Challis - 05 - Blood Moon (29 page)

Sarge.

If we meet oncoming traffic, drop
back and let it through.

Sarge.

Im hoping the chopper will give us
plenty of warning if there is other traffic ahead.

Then there was silence, only the
rush of their passage through the air and the muted howl of their tyres. Pam
Murphy was driving at 110 km/h. She dropped back to 90, then 80, her eyes on
the rear-view mirror, finally murmuring, There he is.

Ellen had made radio connection to
the helicopter by now, a spotter advising, You have a clear stretch ahead.

Start taking your positions, John.

Sarge.

They said nothing. Pam dropped
speed, then accelerated a little, keeping Josh Brownlee on their tail while the
other cars came into position. The little Subaru was close behind the CIU car
now, itching to pass. Then John Tankards voice crackled, Permission to draw
alongside.

Permission granted.

Ellen, head craned to watch through
the back window, saw the police car swing out from behind the Subaru and draw
abreast of it. Brownlee glanced at it wildly, then at her, and then into his
rear view mirror, for the second police car was now riding his rear bumper.

She sensed his panic and shrieking
fury. He had nowhere to go. Pam began to brake, slowing to 70, 60, forcing
Brownlee to brake. He was firmly boxed in now, cars on three sides, a grassy
bank on the fourth, and Ellen saw him thump the steering wheel with his fist.
Still the tight knot of cars continued to decelerate, and then Josh Brownlee
flicked the wheel and bounced the Subaru against John Tankards car. The Subaru
yawed, overcorrected, and shot off the road, slamming into the bank. It bounced
back onto the road, side-on, and metal crumpled as the trailing car smacked
into Brownlees door.

It was one way of concluding the
pursuit. There was damage done, cuts and bruises, but no one was seriously
hurt. No one died. The police cars could be put together again. Ellen and Pam
tumbled out of the CIU car, feeling exhilarated. They joined Tankard and Cree,
Cree calling tow trucks and an ambulance using his mobile phone, Tank securing
the shotgun.

Everybody okay?

Sarge.

Ellen, still exhilarated, put the
issue of the paperwork out of her mind. She put her actions in Adrian Wisharts
house out of her mind. Instead, she hugged Pam Murphy, and then she proceeded
to arrest poor, pathetic Josh Brownlee, who was sitting there in the grass,
weeping and holding his bleeding scalp.

* * * *

40

By
now it was early afternoon. Scobie Sutton had spent the morning obtaining CCTV
and speed camera coverage of the Nepean Highway. Assuming that Adrian Wishart
had joined the Nepean as far south as Frankston on Wednesday afternoon, that
was a lot of ground to cover, but all he needed were time-stamped images
revealing the guy had driven to and from his uncles place at the times claimed
in his formal statement.

Meanwhile he was still waiting for
Ludmilla Wisharts phone and credit card records, and he was trying to locate
Peninsula-based CCTV and speed cameras. So far all hed got were frowns and
scratched heads. It was as if the local bureaucrats had never been asked to
provide that kind of information or cooperation beforeand perhaps they hadnt.

An hour passed. His eyes hurt. The
grainy images jerked and flickered until one vehicle began to look like another
and the locations merged. A second hour, a third. He was due to collect Ros
from school and take her to netball soon. He couldnt rely on Beth to do that
kind of thing any more. But Challis was breathing down his neck, wanting to
know where Ludmilla Wishart had been, wanting to know where her husband had
been.

He almost missed it, the beetly
little Citroen zipping through a Nepean Highway intersection. He checked the
time: 12.17. That matched the uncles account. According to Terry Wishart,
Adrian had arrived at his shop after twelve-thirty but before one oclock. Then
theyd gone to lunch at Terrys local RSL.

Scobie rubbed his eyes. Now he had
to track the Citroens return journey. Ludmilla had been seen alive at around
four or four-thirty, and according to the post-mortem report, murdered late
afternoon or early evening. Adrian had reported her missing at 8 p.m., claiming
hed left the city to drive back to the Peninsula at around 5 p.m. Scobie
decided to map movements and times as though Wishart had lied. How long would
it take him to return to the Peninsula, track down his wife, then murder her?
More than an hourmaybe as much as ninety minutes, or even two hours. So he
might have left his brother as early as three oclock, three-thirty.

Scobies window was suddenly very
wide.

Time passed and his eyes felt
scratchy, as if hed been in a sandstorm. He knuckled them. That didnt help,
only aggravated the problem. He made several trips to the mens bathroom to
splash water on them. He even went to the sick bay and searched futilely for
eye drops, until a civilian collator took pity on him. She belonged to their
church. Of course, she asked about Beth.

I havent seen her for ages,
Scobie. Is everything all right?

Everythings fine, Scobie said.

I heard shed joined another
denomination, the woman said carefully.

If Scobie had been a different kind
of man hed have said, Fuck you. He thanked the woman and returned to the
monitor and the tapes.

Eventually he was convinced: Adrian
Wishart had not driven back along the Nepean between 3 p.m. and 7 p.m. In the
hands of a good lawyer, that might seem like compelling evidence, but Scobie
knew there were other routes back to the Peninsula, and other means of
transport.

Hed have to start all over again.

* * * *

41

A
doctor came to the police station, examined Josh Brownleecleaned a small cut
and gave him some painkillersand cleared him for interrogation. Now they were
in one of the interview rooms in the corridors behind the reception desk, Josh
and a solicitor hired by his parents on one side of the plastic table, Pam
Murphy and Andrew Cree on the other. John Tankard was holding up the wall
behind them. There were only four chairs in the room and Cree, the slippery
little prick, had got in first. Tank watched and listened, his back and legs
aching. At times like this he felt his excess weight in every bone. Ellen Destry
might have been there too, but shed left it up to Murph, saying she intended
to go back and search Josh Brownlees bedroom and computer.

