Garry Disher - Blood Moon

‘There’s also physical evidence showing he was there,’ Sutton said. ‘CCTV footage of him following her the day she was murdered.’

‘I’m thinking what he might argue in court,’ Challis said, grabbing the back of a chair in his habitual way. ‘He was railroaded by us. He was confused. He got his times and dates wrong. Yes, he was at the site of the murder-but at another time and for work-related reasons. He didn’t confront Ludmilla Wishart about anything. The police bullied him and he was confused.’

‘He was taking bribes,’ Sutton said. ‘Ludmilla Wishart found out and was going to expose him. He had motive.’

‘Do we have proof that he was taking bribes? The Ebelings will deny paying him. He can claim it was a beat-up, that Ludmilla was mistaken, or acting maliciously. As for the money, he won it on the horses.’

‘So we make sure he can’t argue these things in court,’ Ellen said. ‘We dig deeper into his past: financial records, friends, family and acquaintances, his work history, phone records, witnesses who can place him with the Ebelings or with other people who might have benefited from council tip-offs over the past few years.’

‘A huge job,’ muttered Sutton.

They sat in thoughtful gloom for a while. ‘Is this guy clever?’ Challis asked. ‘He makes a partial admission, a plausible admission, one that reflects badly on him, thinking we’ll see it as the truth, that he couldn’t be guilty of the greater crime?’

‘Much like the husband,’ Ellen pointed out.

‘Or they’re both telling the truth,’ Sutton said.

‘But what do we think?’

‘Groot did it,’ Ellen said. ‘We know he’s a bit of a bully, and finally he went that one step further.’

‘I agree,’ Sutton said.

Pam Murphy was miles away again.

Then there was a snap like a muted pistol shot and Murphy was looking in dismay at the two halves of her pencil. She swallowed, went red, said ‘Sorry,’ and slammed out of the room. Challis cocked an eyebrow at Ellen, who shrugged.

‘We need hard evidence that Groot was taking bribes and that Ludmilla knew about it,’ Challis continued. ‘Otherwise Groot’s barrister will attack the victim in court: Ludmilla Wishart was given to making crazy claims about her workmates, she was the one taking bribes to finance her lazy husband’s lifestyle, she had a secret lover, and so on. Or he’ll claim she was mugged-and how do we know that didn’t happen?’

He walked around the long table to peer down at the murdered woman’s MP3 player and woven bag. ‘But would a mugger toss this away?’

‘Unlikely,’ Sutton said, unfolding his long legs in a rearrangement of bony angles.

‘I’m trying to see it through Groot’s eyes,’ Challis said. ‘He kills her, then, to make it look like a mugging gone wrong, he pockets her cash and her phone and dumps the rest of her stuff down on the beach. But why not take her MP3 player as well? Wouldn’t that reinforce the notion that she was mugged?’

Ellen shrugged. ‘He was in a hurry. He took the obvious things. He didn’t bother to open that little bag, probably thought it had her sunglasses in it.’

‘Feasible,’ said Challis doubtfully.

He pulled latex gloves from his pocket, said ‘Glove up, Ells,’ and held the MP3 player before his nose. ‘How do you work one of these?’

‘You obviously don’t have a teenage daughter,’ Ellen said, with a snap of her glove.

They sat side by side; Challis felt a jolt of desire when their shoulders touched. She was subtly scented: not only her shampoo and soap but also an underlay of skin and hair. But she was all business, murmuring, ‘Let’s see,’ headphones plugged into her ears. He felt a twinge of disappointment; then, marvellously, she leaned against him, and he thought: To hell with what Sutton thinks.

They watched the glow of the little screen, the menus flickering from category to sub-category, category to sub-category, as Ellen worked her way through the contents. Suddenly she froze and removed the headphones: ‘She used it to record notes to herself.’

‘What kind of notes?’

‘Listen,’ she said, plugging him in.

