Snapshot

15

Challis and Ellen stopped for petrol and lunch in Frankston, Challis glancing at his watch as they left. It would take them an hour to get to the city, then fifteen minutes for parking, and later they’d have the longer trip back to the other side of the Peninsula: almost two and a half hours of the afternoon would be spent in travelling. He turned on the radio. Someone had tuned to a station that broadcast music of the 1980s. He hurriedly found Radio National.

‘Hal, come on, eighties music’

He snorted. ‘There was no music in the eighties.’

She thought. ‘Duran Duran.’

‘I rest my case.’

She grinned, amusement transforming her, and he felt a sudden urge to touch her cheek. Why? Because her bullying husband was making her miserable? Because he was her friend, and he wanted to show simple comfort and affection? And how simple was the affection? Challis believed that an element of physical attraction existed in most friendships. If he wasn’t drawn to her, could he have been her friend? He was relieved when she said, ‘Tell me more about the super’s son.’

He quickly paraphrased the results of his Google search. Robert McQuarrie ran an investment and brokerage firm, but also belonged to the Australian Enterprise Institute, a neo-conservative think tank that advised the federal government on policy matters and carried out smear campaigns against charities and welfare and aid agencies, which it accused of taking a public advocacy stance on issues of human rights, corporate social responsibility and environmental protection. In fact, Robert McQuarrie had headed an inquiry into the role of nongovernment organisations, and had been quoted in the press as saying that NGOs were shifting away from direct work in the community to political lobbying and activism. He recommended that certain NGOs earn lower grants, lose their tax-exempt status and meet strict compliance conditions. The tone of his speeches was mean and self satisfied, the voice of a humourless bully.

Ellen sighed. ‘So plenty of potential enemies.’

‘You think someone killed Janine to get back at her husband?’

Ellen shrugged. ‘It’s as good an answer as any at the moment.’

By 2.30 p.m. they were fronting up to McQuarrie Financial Services’ coldly gleaming marble reception desk, thick carpet under their feet, hemmed in by walls hung with posters discreetly designed and framed. The receptionist, a young woman with a pert nose, poised in a business suit, said, ‘May I help you?’

Challis explained the circumstances of their visit, and saw her swallow and go white. ‘Mrs McQuarrie?’ she whispered.

Challis asked for a room gently. ‘We’ll need to interview everyone, I’m afraid.’

‘I’ll need Mr McQuarrie’s permission for that,’ the receptionist said, recovering her colour.

‘Let’s not bother him now,’ Challis replied. ‘He’s comforting his daughter. In any case, this is a murder inquiry and I don’t really need his permission.’

‘But he’s just come in to work. Just one moment.’

Stunned, Challis and Ellen watched her make the call. Then Robert McQuarrie was striding towards them, looking more spruce than grieving. ‘This really isn’t a good time.’

Various thoughts raced through Challis’s mind. Robert McQuarrie had spent scant time with his daughter. He apparently valued his work over her, or the memory of his dead wife. And he hadn’t yet informed his staff or colleagues. The murder had been reported on the midday news, but Janine hadn’t been named. Challis felt a twist of acute displeasure, but concealed it, saying softly, ‘This won’t take long. Perhaps we could go to your office?’

McQuarrie seemed to come to his senses. ‘If you insist.’

Challis gave a mental shake of his head. The super and his wife hadn’t seemed particularly grief-stricken about their daughter-in-law, and now the woman’s husband rushes into the office rather than stay with his daughter. Challis knew something about grief-he’d felt it, he’d observed it, and knew it took many forms-but he’d never seen grief expressed as an inconvenience before. Who are these people? he wondered.

Ellen was clearly thinking the same thing. When they were settled in a huge corner office with views across the city to the bay, she said, ‘I must say I didn’t expect to see you here, Robert.’

The use of the man’s first name was a deliberate slight, an indication that she was in a dangerous mood. But it failed to chasten the superintendent’s son. ‘What are you implying? That I’m not observing a decent period of grieving? That I should be at home with my daughter?’

Challis stepped in. ‘Some people might think that, Mr McQuarrie.’