Tank listened to Murph run through
the preliminaries for the benefit of the tape, and then watched her tap her
folders and reports into alignment, taking several silent seconds over it, both
to give herself time, he presumed, and to unnerve Brownlee.

Josh, she began.

If Brownlee were older, or looked
less pathetica cut on his forehead, nose swollen and traces of caked blood in
his nostrilsshe might have called him Mr Brownlee. Right now, to everyone in
the room, he was just a sad kid named Josh.

Josh, lets start at the beginning,
Murph went on. Tank could see from her posture how tense she was, and it was
excitement, not the fear of failure. You attended Landseer as a day student,
not a boarder?

Yes, mumbled the boy.

You did Year 12
last
year,
not this year?

Yes.

Josh stared at the table top,
pouring his misery into the layers of it already there, expressed in scratches
and stains over the long years.

Yet you attended Schoolies Week
this year, as though you were still in Year 12?

Yeah.

Tank wondered if the solicitor, a
middle-aged woman, had seen her own kids go through ali kinds of adolescent
shit. Maybe she believed in owning up and atonement; she was making no attempt
to halt Murphs flow.

Well go into the question of why
you did that later. As a Year 12 student last year, did you have any dealings
with the chaplain at your school, Mr Lachlan Roe?

Not much.

But you knew him, knew who he was?

Yes.

Have you had any dealings with Mr
Roe
since
that time? This year, I mean?

No.

None?

Josh showed a glimmer of spirit and
looked up at her and down again. You said it yourself, Im not at school any
more.

Lets go back to Monday evening of
this week.

Josh shrugged sulkily.

Can you account for your movements,
Josh?

He shrugged again. These kids are
great shruggers, thought Tank.

Just, you know, hanging around.

Alone?

You know, with other kids.

Other kids, said Murph heavily. Kids
younger
than you? Kids who were in Year 12
this
year? Or do you
mean kids like yourself who had a ball last year and wanted to do it all again?
Kids who didnt want to grow up? Or maybe you were hanging out with the toolies
this year?

Josh flushed dangerously and the
solicitor laid a gnarled, be-ringed hand on his forearm to caution him. Really,
Constable Murphy, she said, where are you leading us? What crime are you
investigating here? My client has been charged with traffic and firearms
offences, and as you know, there are mitigating circumstances, such as the
attack on him Wednesday night.

Pam smiled sweetly and gathered her
thoughts. Josh, did you or did you not encounter Mr Roe at or near his house
on Monday evening?

Josh swallowed. Dont think so.

Its only a few days ago.

I think I said hello.

It is alleged, Josh, that you had
an altercation with him. What do you have to say to that?

No.

Its even possible that he provoked
you in some way.

Shes trying to give him an out,
Tank thought.

I put it to you that there was a
scuffle, Josh, and Mr Roe was accidentally knocked unconscious. Isnt that
right?

Tank watched as the kid struggled
with this version of the truth, which put a gloss on the incident so that he
wouldnt feel so bad about beating the crap out of the chaplain. Seeing a kind
of relief suddenly flood Joshs face, Tank realised he was nearly there.
Wanting to amp up the pressure on the kid, Tank stepped away from the wall and,
with a quick, complicit, flirty smile at Murph, said, You gay, Josh? Did you
try to pick him up? Vice versa?

The fallout was extreme, the
solicitor hard and protective, Murph furiously throwing down her pen and Josh
shrieking, No! No! and throwing himself at Tank. Tank wrestled the kid into
his chair again, saying, Looks like I touched a nerve, eh, Josh?

The solicitor said furiously, Constable
Tankard, youre provoking my client needlessly. Hes been in a car accident

Cleared by the doctor, flashed
Tank.

and so I suggest we stop this
charade immediately.

Tank opened his mouth to reply.
Murph snarled, Shut it, Tank, okay?

No one saw the slow smile that Andy
Cree gave him. Tank felt hot and explosive, but subsided against the wall, not
meeting anyones gaze.

Meanwhile Murph was saying, Josh?
Do you want to have a break?

The solicitor said, Yes, he does.

Josh said, No, I dont.

The solicitor threw up her hands
theatrically but sat back as if to say that if her client was set on acting
against his best interests, what could she do about it?

All right, Josh; lets go back to
Monday evening. You admit to meeting Mr Roe?

Yes.

Tank wondered what game Murph was
playing. There were too many undercurrents for him. The whisper around the
station was that Josh Brownlees DNA had been found on Roes clothing, so why
wasnt she blindsiding him with that, asking him to account for it? Maybeit
came to him suddenlythe DNA sample shed obtained from him hadnt been
authorised, and so she couldnt use it legally. She wanted an admission. But
how did it fit in with all the other stuff, the rape on Saturday night, the
whispers of sexual assault at last years Schoolies Week, Josh found naked on
the beach Wednesday night, and all that shit with the shotgun?

Did you talk to Mr Roe?

Yep.

What about?

Josh scratched abstractedly at the
top of the table as if looking back through days, months and years of misery.
The solicitor said, What does this have to do with the misdemeanours with
which my client has been charged?

Pam ignored her. Josh?

Stuff.

Your brother Michael went to
Landseer, correct?

Josh trembled and his face spasmed
in grief. Yes.

Did he have contact with Mr Roe?

Josh exploded.
Mister
Roe!
Why do you keep calling him that? Why do you give him that kind of respect?

Hes lying in a hospital bed, Josh,
beaten so badly he could die.

Tank knew that wasnt true. The
doctors had confirmed that Lachlan Roe would live. Hed be a vegetable, but he
wasnt going to die.