45 p.m. Danny, if you have information about a crime, now is the time to share it with us.’
‘Why does it have to be here?’
‘Regulations, Danny.’
The door opened and the woman who entered the room was dressed for power. She wore a costly-looking dress, an expensive haircut and plenty of gold on her neck, fingers and wrists. She was about fifty, slim and hard and fast. ‘You’ve got no right to interview my client in my absence. Danny, you’re coming with me.’
Pam was happy to let Sergeant Destry take charge. ‘Marion, he waived his right to have a lawyer present.’
‘Ellen, I expected better of you. What’s he here for?’
‘Suspected burglary.’
‘Who arrested him?’
‘Marion, meet Constable Murphy. Pam, this is Marion Nunn.’
‘I hope you cautioned him, Constable.’
‘Hello?’ Danny said. ‘I’m here, in the room with you all.’
‘Danny, you just let me do the talking.’
And that’s where it stalled. Danny was charged and bailed, and left without revealing anything. Pam was even obliged, by Marion Nunn, to return the backpack to Danny.
Mid-afternoon. Challis took the call, staring out of the Displan room windows at the carpark. ‘A body, you say?’
‘Dead. She’s a woman.’
‘Where?’
‘Devil Bend Reservoir. Near the edge. There’s a track to it.’
He glanced automatically at the wall map. Not so far from where he lived, a Peninsula Water catchment reservoir. ‘Your name, sir?’
Audible breathing, as though in heavy concentration. Challis was convinced that a second person was there with the caller.
‘I don’t want to get involved.’
‘For our paperwork, sir.’ Sir. The caller was a kid, sounded no more than fifteen.
‘You’re gunna trace this, right? Well, I’m getting off the line before you dob me in.’
Six
Challis watched from the perimeter, his shadow long now that the sun was low in the west. Inside the crime-scene tape they were taking photographs of the body, and of footprints and tyre tracks. Plaster casts after that, then a sweep with a metal detector to see if anything-a ring, a weapon, a man’s neck chain, a wristwatch-had been trampled beneath the mud and the muddy grasses and reeds. Meanwhile, behind Challis, and supervised by Ellen Destry, a line search of ten constables and cadets had finished tracing the tyre tracks between the body, which was at the reservoir’s edge, and the gravelled surface of the Peninsula Water access track, and now were tracing footprints, two pairs, that headed west from the body toward a belt of scraggly gums. Farmland after that. Not so far away, no more than four kilometres, was Challis’s house.
Challis looked across the reservoir. What a godawful place to die. Blackberry thickets, bracken, stiff, wiry grass, small, dark, knobbled trees, defeated-looking gums, a stink of primeval gases. There were waterbirds, but they were mostly silent, and rather than seeming cool and alive, the body of water sat still and heavy under a layer of algae, and Challis felt oppressed by the humidity. The mosquitos were out. One landed on his wrist. He slapped it, saw a smear of blood.