Testing, testing, one two three, the quick brown fox did a pee by the apple tree, etcetera, etcetera…

Then a faint click, Ellen guessing that Ludmilla Wishart had replayed the test run. The MP3 player was new, a birthday gift, so she’d have been playing with it, trying out the various functions.

The time is now…2.45 and I’m at lot number five, Harcourt Drive, in Tyabb, where the owners have laid the foundations for an unauthorised bed-and-breakfast establishment.

That had been listed on her desk diary. They heard Wishart announce her intentions and then there was a faint, atmospheric hiss, an interruption, before the voice returned, announcing the results of the meeting. Amicable results, apparently.

A pleasant voice, Ellen thought. Calm, unhurried, educated and a little self-conscious but pleased with her new toy.

The time is now 3.20 and my next destination is Bluff Road in Penzance Beach. I will need to buy petrol along the way.

Pause, and then her voice came back wryly: Not that this little gizmo needs to know that.

Ellen pictured Ludmilla Wishart’s journey from the Tyabb address to the site of the demolished house in Penzance Beach, with a stop for petrol along the way, Groot tailing her in his old Mercedes, Adrian tailing her in his uncle’s station wagon. Why hadn’t the two men spotted each other? And it all would have consumed forty minutes in real time, if Ludmilla had wanted to leave her gizmo recording while she narrated the conditions and events of her journey:

Taking this bend at eighty kilometres an hour…passing a school bus… just hit a bump… have finished putting 47 litres of unleaded petrol into the tank of my car…

But of course Ludmilla Wishart said none of these things but quickly stopped mucking around with her new toy and recorded only those observations that she would need later when writing up her notes.

There was a pause, a soft electronic interruption, and she returned:

Bluff Road, Penzance Beach. It is now 4.25 in the afternoon. Met with Carl Vernon as arranged. Discussed the demolition of the house known as Somerland. Local residents very upset, as noted this morning. I advised that I’d applied to the planning minister for an interim heritage amendment that would protect Somerland, but, unfortunately, Hugh and Mia Ebeling had exercised their right to demolish before it could be considered or granted. What I didn’t tell Mr Vernon was that my boss had almost certainly tipped off the Ebelings, and that I shall report him to the authorities.

And Groot had known that, Ellen thought. He followed her, intending to talk her out of it, and killed her when that failed.

In the meantime I advised Mr Vernon that the residents’ association should take steps to block the Ebelings’ intended development of the site or at least press for a drastic modification of the excesses of the planned building, which at present is a structure on three levels. My advice was that the association should attend any and all Development Assessments Committee meetings and present transparencies that show what impact the proposed structure would have on their views not only across the water but also in other directions. Pause. Leaving Penzance at 4.35 to drive to Shoreham.

Another pause, and when Wishart’s voice started again it was electric with suppressed emotions:

I need to get this down immediately, in case anything happens. I’m outside the property known as Westering, at 450 Frankston-Flinders Road, which is accessed from Frankston-Flinders Road via a very long driveway down to a headland overlooking the beach. The owner, Jamie Furneaux, who is presently overseas, was charged and fined for removing 52 pine and other trees, and ordered to plant indigenous trees to compensate. I can confirm that Mr Furneaux has abided by the conditions of the ruling made against him. But Mr Groot, the chief planner, arrived soon after I did. He actually followed me! I am annoyed. I am also, I must admit, a little afraid. I’ve seen Groot angry and emotional before, but not like this. He kept going on and on about how I would ruin his career, he had a wife and children to support, he could go to jail, and anyway, what did he do wrong, all he did was keep the Ebelings apprised of the progress of their applications to demolish an old house and erect a new one. I said, how much did they pay you? He got angry and said they hadn’t paid him anything, but I didn’t believe him. Then he got a bit physical with me, grabbing my arms and shoving me against the car. God, he’s repulsive. He scares me, too. He went away in tears but that doesn’t mean he won’t try to hurt me in some way. Physically? Professionally? I wish I knew what was going through his head. Anyway, this record is in case something bad happens to me.