Garry Disher - Kittyhawk Down

The guard shuddered. 'Bad choice of words, mate.'

It was. Challis had seen the body. Massive shotgun wounds to the torso and head, indicating that the killer had fired twice. If it was Munro, and he had the double-barrelled shottie with him, then he'd fired both barrels. Or he'd had the single with him and reloaded it after the first shot.

Or he had an automatic shotgun.

Either way, Kitty Casement was dead.

Challis continued to work it out, trying to think like a policeman when all he wanted to do was chuck the job in. Kitty was a woman he'd only ever brushed against accidentally and certainly never kissed, but she'd lodged in his head and had died terribly. He swallowed. The image came back, unbidden: a corner of the hangar; harsh shadows cast by the unremitting fluorescent lights bolted to the steel rafters overhead; a tumble of empty fuel drums and greasy rags; the cold, chipped, oil-stained concrete black and sticky where her blood had pooled; her body splayed like something tossed aside.

The smell. Aviation fuel and grease and blood thickly spilt over the ground.

The security guard was talking to him. 'Sorry, what?'

'Can I go now?' the guard repeated. 'I've got me rounds to finish. Schools, the antique place, coupla supermarkets…'

Challis rubbed his face tiredly. 'Come down to the station tomorrow and give a statement, okay?'

'Sure, no drama.'

Challis watched the guard wheel out of the aerodrome in a little white van, then turned reluctantly back to the hangar. The crime scene technicians were working the corner where the body lay. Ellen Destry watched from the sidelines, looking up as she sensed his approach. She crossed toward him as though to head him off.

'Nasty one, Hal.' She paused, cocking her head in concern. 'You okay?'

Challis nodded. 'I want a doorknock of the houses out on the main road. They're a bit far away, and used to people coming and going here, but someone might have seen or heard something.'

'Seen Ian Munro, you mean. This has to be him, doesn't it?'

Challis turned on her irritably and said, 'Nothing has to be anything, Ellen,' and immediately wondered what he'd meant.

She backed away, hands up placatingly. 'All right, stay cool, I'll get onto it.'

'Then I want you to come with me to speak to the husband.'

'You don't think it was him, surely?'

The irritation came back into his voice before he could stop himself. 'He has to be told, doesn't he?'

As their tyres growled softly along the loose gravel of the Casements' driveway, Ellen said, 'He'd have to be wondering where she is by now.'

Challis was slumped against the passenger door. He'd not said a word since getting into the car. Now he roused himself, rubbed his hands raspingly over his face. 'Not necessarily. She often worked late. And he's apparently on the Net day and night.'

They parked, knocked on the front door, and then in unison turned on the doorstep and looked out at the distant bay. The water lay dense and black but lit here and there by the moon, while beyond the dark mass lay Phillip Island, full of twinkling lights.

They'd not heard footsteps but a spotlight illuminating the driveway and doorstep went on and a latch was turned. Rex Casement swung open the door, blinked as the light hit him, and stared past them into the gloom. He seemed dazed- exactly, Challis thought, like a man dragged away from an obsession.

'Who… I was… are you…?' Casement said.

Ellen moved toward him and said gently, 'May we come in, Mr Casement?'

Casement recovered and said, 'Is anything wrong? I was on the Net,' he added, glancing at them in turn. 'I don't think Kitty's home yet, actually.'

He wore tracksuit pants, slippers and what looked like a pyjama top under a fleecy striped football jumper. His hair was badly tufted and even as Challis watched he tugged at a clump of it. Maybe he'd made a bad on-line investment, Challis thought.

'Actually it's you we've come to see, Mr Casement,' Ellen said.

Frowning doubtfully, Casement took them to the kitchen. 'This is the cheeriest room at night, hope you don't mind. Tea? Coffee? Something stronger?'

He was washing his hands as though to stave off the inevitable, and when Challis told him the reason for the visit, he stopped fussing at the sink and collapsed into a chair. 'Oh no, oh no.' He looked up. 'Shot?'

'Yes.'

'This Munro character did it?'

'Mr Casement,' Ellen said, 'I realise this is a distressing time, but I have to ask you what your movements were this evening.'

Casement turned to her, jaw open, making a massive effort to comprehend her. 'Me?'

'Yes.'

'I was here, working.'

'On the Internet?'

'Yes. Why?'

'You didn't go out at all?'

'No.'

'Do you have a separate phone line for the Net?'

'Yes.'

'Did anyone ring you this evening?'

'Not that I recall. There's an answering machine.' He crossed to what appeared to be an all-purpose corner of the kitchen bench: notices fluttering from a little pinboard, Rolodex, scrap paper and pens, phone and answering machine. He pressed a button and the machine beeped and they heard Kitty Casement say that she'd be working late.

Casement sobbed and swung away, returning to his chair at the table.

'Did you go out this evening?'

Challis saw a change pass across Casement's face, dazed grief giving way to incredulity. 'You're checking me out? That's a bit harsh.'

'No it's not,' said Challis evenly. 'It's statistically likely, and we're obliged to ask.'

'If you bastards had arrested Munro this wouldn't-'

Challis cut in. 'Can you think of anyone else who might have wanted to harm your wife?'

'Apart from Munro? No. He's the obvious one, so why are you questioning me? Leave me alone. Go on, piss off and catch-'

Ellen touched his arm. 'Is there anyone we can contact for you, Mr Casement? Friend, neighbour, relative?'

'I'd rather be by myself,' Casement said, diminished by the night and the solitude that was coming for him.

It was fully dark and Pike was in a real state when he got to Lisa's. They let him in, Venn was there, and they were high as kites as usual.

'Well, if it isn't young Bradley,' Venn said, when Lisa ushered him into the sitting room. Donna scowled at him. Lisa herself could have been a bit warmer. They were all looking at him like he was a bad smell.

And he wished Dwayne wouldn't keep saying the same thing each time he visited. 'Change the record, Dwayne,' Pike said, keeping his voice light and cheery, rubbing his hands together dryly. The place smelt of dope and dirty clothing, like they hadn't been out for days. Probably hadn't. When was he last here? Yesterday? Day before? They were really coked up, so he said, 'Looks like I've got some catching up to do.'

And that's what he did for the next hour. Smoked dope, drank Jim Beam, and when he was well blissed out, ticking over nicely, too sluggish to move, he caught Venn exchanging glances with the Tully sisters. 'What?' he slurred.

'We got some new stuff for you to try,' Lisa said.

She went out and came back with a syringe. 'This is good stuff.'

'What is it?'

She tapped the side of her nose and grinned like she was really pumped about something. 'Wait and see, lover boy.'

He liked the way she said that. Then she sat on the sofa, patted the cushions. 'Come on, your turn, we've had stacks.'

Gratified, Pike collapsed onto the sofa next to her and flexed his arm, tied it off with a length of rubber tubing supplied by Donna, tapped a vein.

Lisa got closer. Her thigh was warm against him. 'Now,' she breathed, 'want me to do it for you?'

That was an ultimate act of love and he nodded and watched her slide the needle in and depress the plunger. He tore his eyes away and, waiting for the rush, said to her, 'Lisa, I'm sorry I jacked up about that intervention order you took out on me.'