Chain of Evidence

32

The child psychologist’s accusations were serious, but Ellen wanted more facts before she tackled van Alphen and Kellock. Besides, it was too soon after the Nick Jarrett shooting. She would start by talking to Alysha Jarrett, and phoned Laurie to arrange a time.

High school got out at 3.30. Laurie Jarrett arrived with his daughter at 4.15. ‘This had better be good,’ he said. He glanced around Ellen’s office with contempt. ‘I can think of better things to do than share a building with my nephew’s killers. You say you want to talk to Alysha?’

‘Yes.’

Ellen’s gaze went to the girl. Her initial impression was of a pretty child, physically advanced, wearing black leggings and a yellow top that showed her midriff. A typical thirteen-year-old, in fact. But she wore rings in her ears and navel, dark makeup around her eyes, as if she were years older, and knowing.

‘About what?’

‘Neville Clode.’

‘Ah.’

Ellen cocked her head. ‘Laurie?’

‘Nothing. Ask away.’

Ellen began with a series of gentle questions. It soon became apparent that Alysha’s air of knowingness had no foundation: she was a child; her replies in response to Ellen’s gentle probing and her father’s gentle coaxing were slow, monosyllabic and affectless. But she had clearly been abused by Clode. She hadn’t the guile to be a convincing liar, or the ability to read people or situations to her advantage. Ellen was surprised that Kellock and van Alphen hadn’t seen that. Instead, they’d demonised her because she was a Jarrett, hated by the police and the good people of Waterloo.

‘A word in private?’ Laurie said eventually.

Ellen nodded, first arranging for a female constable to take Alysha to the canteen. Alysha went submissively, still vague, inattentive and unaware of the situation she was in. Laurie Jarrett watched her receding back with an expression of grief and tenderness. He caught Ellen’s glance as they re-entered her office. ‘Some slight brain damage at birth.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Why? Was it your fault?’

Ellen gazed at the man. Again she had an impression of powerful feelings barely kept in check, and again she felt compulsion and repulsion. He was an attractive man, finely put together. ‘I have a daughter,’ she said.

‘Yeah, but is she a victim?’

Ellen found herself telling Jarrett that Larrayne had been abducted several years earlier. Challis would have told her that you never shared personal heartaches and vulnerabilities with the bad guys, so why was she doing it? To impress Jarrett? Get closer to him? Get him on side?

He listened attentively. ‘Fair enough,’ was all he said at the end, and she sensed that he wouldn’t use the information against her.

‘Laurie, Alysha was abused by Neville Clode. Clode was attacked in his home on Saturday night. Did you attack him, or order it done?’

‘No. Poor guy. Remind me to send him some flowers.’

‘You can’t take the law into your own hands,’ Ellen said, hearing the foolishness of the words in this context.

‘Then what are reasonable people expected to do when the law fails them?’ asked Jarrett mildly.

Ellen blinked. Jarrett went on: ‘You think I’m stupid, uneducated?’

‘No, I don’t think that.’

He smiled at her tiredly. ‘The law did not protect my daughter eighteen months ago.’

‘I agree. We should have done more at the time. But-’

‘As far as the police are concerned, the Jarretts are scum. Kellock and van Alphen as good as told me that Alysha was a liar, a manipulator. You saw her. Did she strike you that way?’

‘No.’

‘She kept going back to Clode because he gave her money, cigarettes, clothing, CDs.’

‘Did you try to stop her?’

‘Yes. As far as I knew she’d stopped seeing him. When you phoned asking me to bring her in, I questioned her. She told me she’d started seeing him again.’

‘Did she say why?’

‘No. She can be stubborn that way. I assumed she wanted the presents he gave her.’

‘Laurie, you’ll have to monitor her. Meanwhile I want you to stay away from Clode.’

‘Wouldn’t touch him with a bargepole.’

Ellen cocked her head. ‘Why didn’t you do anything about him eighteen months ago?’

‘I was in prison. Armed robbery.’

‘You could have ordered it done.’

Jarrett merely watched her, but she could see his mind working, as though he wondered what his family had been up to back then. His head was shapely. The light caught the fine blades of his cheeks. He smirked, destroying the effect. ‘Laurie Jarrett calling Sergeant Destry…Are you receiving me, over?’

Ellen scowled. She pushed down with her palms as if to rise from her desk. ‘Leave it to me. I’ll-’

‘What about Kellock and van Alphen?’

‘What about them?’

‘Dinosaurs, aren’t they? Time they were pensioned off?’

‘Are you making a threat against them, Laurie?’

‘I don’t know. Am I?’

His face belied the words and tone, for he looked sad and empty. His gaze went to the bullet graze on her neck, and his fingers to his own neck. ‘You were lucky,’ he said softly.

She touched the scar. ‘Thank you.’

