Challis - 01 - Dragon Man (21 page)

Odd that they should be driving a
Pajero rather than a more common sort of car.

Anyhow, after the incident at the
corner they had tailgated her Mercedes as if they wanted to run her off the
road. She could see a fist shaking at her. Horn blaring. Right down the length
of Coolart Road. At Chicory Kiln Road she turned right, andand this was
something shed not tell the police, if she ever reported the incidentextended
her arm out of the side window and stuck her index finger into the air as she
turned, making sure they saw her do it.

And now . . . ?

Stella swallows. The Pajero has
overshot the corner, but now its backing up and turning into Chicory Kiln Road
and coming up hard behind her. She cant drive any faster, for Chicory Kiln
Road is in a terrible state of repair, soft and treacherous at the edges, badly
corrugated in the middle. And dusty! She has no hope of shaking the men offall
they have to do is follow her dust.

Which they do, as she turns into
Quarterhorse Lane.

Snap decision. If they follow her to
her door, they might attack her.

She remembers that before Christmas
thered been a bit of drama at the other end of the lane, near where it meets
the Old Peninsula Highway. Clara, that was her name. Someone had set fire to
her mailbox. Since then Clara had been having pretty frequent visits from a
policemanalmost daily.

Boyfriend?

So Stella doesnt drive the Mercedes
home. She turns right, noting the charred mailbox, into Claras driveway,
hoping, as she follows the curving gravel, that the police car is there.

It isnt.

Behind her, the Pajero brakes, but
doesnt turn in. It waits, dark and malevolent looking, its engine ticking
over. Then it reverses into the driveway before accelerating away again, back
the way it had come.

Her breathing is ragged now. Her
hands are trembling. But then a curtain twitches at a front window of the
house, so she drives the Mercedes out of that driveway as hard as she can, up
the road to her own house before those men come back and spot where shes gone.

Tomorrow shes flying to Sydney for
a few days, friends on the North Shore, and, frankly, tomorrow cant come soon
enough.

The numberplate? A vanity plate, LANCEL,
whatever that meant.

* * * *

Pam
Murphy had her notebook open. You didnt see them steal it?

No, Im telling you, the woman
said, I just stepped inside for a minute to wash the dirt off the chamois.

Thats when you heard the engine
start?

Yes. Thought at first it was the
people next door.

They were standing in the hallway of
a house in Seaview Estate, Scobie Sutton just behind Pam, letting her ask the
questions. She took it as a vote of confidence. Meanwhile the Pajeros owner,
Vicki Mudge, was in a curious state, angry because her vehicle had been stolen
from under her nose, but with an edginess under that, as if she didnt want the
police involved at all.

Well talk to your neighbours in a
minute, Pam said. Meanwhile, Ill need some details about the vehicle itself.
Mitsubishi Pajero, she said, scribbling in her notebook. Colour?

Maroon.

Year?

Er, not sure.

All right. Petrol? Diesel?

Petrol. I think.

Registration number?

Here the womans face seemed to
close down. Pam couldnt read outrage or anxiety or any other useful emotion in
it.

Look, if it turns up, it turns up.
Probably kids out for a joyride. If it gets damaged, insurance will cover it.

We still need the registration
number, Mrs Mudge.

Vicki Mudge folded her arms and
stared at the carpet and said woodenly, Personalised plate. Lancel.

Pam asked for the spelling. Then
suspicion hardened in her. She was suddenly very alert. Mrs Mudge, are you
employed at the moment?

What are you getting at? Whats
that got to do with the price of eggs?

I have to ask you this: did you
arrange to have the Pajero stolen?

The woman snarled, By Jesus, youve
got a nerve.

Sutton cleared his throat. Who else
lives here, Mrs Mudge?

My husband. Hes in Thailand on
business.

You
do
want your vehicle
back again, I take it? Pam said.

Vicki Mudge shot a look past her
ear. Yeah, sure, its insured.

Theres something there, Pam
thought. A suggestion that shed be uncomfortable if the Pajero turned up.

* * * *

When
van Alphen found Clara she was trembling, sitting in curtained gloom, a kitchen
knife in her hands. No incense this time.

Clara?

Ive been trying to reach you all
day!

We had a suspicious fire.

They were here!

Who were?

The people who want me dead.

He crossed to her, thinking that he
couldnt keep up with her and she was bad news, but he was in too deep to let
her go. She bewildered him. Shed be lucid, calm and funny, her head firmly on
her shoulders, then a little sultry and uninhibited when it was time for sex,
then strangely hyper and funny but also easy in her head whenever shed done a
line of cokeand then she could be like this, freaked out and making no sense.
He couldnt avoid thinking that shed never been a casual user in the past, but
an addict, and it had fried her brain, only she was good at hiding the fact.
And now she was on the stuff again, courtesy of him, and the madness was
showing.

He thought all of these things even
as he hugged her tight and stroked her temples and wanted her so badly that he
slipped his hands under her T-shirt, to where her flesh was hot and pliant.

She erupted, shoving, screaming at
him. Didnt you hear what I said? They were here!

Clara, who were?

I told you, the people who want me
dead.

Who wants you dead?

People from my past. It doesnt
matter. The thing is, I need protection.

What did they look like?

I didnt see them.

Then how

I saw their car.

Where?

It came right into my driveway, sat
there, then went away again.

