Garry Disher - The Dragon Man

He leaned both hands on the back of a chair. ‘Two pieces of much needed luck. One, Pam Murphy, a young uniformed constable, had the foresight to bag a few bottles and cans at the scene of the torching of Lance Ledwich’s Pajero in Chicory Kiln Road.’

He indicated the location on the wall map and swung around again. ‘As you know, we believe the vehicle was stolen by the two men responsible for that ag burg near the racecourse. Their original getaway vehicle had stalled, and they legged it to a nearby housing estate, where they found the Pajero. According to the prints recovered from the bottles and cans, and assuming that the same men are responsible for the ag burg, and stealing and then burning the Pajero, then we’re looking at Boyd Jolic, Danny Holsinger and Craig Oliver, all from Waterloo and all known to the police.’

A voice: ‘I thought you said two men, boss.’

Challis nodded. ‘We believe that one of the three drove out to Chicory Kiln Road to fetch the other two. A call was made on Lance Ledwich’s car phone to The Refinery Hotel that same night. A barmaid has since confirmed that Craig Oliver took a call and left the bar soon afterwards. Now, it’s nice to think we’ve got a lead on that ag burg, but we’ve also had a second piece of luck, a witness who can place that same Pajero in Quarterhorse Lane.’

He went on to explain Stella Riggs’s road rage incident, and how her evasive tactic may have led to the murder of Clara Macris. ‘Jesus Christ,’ someone said. Others shook their heads.

‘We’ve sent three teams out to arrest Jolic, Holsinger and Oliver,’ Challis went on. He looked at his watch. ‘They should be returning soon.’

‘So Van’s off the hook, boss?’

Challis gazed at the room of officers. After a while he said, ‘I’ve heard the rumours-van Alphen was screwing Clara Macris, they had a falling out, he killed her. You all know that we questioned Sergeant van Alphen.’

He paused. He seemed pleasant, offhand, obliging, then suddenly snapped forward, both palms on the desk in front of him. ‘Clara Macris was murdered. You are investigating a murder. You are police officers. That job, and your role, come before fear or favour. If a copper is implicated in a crime, however vaguely-or falsely, through someone else’s agency- then we investigate that copper until we’re satisfied one way or the other.’

He straightened. ‘Have you all got that?’

They coughed, shuffled, murmured, wouldn’t look at him or looked sourly at him.

‘If it will put your minds at rest, Sergeant van Alphen is not high on my list.

‘Now, another development. Some of you may have seen ‘Crime Beat’ on the box last night. The parents of Kymbly Abbott were on, doing a Gideon-in other words, they’ve been hanging around street corners near the start of the Old Peninsula Highway, handing out photos of their daughter.’

‘But she’s dead, boss.’

Challis frowned. ‘Don’t you think they want her killer caught? Poor sods, they hope someone may have seen her getting picked up. The point is, both the photograph and the description that they give for their daughter mention an expensive black leather backpack. I wish we’d known this before. Someone may have found the backpack near where the body was found, for example, and either kept it quiet or not realised its significance. Or maybe the killer still has it. We don’t know.’

He waved a leaflet at them. ‘I called on the Abbotts last night and obtained a few copies of these, so you can see for yourselves what the backpack looks like. Meanwhile Scobie wants to add something.’

Scobie Sutton stood uncomfortably and said, ‘Before Christmas a gypsy woman came to me with some clairvoyant mumbo jumbo about where Jane Gideon’s body could be found. Later I went to question her in relation to a series of thefts. As you know from an earlier briefing, I saw three men at her camp, and a couple of four-wheel drives. The thing is, I also saw a leather backpack. They’d all shot through when I went back to arrest her on the theft charges, and I put out a description, but the backpack makes it imperative that we find them.’ He sat down, red in the face.

Challis stood. ‘I agree. They must be found.’

As Ellen Destry left the room and walked down the corridor to the stairs, Challis caught up to her and murmured, ‘Are you okay?’

‘Fine, Hal.’

‘You look ragged. Everything all right at home?’

He was someone you could confide in. His own pain made him a reliable listener. She wanted to tell him how she’d taken the safe route in her personal life, putting her husband first; about the ache she felt, driving into the car park and not seeing Rhys Hartnett at work at the courthouse next door. But time would heal that, so they could all get fucked, and all she said to Challis was, ‘Boss, you look a bit ragged yourself.’

‘I don’t doubt it. Okay, I want your help in the interview room. I’ve sent Scobie back to the caravan park to see if the backpack’s still there and to follow up on those gypsies.’

‘That backpack’s a long shot, Hal. I’ve seen them around myself.’

‘After this much time’s elapsed in a murder inquiry,’ Challis said, ‘everything’s a long shot.’

Danny Holsinger had been taken to an interview room next to the holding cells. Boyd Jolic and Craig Oliver were also in the building, in separate interview rooms. All three men had been arrested and brought in separately. Challis pushed into the interview room, Ellen behind him.

Danny was sitting at a small table. A uniformed probationary constable had been standing guard on the door. She moved back into position as Challis sat opposite Danny. Ellen moved around until she was standing behind him. There was a smell of industrial cleaning agents in the room, and a tide mark of grime at mop-head height around the base of the glossy white walls.

Challis began by giving Danny an official caution, then said, ‘Danny, this is a preliminary interview. If all goes well, we’ll make a formal record of interview, with tape and video.’

‘Why, what’ve I done?’

‘Let’s see-aggravated burglary, arson on a house, theft of a motor vehicle, arson of a motor vehicle, and murder.’

Danny swallowed. ‘Murder?’

Ellen put her hands on Danny’s shoulders and leaned her head close to the back of his neck. She breathed shallowly. Danny didn’t strike her as dirty by nature, but he had been emptying recycle crates since 5 a.m. and been arrested before he could go home and shower and change. ‘Murder, Danny, that’s right.’

He tried to turn around to look at her, but she kept sidestepping away. He faced Challis. ‘You must be mad. I got nabbed the other day for burglary. And before Christmas. That’s my style, not murder. Whose murder?’

Challis put an evidence bag containing a Fosters Lager can on the table between them. ‘Danny, we found your prints all over this.’

‘So?’

‘Right where a Mitsubishi Pajero was set alight in Chicory Kiln Road. The same vehicle was stolen earlier by two men fleeing the scene of an aggravated burglary. Perhaps you can explain your connection to the Pajero?’

‘I never took it.’

‘Who did? One of your mates? Boyd Jolic? Craig Oliver?’

Ellen sensed a wariness in Danny’s shoulders. She leaned close to his ear again. ‘They’re here, Danny. They sold you out.’

‘Bullshit.’

‘Your mates have sold you out.’

‘Nup, don’t believe it. Sold me out about what?’

He sounded more certain than she would have liked. She looked to Challis to continue.

‘So you didn’t take the Pajero. Fine. But you helped to burn it.’

‘Nup.’

‘You were there, Danny. Your prints on this can of lager prove it.’