Ely swallowed. ‘He took the tapes, said he needed to watch the robbery and siege unfold.’
52
When she arrived at the Frankston remand centre, Pam Murphy was obliged to cool her heels for a while, before Jeannie Schiff arrived late morning in a blaze of demands: ‘What’s this about pollen? An exact science is it, pollen? I hope you-’
They were interrupted by the arrival of two guards and Darren Muschamp and his lawyer, a short, soft-looking man. One of the guards unlocked the interview room door. The air inside was faintly layered in dust and forlornness, but that was all Pam noticed before Jeannie Schiff turned on both recorders and said: ‘Present are Sergeant Jeannie Schiff, Sex Crimes Unit, Detective Constable Pam Murphy, Waterloo Crimes Investigation Unit, and…?’
Muschamp’s lawyer leaned towards the tape machine and said, ‘Jason Ikin.’
Pam zoned out briefly. She wondered how many Jasons she’d met over the years. Hundreds. Thousands. They were all in their thirties and forties now, most of them balding, unheroic and soft around the middle. Encounter a homophobe or a racist footballer and more often than not he was a Jason. Jasons were still wearing their hair in mullets or ponytails long after those fashions had died. They were vacantly cheerful, narrow and viciously dumb. In fact The others were staring at her oddly. Had she uttered something aloud? Meanwhile, a cross little frown was twisting Jeannie Schiff’s fine eyebrows. ‘Constable? I understand you have further questions for Mr Muschamp?’
The timing was bad. Pam suffered a brain zap just then, just for a millisecond.
‘Constable!’
Pam said quickly, ‘Darren, in those forensic science textbooks we found at your house, did you happen to read the sections on insect activity, airborne contaminants and so forth?’
He gave her a look that said: What are you on about?
‘If you had read those sections you might have considered burning the uniform after what you did to Ms Holst. But of course you couldn’t do that, you needed the uniform, you couldn’t just go to the supermarket and buy another one.’
‘Oh, good,’ Ikin said, settling back in his chair. ‘A meandering mystery story. Take your time.’
‘Pollen,’ Pam said.
Schiff glanced at her irritably. Ikin said, ‘What about it? Are you saying my client left pollen on someone?’
‘Wouldn’t have a clue. Did you, Darren?’
‘Pollen?’ said Muschamp.
‘Microscopic pores released by certain plants at certain times of the year.’
Muschamp was warier today. Either he’d got his hands on some pharmaceuticals over in the lockup or his body responded well when his system was clean. But he stank. Pam began to breathe shallowly. ‘I assume you have shower privileges in the lockup, Mr Muschamp?’
Ikin said, ‘I fail to see-’
‘You’re provided with soap, shampoo, toothbrush and paste?’
The flush and the eye glint were danger signs. Muschamp half rose in his chair. ‘I have a condition, okay?’
Pam said, ‘One of your victims described her attacker as having the most god-awful odour.’
Ikin said, ‘And that’s proof my client attacked her? I hope the police can do better at trial-if matters get that far.’
Pam glanced at the clock: almost noon. Would Challis have opened the box yet? She wanted to be there. She also wanted to be here. She said, ‘Getting back to the pollen.’
The lawyer was watching her carefully, his mind hunting. ‘As I understand it, pollen is carried on the wind. Spring on the Peninsula is always windy. Multi-directional winds, too.’
Pam knew that. Back tracking, she said, ‘Now, you washed your cousin’s police uniform to rid it of DNA evidence each time you abducted and raped someone. You were very careful, but I should inform you that we found microscopic spores caught in the weave of the fabric, tying you to the nature reserve.’
‘So? My cousin’s a cop, she would of worn that uniform all over the joint. All kinds of stuff would of got on it.’
‘But did her duties ever take her to the nature reserve where you dumped Chloe Holst? No. We checked.’
Ikin said, ‘Are you saying the vegetation there is unique? I hardly think so. I bet I can find any number of university botanists prepared to say, under oath, that the reserve’s trees, grasses, weeds, fungi, you name it, can be found in any uncleared land on the Peninsula that you care to nominate.’
The Jason-ness had disappeared. Inside the pudgy boy was a steelier man. Pam tried to formulate a comeback as Jeannie Schiff shot her a look that said: I hope you know where you’re going with this.
Pam said, ‘DNA can be extracted from plants. We can match spore DNA on your client’s clothing with the DNA of an individual plant, a plant at the roadside clearing where Ms Holst was pulled out of the car by her hair and kicked in the ribs by your client and told to keep her mouth shut.’ She ignored Jeannie Schiff’s appraising look and concentrated on Muschamp. He was agitated, looking to Ikin for salvation.
Ikin complied. ‘My client drives all over the Peninsula in his day job. He stopped at the reserve to relieve himself one day.’
‘Good try. Wearing his stolen police uniform?’
‘Yeah,’ Muschamp said. ‘Sometimes I wore the pants when my jeans were in the wash.’
Pam sensed Ikin smiling at her from the other side of the chipped plastic table, and knew the direction his courtroom cross-examination would take. At that moment, she suffered a tiny zoning out that she found almost comforting, and found herself gazing at the ceiling.
‘Constable!’
Jeannie Schiff’s face was forbidding, the beautiful features concentrated in a scowl.
Pam blinked and said, ‘Tell me, Darren, have you ever visited 2012 Coolart Road?’
‘Me? Dunno. I been all over the place.’
‘Have you ever made a delivery to 2012 Coolart Road?’
‘Pardon me, Constable Murphy, but what or where is 2012 Coolart Road?’
‘It’s a big house with a stone gateway, situated near Hunts Road.’
‘And?’
‘It’s where we found the body of Delia Rice concealed in the boot of a car driven by your client.’
‘Do you have evidence that my client was driving the car?’
‘No.’
‘Was it his car?’
‘No.’
‘Then I fail to see-’
‘He was seen running from the scene.’
‘A foolproof identification was made by an eyewitness, I take it? She or he will pick my client out from a line-up or photo array?’
Ikin was enjoying himself.
‘Your client was wearing a distinctive T-shirt that day.’
‘Distinctive in what way?’
‘On the back were the immortal words, “If you can read this, the bitch has fallen off”.’
She was lying and Schiff knew it, giving her impatient sidelong glances. The search team had found such a T-shirt in Muschamp’s bedroom, but it had nothing to do with the case. He would have burnt every scrap of clothing he wore that day. She wanted to see him relax, that’s all, before she slipped the knife in.
‘You found pollen on this T-shirt, is that what you’re saying?’
‘Still to be tested.’
Muschamp was grinning at her, Schiff frowning.
Ikin said, ‘As we have established, my client’s job takes him all over the Peninsula. He might well have made a delivery to that house or one nearby, a delivery on a windy day.’
‘Yeah. I remember now, I stopped for a leak near there about two months ago.’
‘Urinate in public a lot, do you, Darren? For the record, the only time you were in the vicinity of that house was two months ago?’
‘Yeah.’
Pam referred to her notes. ‘There is an unusual combination of pollen producing plants at that address.’
Ikin said nothing. Muschamp remained cocky.
‘ Echium plantagineum, commonly known as Paterson’s Curse. Sumex acetosella, or sorrel, and Golden Cypress and Silver Birch. All growing close to each other and all releasing pollen at this time of the year- precisely at this time of the year,’ Pam said, ‘not two months ago.’