Garry Disher - Kittyhawk Down

'You probably saved both our lives,' Pam said.

Now his feelings were going the other way again. Everyone patting him on the back like he was this quick-shooting, quick-thinking hero, when really he'd more or less panicked again, got in a lucky shot. The gun hadn't felt good in his hand. It was a lucky, panicky shot.

And he'd killed a man.

'Oh God,' he said, and put his hands over his face.

Thank Christ they'd been obliged to take his gun into evidence. He didn't want to see another gun as long as he lived.

They reached his flat and as she parked against the kerb he said, 'Look, I need to be alone, no offence, I just-'

'If you're sure, Tank,' Pam said, giving him a brief hug and thanking him again for saving their lives.

So his feelings soared again.

Then she was driving away quickly, too quickly, and he wondered how genuine she really was. Bitch.

It was early evening and the phone rang and his wife said, 'Hal, I'm so miserable.'

Challis said nothing. He listened to time tick away. He didn't want to encourage her.

'If it wasn't for you I don't know what I'd do. I've always needed you.'

This time he reacted. 'No you haven't, Ange. There was a time when you didn't want or need me at all.'

'Don't be like that.'

'Like what?'

'All mean.'

He said nothing. He was a fool to have said anything.

'I just lost my head for a while back then, that's all. Besides, you were always working, never home. But I soon got my head together. It was you I've always really wanted.'

'Ange, it's too late.'

He hadn't said that to her before. Or not so directly, for fear of her fragile state. But now he didn't care about that.

She wailed, 'No it's not.'

'We divorce, we go our separate ways.'

'No.' Then she unravelled further. 'No, you can't do this to me.'

He said gently, 'I have to.'

'I'll kill myself if I can't have you.'

She'd said that before, she'd go on saying it. He said goodbye, replaced the receiver on the wall mount, and five minutes later Tessa Kane rang. His nerves were on edge when he answered.

'I'm trying to get an angle on the Janet Casement thing.'

'It's not a thing. She's not a thing. There is no angle. Someone hated her enough to kill her, and it's tragic, okay?'

'Who got out on the wrong side of the bed this morning? And there is an angle, Hal. You said it yourself, someone hated her enough to shoot her, which raises two questions: one, are you saying Munro didn't do it? Two, whether he did or didn't, why was she shot? Come on, Hal, I need a good story here.'

'Tess, you've had wall-to-wall good stories for the past fortnight.'

'Fine, I'll go elsewhere.'

'You do that.'

'I'll speak to you when you're feeling more civil.'

'Fine.'

She didn't say anything but broke the connection and then McQuarrie called. 'Good result, Hal.'

'Yes, sir.'

'One more mongrel off the streets.'

As if to say that Munro had been roaming the streets shooting innocent people. 'Yes.'

'Good for our clean-up rate: four murders, one culprit.'

'Sir, I have grave doubts about that.'

'Don't be silly Hal. Do us all a favour. Look at the common denominators: a shotgun was used, and one disaffected man, who owns a number of shotguns, had a reason to kill all four victims.' The superintendent paused. 'All right, indulge me. How do you see it?'

'I think Janet Casement's killing was opportunistic. I think the fact that a shotgun was used in the other killings is coincidental.'

'You're not saying three killers, one for each scene?'

'No. I think there were two.'

'Can you prove it?'

'I don't know. I'm working on it.'

'Image is important, Hal. Image matters. So does morale. If your leads don't pan out, it's not going to be the end of the world if Munro is saddled with all four deaths.'

Challis had been dealing with politicians like McQuarrie for all of his life. Something happened when you got too senior, within reach of Force Command. You stopped policing and started politicking.

Seven forty-five, mid-evening. The three calls soured Challis, spoilt the air for him. He could be in St Kilda within an hour, and have more chance of learning something about Trevor Hubble than if he called during the day, when people might not be at home.

He locked the house and drove out of his gate, heading for the highway. It was good to be on the move but, inexorably, Kitty Casement was there in his head again. The preliminary post-mortem results had come in that afternoon and were as expected: she hadn't been poisoned or bludgeoned before she was shot. She had no fatal illnesses or diseases. Her stomach contents revealed that she'd eaten a sandwich some hours earlier and nothing since then. So, cause of death was a shotgun wound to the occipital region, most likely a contact wound, given the massive but localised damage to bone and tissue.

Fortunately they knew who she was, for the damage to her facial bones, tissue and teeth would have made it next to impossible to reconstruct her face or to match dental records.

Blood type O, about half of the population.

Challis sighed, shook Kitty out of his head, determined to get something positive from the evening.

By twenty to nine he was on Beaconsfield Parade, buoyed by the lights on the water, the streaming cars and the hint of cheerful seediness in the guesthouses and flats that faced the bay. He found Duke Street, found a young woman at home at Hubble's old address.

Her name was Sienna. Just Sienna. She was an artist.

'Oh, he moved back to England,' she said, showing Challis into a sitting room. He glanced around: glossy hardwood floors, thick woollen rugs, black leather sofa and armchairs, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. A hint of linseed oil in the air, and he guessed that she had a studio in one of the other rooms.

'Do you know where in England?'

'He's a Londoner, I think. He was homesick. Went back there with his girlfriend a couple of years ago.'

'You bought this house from him?'

Sienna folded her thin arms and shook her head emphatically. 'I already owned it-with my husband. Trevor Hubble rented it from us.'

'You moved in when he left?'

'Not quite. His friend took over his lease.'

'His friend. Do you have a name?'

'Something Billings.'

'Could I see a copy of the lease?'

Sienna looked embarrassed. 'It was all pretty casual. We didn't draw up a new lease for this Billings-I mean, he was Trevor's friend and very personable and everything. He always paid the rent on time, in cash, didn't trash the place, seemed like a nice guy. Silly of me, I suppose, but I trusted him.'

'Where is Billings now?'

'I don't know. He left kind of suddenly and I don't have a forwarding address.'

'When did you move in?'

Sienna kicked one foot and played with an earring as she watched Challis. 'Late October last year.'

Around the time that Trevor Hubble had returned to Australia and the Floater was found, he thought. 'You weren't interested in finding someone else to rent the house?'

'My husband and I had just separated, so when Billings said he was moving out, I moved in.'

'What about his mail?'

'There's never been any for him. I get some for Trevor from time to time, but I don't have an address for him either.'

'You never saw Trevor Hubble again?'

'Far as I know, he's still in England.'

Challis shook his head. 'In fact, he came back just before you moved in here.'

Sienna didn't know what to make of that, and looked at him as though he'd subtly accused her of something. 'Oh, well…'

'Yet there's evidence,' Challis said, 'that he was living here during the period he was supposedly in London.'