Garry Disher - The Dragon Man

But in the kitchen she found herself shaking violently and she let a cup fall to the floor. ‘A woman abducted?’

He clasped her upper arms. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Stressed out, can’t you tell?’

‘Look, come and sit down.’

He cleared the newspaper off the sofa and sat with her. Their knees touched. ‘An abduction,’ she said. ‘I just know they’re out there, waiting to get me.’

‘Clara, this has nothing to do with your mailbox getting burnt.’

‘It feels like it does!’

‘Hush, hush.’

He was huge and enveloping. They were very warm against each other, heat coming through the thin cotton, and, where her bare forearm touched his, a kind of current was passing. Her voice was muffled against his uniform. ‘Van, I really need something to chill me out.’

She wasn’t surprised that he misunderstood her. He began to stroke her, thinking that was what she wanted. Still, the stroking felt nice in itself. The other could wait, and would come sooner rather than later if she could soften him up over the next couple of days.

She was stroking him now, the soft skin inside his elbow. She reached up and pulled his head down to hers. The kiss started slowly, no more than a nibble, but Clara was surprised to find herself enjoying it. The line between calculation and need grew blurred.

Afterwards, drowsy and half-naked on the Moroccan floor rug, he said, ‘God, I needed that.’

‘Been a while?’

‘I don’t mean that. I mean the world’s such a shitty place you forget what’s good about it.’

Christ, he wasn’t going to fall in love with her, was he? ‘So I’m a good fuck,’ she said, to keep things in perspective for him.

He was mortified. ‘No! Well, yes, but in a nice way.’

She laughed. ‘Only teasing.’ She rolled on to her hip and lay with her cheek on the hard slab of bone and muscle that was his chest. ‘Will I see you again?’

She heard the rumble in his chest wall. ‘I could come again tomorrow.’

‘Or I could come to your place.’

He rolled away and pulled on his underpants and trousers. ‘Christ, no, don’t do that.’

‘Why? Ashamed of me?’

‘It’s better if I come here, that’s all. It’s quiet here. Tucked away. Nobody to see me come and go.’

It was as if everything was decided.

It was stuffy in the Displan room. Ellen Destry pinched an electric fan from the sick bay and placed it on her desk, letting the air wash over her as she opened Scobie Sutton’s file of convicted sex offenders now living on the Peninsula. Twenty-two names. After a further search, she discounted eight: they were serving prison sentences. Of the remaining fourteen, five had moved interstate, two had committed suicide, and three had convictions for paedophilia. She made a printout of all the names, in case some had finished their prison sentences or moved back into the area, and printed out full criminal-file copies of the remaining four men. One, in particular, caught her eye: Lance Arthur Ledwich, born 1955, convicted in 1991 on five counts of procuring sexual penetration by fraud and three counts of rape. Released in 1995. Apparently he’d placed ads in a Geelong newspaper calling for young women to audition for a film. A producer of wedding videos by trade, he’d auditioned the women at his studio in Newtown, where his cameras, lights and props had provided the necessary verisimilitude. He’d asked each woman to undress and change into a gym tunic for the part of a schoolgirl who’d been sexually awakened after a rape. He’d managed to deceive five women into having sex with him and had raped another three. One woman also alleged that he’d punched and squeezed her windpipe when she refused to have sex with him, but this charge was later withdrawn.

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?’