Challis - 05 - Blood Moon (38 page)

Just listening to music... Carmen
gave it to me at lunchtime.. .No, she loaded some songs on it for me... Honest,
I didnt spend any of our money on this, it was a gift...

Ellen Destry and Hal Challis hunched
over the little device, frozen, listening to the fear, the pleading and the
barely controlled hysteria in Ludmilla Wisharts voice. Adrian Wishart sounded
angry, almost shrieking at his wife as he first accused her and then dragged
her out of the car and beat her with the meaty sounds of death blows, all the
time talking and shouting. There were other sounds then, muffled ones as he
cleaned up, and finally his voice, sobbing the words:

See what you made me do? Dont you
know I love you?

* * * *

54

Pam
Murphy tried to keep a cool head. First she made a mental list of the options
open to her. She could report Andrew Cree to the new senior sergeant in charge
of the stations uniformed officers. Or to Ellen Destry. Or to Ethical
Standards, at Force Command headquarters. Cree would be formally investigated,
possibly charged with several offences and probably kicked off the force.

But his nastiness would emerge
again, wherever he was, whatever he did for a living, and other womenmaybe
women with fewer resources than she hadwould suffer.

Also, Cree had been a very busy
networker since arriving at Waterloo. If he didnt exactly have close friends
among the uniforms, the probationers and the clerical staff, he did have
cronies. He had influence. In a culture that valued the simple bonds between
menbeer, football, hatred of womenhe had influence. This was Australia, after
all. These things mattered and always had.

So if she took formal action against
him shed be the one to suffer most. Bullets delivered to her mailbox, dog shit
in her locker, car tyres slashed open. A whispering campaign: she was a
lesbian, or frigid, or sleeping her way to the top.

And she couldnt count on the young
female cops to help her, either. Some of them were blokier than the blokes.
Better, more vicious haters.

Should she tackle Cree head on? That
was her instinctive inclination. He was not such a big guy, or particularly fit
or brave. She could beat the shit out of him so that he and his mates got the
message loud and clear.

But would he? Would they?

And what if she lost, or won but
they all scoffed at her anyway, called her a sore loser, couldnt take a joke?
And what if he lodged an official complaint that saw her charged with assault?
She could be busted back to uniform or even drummed out of the force.

What could a female member of
Victoria Police do? Not much. To Pam Murphys knowledge, women who complained
were ostracised and bullied until they quit the job they loved and had been
expensively trained to do. Or they quit meekly and carried their stress-related
illnesses for years.

Even though she was supposed to be
on duty, and tonight was the last night of Schoolies Week, Pam Murphy drove
home to Penzance Beach, thinking, thinking, and seeing Crees declarations of
love for what they really were. At home she walked from room to room, still
thinking, renewing contact with the gritty core of selfhood that had always
been there, deep inside her. She stared at the crumpled bedclothes. Her little
shack was blighted now. She could almost smell Cree in the air. She bundled
together the bedding and the towel hed usedit was lying on the bathroom
floorinto the washing machine and turned it on, extra detergent. She took up
the Police Academy graduation photograph and wiped away his greasy paws.

Then she called him, as light and
innocent as a girl in love.

Then she called Caz Moon.

* * * *

There
was nothing for Scobie Sutton to do now. Challis told him to go home, the
paperwork could wait, Adrian Wishart wasnt going anywhere. See you Monday,
Scobie. Spend some time with your wife and daughter.

So Scobie went home and there was
Ros, giddy after her party, dancing around the house, an antidote right then to
all of his gloomy thoughts. Wheres Mum?

Lying down.

Scobie thought about the long walk
down the hallway to the bedroom, but there was a knock on the door. The
crackpot pastor stood there, proffering his hand, which Scobie shook, even
though he knew it was a mistake. Im afraid Beths indisposed, he said, to
gain control and shut the visitor down. To reinforce it he backed up a step and
made to shut the door.

The guy actually shoved his foot in
it.

Scobie looked past Jeffreys to a
station wagon parked at the kerb, two kids inside. To show hes a family man,
Scobie thought. The sour feelings, the sharpened perceptions, the ability to
see how things truly are, were new to Scobie, and coming in fast. No, he
said.

But suddenly Jeffreys was looking
past Scobies shoulder, his damp face wreathed in smiles. Beth, how lovely.

Scobie did a little dance of
frustration, one hand blocking ineffectually as Beth ducked around him and
stood before the pastor. He tried to jostle her aside, saying, She doesnt
want to see you. Tell him you dont want to see him, love, please. Shes
finished with you crackpots.

I think we should let her decide
that, dont you? Jeffreys said, reverting to his hard-nosed mercantile voice.

Before any of them could move, Ros
was inserting herself in the doorway, her little body toned by netball and the
recently acquired knowledge that her mother needed more help than her father
could provide. Go away, she said sternly. Mum, come inside this instant.

Jeffreys stepped back, astonished,
then revealed a flash of something nasty before he put his hands up
placatingly. Scobie beamed at him, feeling small and huge at once.

* * * *

Meanwhile
John Tankards shift had finished at 4 p.m. but hed stayed behind for a quick
aerobics workout in the stations little gym which left him fatly hot, pink and
sweating even after a shower. Then he prowled the corridors, canteen, carpark
and storerooms, looking for Cree. Hed seen those pictures of Pam; he intended
to make the prick remove every image hed ever posted on the Web.

Pams shining admiration, not
disregard, would be his reward.

She wasnt inside the station. Nor
was Cree.