Ah, van Alphen said. Maybe she
wasnt losing her marbles. Can you describe it?

It was a white Mercedes.

Youre sure?

I had one like it once, in the good
old, bad old days.

See? Sharp and self-mocking again.

Okay, white Mercedes. Did you

I had the impression, Clara said,
concentrating, that there was another car out on the road, a big dark one. It
slowed as it went past the gate, but by then I was paying more attention to the
white one in the driveway.

Did you get the registration?

Forgot. I was too scared.

Thats okay, most people forget.

What will you do?

Stay the night, for a start.

She hugged her upper arms, sat
rocking, her knees together. Im really strung out, Van.

Ill give you a massage.

She rounded on him, shouting, I dont
want a fucking massage. I need you to get me some more blow.

Clara, lay off that stuff. Youve
had a shitload since I met you.

She was scornful, looking him up and
down. You want me, right? My cunt?

Clara, I

If you want me youre going to have
to pay for it, like any punter. Do I owe you special privileges? I dont think
so.

He was dismayed to find himself so
hurt and so floundering. I thought

You thought this was special? Uh,
uh.
Im
special. You want me, lover boy, you pay for me. Whats wrong?
Shocked, are we? Thought I was a little angel, did you?

I looked after you.

Then fucking continue looking after
me. Get me some more stuff, or fork out a hundred bucks a time to see me naked.

She lifted her T-shirt, waggled her
torso briefly, covered herself again. Something fractured a little further in
van Alphen then. That life boiled down to supply and demand, rather than
values, was the position hed reached after a working life doing this shitty
job.

* * * *

Saturday
night, about eleven oclock, and Challis was alone in the incident room,
logging on to the database to see what the analysts had found. He was looking
for a similar pattern of abductions and rape-murders in other parts of the
country, with cross-references to mini-vans, four-wheel drives and other
rear-compartment vehicles.

When the call came, a Mitsubishi
Pajero found abandoned and torched at the side of a dirt road near the Old
Peninsula Highway, his first thought was:
Maybe our mans panicking, getting
rid of evidence.

But within an hour hed established
that the Pajero had been stolen earlier in the day, probably by two men fleeing
from an aggravated burglary, and, disappointed, he logged off and left the
building.

He got home just as one day drifted
into the next and it was New Years Eve.

* * * *

Sixteen

utton
was in the Displan room telephoning Vicki Mudge with the news that her Pajero
had been found. Unfortunately its been destroyed. Abandoned and then burnt.

A strange gasp in the womans
voicealmost of relief, Sutton thoughtcovered immediately by a cough: Burnt?
Oh dear.

You might like to inform your
insurance company. Meanwhile well be investigating this pretty thoroughly. We
think the men who stole your Pajero yesterday were responsible for a pretty
vicious aggravated burglary earlier.

And thats how he learned that Vicki
Mudge was not the owner of the Pajero but the sister of the owner. The owners
name was Lance Ledwich and he lived on the other side of the Seaview Estate.
Cosy, Sutton thought.

When Challis came in, he said, Boss,
we need to take another look at Ledwich.

Convince me.

He lied to us. He owns a Mitsubishi
Pajero, only he kept it at his sisters house, not all that far from where he
lives.

Why didnt your DMV check turn it
up?

Registration had lapsed, boss.

Go on.

Its the Pajero stolen after that
ag burg yesterday. The one that was torched last night.

You think he arranged to have it
destroyed?

Its possible, but I think it was
just bad luck.

Good luck for us, perhaps, except
that as evidence its worthless now that its been destroyed. What about the
sister?

Names Vicki Mudge.

She known to us?

Her husband is, Paddy, sexual
assault.

Challis went very still and alert
suddenly. Theyre working together.

Sutton shook his head. Paddys been
in Thailand since late November.

Check it out.

I will, Sutton said. The thing
is, boss, yesterday when I questioned Vicki Mudge she seemed pretty edgy, and
just now, when I said the Pajero had been burnt, she sounded relieved, then
edgy again when I said thered be a thorough investigation. Thats when she
came clean about who owned the Pajero.

She knows somethings up, and shes
protecting her own skin.

Could be.

All right, talk to Ledwich again.

Id like to take that new female
constable with me.

Why?

Shes cluey.

Fine, Challis said.

* * * *

Pam
Murphys shift didnt start until midday, but Detective Constable Sutton came
looking for her in the canteen and said, Youre coming with me. Ive talked to
your boss.

She drove, Sutton talked.

Everythings dragons and monsters
at the moment. Maybe shes picking up vibes. When the wife heard about Trina
Unger, she said, The mans a monster, and Ros said, Wheres the monster? Is there
a dragon, too?

Really?

Plus its become a battle of wills.
She plays the wife and I off against each other, refuses to go to bed, kicks up
a stink when its bathtime, wont eat whats put in front of her.

Sounds typical, Pam said.

Typical, sure, Scobie Sutton said,
but until youve encountered it yourself you dont realise what strong wills
theyve got. I mean, my daughter, three years old, could teach a tribe of Hells
Angels how not to back down in the face of authority.

Pam fingered her jaw. It hurt. Shed
been struck by her board in the surf during the mornings lesson with Ginger
and ever since then shed been exploring the bruise with her fingers,
aggravating it, but unable to leave it alone. Sir, where are we going?