When he was gone, she began working on a warrant to arrest Clode and search his house. By themselves, Alysha’s allegations would be difficult to substantiate, the word of a simple-minded child, further undermined by the lack of admissible evidence, the reputation of the Jarretts and the recommendations of that earlier investigation. But taken together with the discovery of Clode’s DNA at De Soto Lane, the scene of Katie Blasko’s abuse…

Her elation was short-lived. Before taking the paperwork a step further, she called Riggs at the ForenZics lab.

‘Actually, I was going to call you,’ he said.

‘About?’

Riggs was apologetic. ‘That DNA match.’

Her skin crept. ‘What about it?’

‘It turns out we already have the guy’s blood sample here in the lab.’

‘So? You said he was in the system.’

‘Yes, but as a victim. He’s not in Crimtrac. Another sample of his blood had been sent to us before the one found with the girl, what’s her name, Katie Blasko.’

‘You have a victim sample for Clode?’

‘An aggravated burglary.’

Ellen closed her eyes, opened them again. Scobie Sutton must have taken samples at Clode’s house and forwarded them to the lab. Why hadn’t he told her? Why hadn’t she anticipated that? She had to keep on an even keel. ‘Okay, so you have that sample. But you also have his DNA from the Katie Blasko scene, right? That’s how we know he was there-he’d been a victim in an unrelated incident. I don’t see the problem. He either abducted Katie Blasko and held her for several days while he raped and photographed her, or someone else abducted her and he was invited to join in. Katie told me that a small dog had been present. It attacked one or more of the men who were abusing her. That might account for the blood.’

Riggs was silent. ‘It’s our procedures,’ he offered finally.

Ellen went cold. She understood at once. ‘You’re saying the evidence is contaminated.’

‘I can’t…we don’t…what I mean is…’

‘Spit it out,’ she snarled.

‘We had several blood samples come in from several jurisdictions and agencies over a short period of time,’ said Riggs in a whining rush. ‘We’re overworked and understaffed.’ He paused, coughed. ‘Unfortunately victim blood samples were somehow stored with suspect and offender blood samples. If this comes to court, we’re not in a position to say for certain which Clode sample is which, or even that there are two separate samples.’ He coughed again. ‘Procedures weren’t followed.’

‘You’re kidding me.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Riggs. ‘If it helps, I don’t think there was a mixup in this particular instance, and there’s the presence of mucus in the sample, possibly from a nosebleed, but we’ve had a few stuffups in the past couple of years, and a good lawyer will cast doubt on our procedures in this case. We can’t lie on the witness stand.’

Ellen’s head pounded. A few stuffups? Now this stuffup. ‘I have nothing but contempt for you,’ she said.

‘There’s no need to be like that.’

Wanting to lash out further, Ellen tracked van Alphen and Kellock down to the sergeants’ lounge.

‘If not for you two clowns, we could have arrested Neville Clode eighteen months ago and Katie Blasko’s abuse need never have happened.’

She was rigid in the doorway. Kellock turned his massive head to her slowly, then back to his newspaper, which was spread open on a coffee table. He flicked slowly through the pages, stopping at the crossword. He uncapped his pen, tapped his teeth with it. ‘And hello to you, too, Ellen.’

Ellen advanced into the room. ‘Just because she’s a Jarrett doesn’t mean she’s a liar. Before he went to prison, Laurie noticed changes in Alysha. Nightmares, inappropriate sexual behaviour.’

Van Alphen was a few metres away, arms folded and legs outstretched in an old vinyl easy chair. He gave Ellen a chilly smile. ‘Maybe he was diddling her himself. Wouldn’t surprise me.’

‘Or it’s all bullshit,’ said Kellock, rapidly beginning the crossword as he spoke. ‘You know the Seaview poverty, poor parent supervision, parents in jail, all leading to kids wagging school, shoplifting, getting their kicks out of gullible punters…’

‘I’d like to know where the main file is from that time,’ Ellen said. ‘Which one of you two characters got rid of it?’

A couple of Traffic sergeants, rocking an old pinball machine in the corner, looked up with interest. ‘Lower your voice,’ said Kellock contemptuously. ‘And act with professionalism.’

‘I’ve looked everywhere in the system,’ said Ellen. ‘It’s missing, and one or two reports have been tampered with.’

‘Don’t look at us for that,’ van Alphen said. ‘Plenty of agencies are after the Jarretts: the drug squad, major crimes, fraud…’

‘There was nothing to the case anyway,’ said Kellock.

‘The school counsellor thought there was. A psychologist thought there was. And now, after talking to Alysha, I think there’s something worth investigating.’

‘Get more evidence.’

Her face twisting aggrievedly, she told them about Neville Clode’s DNA. Kellock gave her his wintry smile. ‘So you can’t use it in court.’

‘No.’

‘He was attacked last weekend?’

‘I think Laurie Jarrett ordered that as payback for molesting Alysha.’

‘It had nothing to do with the Katie Blasko case?’

Ellen gestured irritably. ‘Clode could be part of a loose circle of paedophiles. They don’t do everything together. Perhaps Alysha Jarrett was his own project.’