He looked out into the yard, finding
one of the probationers whod been watching porn in the basement on Wednesday.

Seen Andy Cree?

The probationer, washing and waxing
one of the patrol cars, straightened his back and looked blank, mouth open.
Finally he woke up, wrung soapy water out of his chamois and said with a frown,
Andy
Cree?

Christ Almighty, thought Tank. No,
Aloysius Cree.
Yes,
Andy Cree. Have you seen him? Did he leave the
station? If so, did he say where he was going?

Where he was going?

Tank closed and opened his eyes. Yes.

He didnt say.

With barely controlled fury, Tank
turned to go.

But he reckoned he was on to a good
thing, the probationer said.

Tank turned back. What do you mean?

Said he was going to dip his wick.

But hes on duty, said Tank
foolishly.

You know Andy, laughed the
probationer.

Yeah, I know him, said Tank. Then
he had a thought: That DVD you were watching the other day.

The guy blushed. What about it?

Cree set that up?

The probationer looked hunted.
Finally he nodded.

Tank pointed at the drivers door. Missed
a spot.

His own car was baking in the sun.
He cranked up the air-con and drove out of the carpark, flipping open his
mobile phone. Murph?

What?

Look, I need to talk to you. Its a
bit delicate.

If its Crees Internet bullshit, I
already know about it.

Oh.

Anything else?

Tank shook himself into good order. Let
me deal with it. Ill get the bastard to take the site down.

She said in a hands-off voice, Butt
out, Tank.

Tank couldnt believe it. A bit of
gratitude wouldnt go astray.

Yeah, thanks, she said and hung
up.

* * * *

55

At
the close of that long day, Challis said, Uh oh, a flaw.

Not funny.

I dont mean the kleptomania, I
mean Ive found another split end.

Too late, he saw that Ellen didnt
appreciate the joke. She punched him, hard, saying
Not funny,
and sat
upright, everything about her fierce and clenched, the post-coital flush across
her breasts now signifying fury, not release or languor.

He pulled her down. Sorry. Im
truly sorry.

Not funny, she mumbled.

Evening light was closing in around
the house, the air from the open window carrying dwindling hints of the days
heat, roadside dust and freshly mown hay. Adrian Wishart was in the lockup and
all was right in the world.

Or not. Ellen propped herself on one
elbow and said, We have to talk.

Uh oh.

Her voice low and dangerous, she
said, I want you to be serious.

In fact, he was deadly serious, but
he was also afraid. Suddenly big, hot tears started in Ellens eyes. They
splashed down her cheeks and neck to spot her breasts and the sheet. She made a
fist, bumped it against his upper arm and said, Its not working.

He waited. At one level, her words
failed to land and register. He was also thinking that this had been the
shortest relationship in his patchy history.

I dont mean the sex she ran her
hand over his chest the lovemaking. I dont mean that.

He found his voice. What, then?

She swung upright again and sat with
her legs crossed, looking down at him. Living together.

He didnt trust himself to speak.
She tilted back her head and gazed seriously into the distance in a mannerism
he knew well. She was looking for the key, and it needed to be concise and
accurate. Hed seen her do it in briefings and interrogations.

The thing is, I didnt choose to
live with you. I was looking after your house while you were away, you came
back, we fell into bed together immediately. Fell in love, too, I guess.
Finally, after years of unresolved whatever.

She glanced at him to see that she
was on track. Reassured, she went on: It seemed like an easy solution for me
to go on living here. But this isnt my house. I didnt create it with you.
Even with some of my things here, its not my place. Its a storage unit. I
feel that Im storing
myself
here
as much as my fridge. Which is
a better fridge than that piece of crap you have, incidentally.

She grinned, if a little sadly. He
returned it. Little things bother both of us, she continued. Like my
rearranging the pantry. My way makes more sense, but I know it annoyed you. And
it still isnt my pantry, despite the makeover. Do you know what Im saying?

Yes.

She glanced at him swiftly, sharply.
Yes, he repeated.

These may seem like small matters,
but in some ways theyre huge.

Meaning?

I need to find my own place. Im
not ready to live with you and I dont
need
to live with you. Everythings
been too soon after my divorce. I need to spend time...running my life without
struggling with anyone. Or having to take them into account.

Oh.

Dont say oh. Havent you been
listening? What Im saying is, I love you but I dont need to live with you to
prove it.

Challis was very still. There seemed
to be a roaring in his ears. He adored watching her breasts in their various
configurations. Right now, with Ellen cross-legged, shoulders bowed, hands
clasped in her lap, they were tucked pertly between her upper arms.

So a makeover on two levels: I find
somewhere else to live, and I set up a new unit based in Mornington. The only
thing that doesnt change is that I keep on loving you. And quit staring at my
boobs.

Gorgeous nipples, he said.

He stroked her thigh absently, the
skin tight over the long bone, dimpled with tiny fair hairs, a couple of moles,
a faint crease from the sheets. He heard a duck call softly outside. There were
up to twenty of them sometimes, the young ones fully grown now, and as the
light failed each day they would forage quickly, almost desperately, over a
wide area of the surrounding grass.

Ellen arrested his hand with hers fiercely
and said,
Talk
to me. What do you want? What do you think about what Ive
been saying?

He said carefully, I dont want us
to stop seeing each other.

I dont either! she said
exasperatedly. Havent you been listening?

We have a modern arrangement,
separate houses, and see what happens?

Yes. She looked at him and the
tears threatened to spill again. It could be good, Hal.