Challis - 01 - Dragon Man (26 page)

* * * *

Pam
Murphy found the Tank in the canteen. Ive just seen van Alphen. He wants us
to doorknock Quarterhorse Lane. Seems no-one knows anything about the woman who
got burnt last night.

Tankard forked rice into his mouth
and chewed consideringly. But Van knows her.

Does he?

Yeah. He went round there a few
times. Her mailbox got burnt. He knows her.

Theres knowing and theres
knowing.

Oh, very deep, Murph. You must come
from a family of brains or something.

Look, the fact that van Alphen saw
her when her mailbox got burnt doesnt mean he knows where she came from or who
her family is. Thats what we have to find out.

Tankard scraped up the dregs from
his plate. Im sure youre right.

Pam drove. Beside her, Tankard was
racked with yawns.

I was directing traffic last night.
Didnt even go home. Showered and changed at the station. God Im buggered.

And Im not, Pam thought. I worked
through the night too, but that doesnt count. What do you think? she asked. Was
it accidental?

Tankard shrugged. Couldnt say.
They reckon it started in the kitchen.

A short time later, as they turned
into Quarterhorse Lane, Pam leaned forward to stare and said, Whats going on?

At least a dozen cars were parked
along the fenceline on both sides of Quarterhorse Lane, restricting traffic to
one narrow strip of corrugated, potholed dirt.

Gawkers, said Tankard
contemptuously. Ghouls.

As they approached the ruin, they
saw people with cameras. Twice, at least, Pam thought, their van was photographed
as it passed along the avenue of cars and turned into the driveway of the burnt
house. Tankard wound down his window and shouted, Havent you people got
anything better to do?

Its a free country.

Pam wound down her window. Move
along please, or youll be arrested for obstruction.

Police harassment.

Yeah, I love you too, Pam
muttered, following the driveway between small scorched cypress bushes. God,
theyre in here, too.

Two women were aiming their cameras
at a CFA volunteer, who was wearing his full fire-fighting kit. He was
grinning, his overalls a streak of vivid yellow against the charred beams and
blackened roofing iron.

A man wearing fireproof boots, grey
trousers, a white shirt and a hardhat stepped out of the ruin. He was carrying
a clipboard. Its like the Bourke Street Mall here. He cast a contemptuous
look at the CFA volunteer. Bloody cowboys.

Pam read the ID clipped to the mans
belt. He was a fire brigade inspector. Well clear everyone away, sir.

Thanks. I actually caught someone
nicking souvenirs earlier. This woman, could be your old granny, nicking
ceramic dolls from out of the ashes.

Sir, did you find anything to tell
us who the victim was? Any papers, deed box, wall safe, anything at all?

Not a thing, the fire inspector
said.

* * * *

Going
home from work on his trailbike, bumping down Quarterhorse Lane at two oclock
in the arvo for a quick gawk at the house that got burnt, gave Danny an idea.
All those cars, all those people with nothing better to do, people he knew . .
. Well, if they were here, looking at the burnt house, they werent home in
their own houses, now, were they?

* * * *

Was
that young Danny Holsinger?

It was.

Up to no good.

Bet on it, Pam said.

Ill radio it in, ask the others to
keep an eye open.

Pam turned right, away from the cars
of the gawkers, and drove for one third of a kilometre to the next driveway,
which took them to a large wooden structure shaped like a pergola. A sign said,
Tasting Room.

Good wine here, Tankard said.

Pam stared at him. Had he liked the
wine or had he simply liked the drinking? A woman came around the side of the
building. She wore overalls and carried a small stepladder.

Youve come about the fire?

Yes.

Theres not much I can tell you. We
decided to evacuate, just in case. Didnt come back till this morning.

Actually, were after information
about the householder, Pam said.

You mean Clara?

Yes.

Poor woman. What a dreadful thing.
Was it an accident?

We believe so. What can you tell us
about her?

Not much. In her late twenties, New
Zealander. I dont think I ever knew what her surname was, or Ive forgotten it
if I did know.

Friends? Relatives? Anything like
that?

Cant help you, sorry. She kept to
herself.

The next driveway, at the top of the
hill, took them to a large house with a view across Waterloo to the refinery
point on the bay. The curtains were drawn in all of the windows and no-one
answered when they knocked at the front and back doors. Pam peered through a
gap in the lockup garage and saw a newish-looking Mercedes.

Then they heard a tin clatter in the
gardening shed and came upon an elderly man pouring petrol into a ride-on
mower.

God, you nearly gave me a heart attack.

Do you live here, sir?

Me? No. I pop in now and then, do
the mowing, watering, check on things. Why? Whats up?

Pam got out her notebook. Can you
tell me who does live here?

Stella Riggs. Shes away for a few
days.

Pam noted the details, including a
reminder to come back and question Riggs. Sir, do you know anything about the
fire down the road?

Me? Nothing. Should I?

A woman called Clara died in it. Were
anxious to trace her relatives.

Dont know a thing about her.

Do you live locally, sir?

No.

Pam looked around pointedly. I dont
see a vehicle.

The old man indicated a rusty
bicycle. What do you think that is?

* * * *

Danny
had been seen going over the fence. He was also seen coming back, this time by
Sergeant van Alphen and a constable in a divisional van.

Danny, my son.

Shit.

Now look what youve gone and done.
Perfectly good VCR, and you have to drop it in the dirt.

I can explain. The heads need
cleaning and I was just taking it around to

Van Alphen punched him, not hard,
but enough to make him reconsider his position. What was that, Danny? I didnt
quite catch that.