Van Alphen was contemptuous. ‘Alysha Jarrett is a little slut.’

‘You decided that before you even investigated the complaint,’ said Ellen hotly, ‘and that’s the story you gave the sex crimes detectives from Melbourne. You didn’t even bother speaking more closely with the other girls who claim Clode molested them.’

‘“Claim” being the operative word.’

‘They support her story.’

Now van Alphen got heated. In the little room where the sergeants got their rest and recreation while in the station, she could smell him, his perspiration and stale aftershave. ‘If there was anything going on,’ he said, ‘it was at the Jarrett bitch’s hands. I know for a fact she was standing over Clode for favours, demanding money, booze and smokes or she’d go to the police and say he’d raped her.’

‘Know for a fact?’

‘Yes.’

‘The fact being that he told you that?’

‘Yes.’

‘What amazing insights you have, Van. So you’re saying paedophiles don’t groom their victims, don’t coerce them into abusive relationships. Maybe you even believe that paedophiles are the victims themselves. The children take charge. Is that what you think?’

Kellock interrupted mildly. ‘It’s not unusual, Ellen. Kids enter these relationships willingly in exchange for gifts, then when they get found out or the supply gets cut off, they claim they were forced into it.’

An unholy alliance, Ellen thought, her gaze shifting from one man to the other. Kellock had flown through the crossword. Van Alphen sipped at a mug of coffee-marked, she noticed, like hers: Our day begins when yours ends. ‘I can’t believe I’m hearing this. In effect, you both let Clode carry on abusing children for another eighteen months.’

‘We talked to Mr Clode,’ said van Alphen, smooth now, his outburst forgotten. ‘Alysha’s story was a complete beatup. I’d look more closely at the Jarrett household if I were you.’

Ellen flashed mentally on the Jarrett household and wondered irrationally who Laurie was sleeping with. She sensed all kinds of murkiness, but not father in bed with daughter. But what of the legions of cousins, brothers, stepbrothers, family friends and uncles?

‘The attack on Clode,’ she said.

Van Alphen shrugged. ‘Could be a simple ag burg, could be Laurie decided to get revenge for the kid’s false claims, could be anything.’

‘Laurie is vengeful,’ Ellen said. ‘I’d watch your backs if I were you.’

‘That prick doesn’t scare us,’ van Alphen said.

‘Is that all, Ellen?’ said Kellock. ‘We’re entitled to unwind without plainclothes coming in and hassling us.’

‘Us against them,’ muttered Ellen.

Van Alphen smiled. ‘That’s what policing’s all about.’

She felt tired and discouraged, and changed the subject. ‘Van, have you found any cold cases of interest?’

‘Still looking,’ he told her.

Chain of Evidence

That evening Ellen told Challis about ForenZics and the DNA cockups.

He was perplexed. ‘Go back a step. You used a private lab?’

She told him about McQuarrie’s cost-cutting measures. ‘I’ll call you back,’ Challis said.

She prowled his sitting room, restlessly scanning his CD collection. One caught her eye: k. d. lang, Hymns of the 49th Parallel. She supposed it made sense: Challis seemed to like female vocalists: Emmylou Harris, Lucinda Williams, even Aretha Franklin. What did it say about the role of music in her own life that her car radio was set to a news station and she owned very few CDs-and they were in storage? Her daughter liked techno, her husband the edgier kind of country music, but her CD purchases had always been random and sporadic. Did that denote a formless mind, or the pressures and anxieties of her professional life? She felt obscurely that she’d hate to disappoint Challis.

With her slender forefinger Ellen flipped out the k. d. lang, removed the disc and played it. The strong, sad voice filled her up. She played two of the songs again: Neil Young’s ‘Helpless’ and Leonard Cohen’s ‘Hallelujah’.

What was keeping Challis?

Twenty minutes later, he said, ‘I had a word with Freya Berg.’

The government pathologist. ‘And?’

‘Good and bad. She’s lost some highly trained people to ForenZics. They pay a lot more and have better equipped labs. But some of their procedures have been suspect or careless.’

He listed a number of instances. Technicians had transported and stored items of clothing with recently-fired automatic pistols, thus transferring gunshot residue; they had stored victims’ clothing with suspects’, thus transferring blood, semen and fibres; they had handled the evidence from different cases over a period of time without changing their gloves; they had even contaminated new evidence with old. In one notorious instance, the DNA of a 2003 rape victim had been found on the clothing of a 2005 murder victim.

‘Great,’ said Ellen. She paused: ‘Maybe McQuarrie holds shares in ForenZics.’

It was good to hear Challis laugh. It was good to hear his encouragement. She told him about Peter Duyker. ‘He and Clode are close, apparently.’

‘If you can’t get Clode, get Duyker.’

‘That’s exactly what I intend to do.’

She’d called his mobile; now she could hear his father’s house phone ringing in the background. ‘I’d better get that,’ he said.

‘Miss you,’ she said.