Chain of Evidence

48

Time passed bewilderingly for Hal Challis. On Tuesday morning he contacted the funeral director and the Uniting Church minister again, telling them he had some repeat business for them, the joke falling flat. They settled on Saturday. After that he was rarely away from the phone, or the front door, as people from the town and the district dropped in or telephoned with their condolences.

Even McQuarrie called from Victoria. ‘Very sorry for your loss, inspector.’

Ellen must have told him. ‘Thank you, sir.’

‘Take as long as you like, but things are in a turmoil here, and we can’t afford to have you running an independent inquiry in South Australia, now can we, Hal?’

Nixon and Stormare told their boss, Challis thought, who then made a few phone calls. Perhaps the super fears I’ll be even more uncontrollable now that my father’s dead. At another time he might have used that to annoy McQuarrie in subtle ways, but he was too tired. ‘No, sir.’

The day dragged on. Needing badly to fill time, he began to bundle together his father’s clothing for the local op-shop, but it was far too soon, and he lost heart. He went through his father’s desk, paid some bills. That’s when he found the will. The old man had no shares and only a few thousand dollars in the bank. He’d left his house to his children and his car to Eve.

At 3.30, Challis parked the old station wagon in the street outside Meg’s house. He checked in with her, then returned to the car, tied a purple ribbon around it, and waited on the verandah for Eve to come home from school. She appeared at 3.45, shuffling, head down, all of her striding, knockabout humour gone. She spotted the car, and froze. Challis called out to her.

She turned, shaded her eyes as he crossed the lawn toward her. ‘Uncle Hal.’

He kissed her. ‘As you can see, I come bearing gifts.’

Her eyes filled with tears. She tried to hide it by turning wry and scoffing. ‘You expect me to drive that? I’ll lose all street cred.’

Challis drew himself up. ‘I’d be proud to be seen in this car.’

Eve was sniffing, blinking her eyes, trying to smile. ‘Mum said you lost your virginity in it.’

Challis’s jaw dropped comically. Suddenly Eve was wailing, crumpling. Challis held her tight for a while. ‘Hush,’ he murmured.

‘I know he could be mean to you and Mum, but he was great to me.’

‘I know.’

They stood like that. Eve sighed raggedly. ‘The Murray Challis memorial station wagon.’

‘That’s the spirit.’

They went inside. Meg was on the sofa, making a list of hymns for the funeral. ‘How about “Abide With Me”?’ she said.

They both shuddered. ‘No thanks.’

They discussed the will. ‘I don’t want the house,’ Challis said. ‘You can have my share. Maybe you can live there.’

Mother and daughter were seated together on the sofa. They turned to each other in silent communication and then kissed. It was as if they had settled all doubts, and Challis, on the edges of their lives here, realised that they were going to be all right. They faced him resolutely. Meg smiled and said, ‘We’re happy here.’

‘Then we’ll sell the house and you can have my share.’

‘No, Hal. Equal shares.’

‘I had a word with the real estate agent. It’s worth about $175,000, but he said potential buyers are thin on the ground. People are leaving the district, not flocking into it.’

‘We might have better luck finding tenants,’ Meg said. ‘The married housing on the sheep stations around here is pretty basic.’

Challis remembered Meg’s words when Lisa Joyce came to see him late afternoon. He ushered her through to the kitchen, saying, ‘You and Rex don’t want to buy this place for your stud manager, do you?’

Lisa gazed around her. He began to see how shabby everything was. ‘Not right now, Hal,’ she said, smiling kindly as though he’d made a brave joke. ‘I was really sorry to hear about your dad. He was a lovely guy.’

Challis doubted that Lisa had spent more than five minutes with Murray Challis in her life, but he appreciated the compliment. ‘Thanks.’

She said, with a hint of stronger feelings, ‘I suppose you’ll go back to Victoria pretty soon.’

How to answer that? He was feeling the little disturbances he’d always felt when he was around her. ‘There’s a lot to do,’ he said lamely.

Her fingers lingered on his wrist as she went out. It was affection, commiseration and the gesture of a woman who had an unconscious excess of sexual energy.

He was bucked up to hear Ellen Destry’s voice that evening, the kindness and affection flowing from her, but shocked to hear that Kees van Alphen had been shot dead. ‘I should come back,’ he said.

‘You can’t, Hal. Bury your father.’

‘But-’

‘You’re better off out of it. It’s become a feeding frenzy for the media. McQuarrie keeps popping up in front of the cameras. And any minute now, we’re going to have a team from Melbourne down here, crawling all over us. Stay away, Hal-not that I don’t wish you were here.’

‘I wish I was there, too.’

The pause was awkward. It rang with implications.