Tears came unbidden to Dannys eyes
and he saw it was true, what they said about van Alphen. Dont hit me no more.
I want to see Constable Murphy.

What do you want to see her for?

Shell give me immunity.

Thats a big word for a squidgy
little shit like you. And I doubt it, somehow.

They took Danny to the station and
charged him. But the Pam Murphy chick wasnt in the station, so Danny said, I
want to call my lawyer.

Nunn was quick off the mark. There
in ten minutes. Danny couldnt believe it. She demanded time alone with him,
and as soon as the door was shut she said, Youre a fuckup, arent you, Danny,
eh?

Whats that supposed to mean?

Danny looked at her hotly. Thinks
shes so good, all dolled up in her tight skirt and jacket, briefcase, hair
looking like its been washed and brushed for hours, smelling like a bottle of
perfumes fallen all over her, nasty superior look on her face. You got no
right to call me names.

Ive got every right. As your
lawyer, Ive got every right. What did you think you were doing? Broad
daylight. Youve got a good job. Cant you be satisfied with that? I cant go
spending all my time bailing you out of trouble.

Fucking stuck-up bitch. Who did she
think she was? So, am I getting out or arent I?

Mate, Marion Nunn said, quite
frankly I cant get you out of here quick enough. You cant be trusted to keep
your gob shut.

Now, what was that supposed to mean?
Still, better out than in.

* * * *

Challis
picked up the ringing phone and snapped off his name. It was six oclock and he
wanted to go home. Challis.

Its Freya. Got a minute?

Challis sat back in his office chair
and stared at the ceiling. This sounds like bad news.

It is.

Im all ears.

The lungs. Fresh and pink inside.

Challis put his feet up on the edge
of his desk. Youre saying shed stopped breathing before the fire started.

I am.

Heart?

The heart was fine. But you know
those bone fractures, and the bleeding?

How will I ever forget.

Well, most were due to the extreme
heat, but not all. Shed been bashed around first. Beaten to death, in other
words.

Challis said goodbye and stared at
the wall. After a while, he called the
Progress
and told Tessa Kane, You
might want to stop the presses.

And wondered at his motives.

* * * *

Twenty

llen
was late on Thursday morning. Challiss Triumph was already in the car park,
Scobie Suttons station wagon, cars she recognised as belonging to the seconded
officers from Rosebud and Mornington.

She found Rhys slicing open the tape
around a small box with a pocket knife. He smiled, then immediately sobered and
touched her forearm. Are you all right?

Shed been crying for half of the
night. Just tired.

Tell me.

His big hands were on her shoulders.
She looked away, blinking hard. Its nothing, Rhys. Im okay.

She felt his fingers relax and
finally release her. He turned away. Fair enough. None of my business.

In a way, it was. She tugged him
back and searched his face. She wanted to be able to say that shed had the
most godawful row with her husband, that her husband felt scared and
threatened, and had accused her of being fast-tracked because she was a woman,
of splashing her money about on air-conditioning just to show him up, and of
fucking the man shed hired to install it. But all she said to Rhys Hartnett
was, Things are a bit tense at home, thats all. She paused. Look, Rhys, I
dont know how to say thisIm sorry, but we wont be having aircon fitted
after all. Its . . . the times not right.

He jerked away from her, I didnt
like being the focus of your husbands dislike anyway. Or your daughters.

Oh, Rhys, its not that, its

Im not stupid.

She watched his face, then said, as
firmly as she could, Im very sorry.

He looked away and stood there,
stiff and chafing. It happens.

You wont be out of pocket?

Its summer. People always want
aircon.

Thats good.

His shapely fingers took a small
calibrated instrument from the box. Ill be finished here this morning. Just
have to mount a few of these thermostats and Im done.

They gazed at the courthouse. Ill
miss seeing you around the place, she said.

Yeah, well . . . , he said.

Look, I feel terrible. She fished
in her wallet. Heres a hundred dollars. You spent hours measuring up the
house, doing costings, all for nothing. Call it a kill fee.

He stared at the money. She knew at
once that shed been graceless, and wanted the ground to swallow her up.

* * * *

Challis
nodded at Ellen Destry and waited for her to sit down. Hed called an emergency
briefing, and the incident room was crowded with his CIB officers and all
available uniformed sergeants and senior constables.

He stood. Were not downgrading the
abduction inquiry, but, until further evidence or leads come in, we cant do
much more than follow through on what we already have. Meanwhile, our fire in
Quarterhorse Lane. As you know, its now officially a murder investigation.

He pointed to a photograph pinned to
the wall; the body was revealed as a glistening smudge. The victim was one
Clara Macris. It appears that she was bashed to death before the fire started.
As for the fire, it was intentional but constructed to appear accidental, by
someone who knew what he was doing. Was he trying to conceal the fact that it
was a murder? Was he getting a kick out of lighting the fire? In any event, well
have to follow up the suggestion in todays
Progress
that we have a
firebug on our hands.

Challis saw amused and knowing
grins. They know about me and Tessa Kane, he thought. He went on:

I want you to look again at any
fire weve had recently. That rash of mailboxes, for example; that Pajero, the
attempted torching of that house over near the racecourse. Is our firebug also
a burglar? Is he escalating? Are there any nutters fighting fires in the local
CFA units? Check with the Arson Squad. Have any known pyromaniacs settled in
the district? Sergeant Destry will brief you further on who will do what.