‘Listen,’ Robert McQuarrie was saying, ‘I have responsibilities. Two hours here, then I’m driving straight back to be with her. How dare you presume to question how I feel or deal with things? Georgia’s in the loving care of my parents today, and tomorrow will go to stay with my wife’s sister. I don’t want to take her home yet.’ His eyes filled with tears. ‘We’d only rattle around there and be surrounded by memories. Georgia needs mothering and plenty of distractions, okay? Meanwhile I am the chief executive officer of a company that employs a hundred people Australia-wide.’

With a warning glance at Ellen, Challis said, ‘Then we’ll be as efficient as possible, but we do need to question everyone.’

‘Very well then,’ Robert McQuarrie said.

And so Challis and Ellen asked their questions. McQuarrie answered with barely restrained fierceness. No, he could not think of anyone who hated him sufficiently to kill his wife. He vouched for everyone employed by his firm, and as for the Australian Enterprise Institute, it was comprised of men handpicked from law, business, politics, sport, agriculture and the universities, men who were above reproach and met irregularly in various locations, hosted by sympathetic companies around the country. Nothing sinister, nothing underhand. The Institute did not rent premises anywhere or employ staff. It was not that kind of organisation.

‘Do you receive hate mail?’

Something, a flicker, in the man’s face. ‘Naturally,’ he replied, reverting to his old manner. ‘We at the Institute make the kinds of hard observations that offend sad and mad individuals from the loony left.’

‘Loony left,’ muttered Ellen.

‘Have you kept any of these letters?’ said Challis hastily.

‘Generic hate,’ Robert McQuarrie said. ‘Not worth preserving. Will that be all?’

‘We need to speak to your staff and colleagues.’

A weary sigh. ‘If you must.’

They were given a small conference room. A dozen men and women came to them one by one, and it was soon apparent that none could think of a reason why anyone would want to harm Mr McQuarrie-Mack, Robert, old Rob-by killing his wife. He was an exacting boss and partner, but fair. He wasn’t sleeping around. As for his wife, she seemed nice enough. Sad about Georgia, a sweet kid.

They were so crisp and clean, those employees and fellow executives. Buffed and shined and expensively dressed. Yet Challis sensed an awful fear gnawing at them, and could almost hear their thoughts: Am I a winner? Am I being noticed? Is this suit the right cut, this tie the right colour? Will I get a bonus this year? Will I be promoted? Will my ideas be adopted?

Is anyone listening to me?

On the way back they called at a house in Sandringham, which had views over the choppy waters of the bay. Janine’s sister, Meg, answered their knock on the door and her resemblance to Janine McQuarrie was startling. She’d been weeping; her face was raw with grief. ‘You’re lucky to catch me: I’m just on my way to Robert and Janine’s house-Georgia needs me.’

Challis exchanged a glance with Ellen. Was ‘Georgia needs me’ code for ‘Robert needs me’? Had he murdered his wife to have the sister?

She showed them through to a cloyingly warm sitting room. Ellen took over, encouraging Meg to talk about herself. Married, but childless; Janine’s youngest sister (‘There are three of us’); a high-school teacher currently on stress leave.

Challis studied her as she talked. A kindly woman, he decided. Motherly. Unsophisticated. Perhaps a woman who’d wanted to have children but couldn’t. Hardly someone to murder or inspire murder. She wore all of her emotions on her face: pity for Georgia and Robert; dismay and apprehension that her sister could be murdered. ‘I’m glad our parents aren’t alive-it would have killed them.’

‘Did Janine have any enemies? Any altercations with anyone recently? Anything like that?’

‘No. Nothing. I have no idea who would have wanted to kill her. I’m sure it was a mistake.’

Challis gazed at her for a couple of beats, then decided to bypass those polite conversational gambits that are intended to comfort the bereaved but waste police time. ‘Your sister was a forceful woman,’ he said.

Meg blinked. ‘Janine had a demanding job,’ she said stoutly, ‘full of responsibilities.’

Ellen saw where Challis was going, and also pushed. ‘Would you say she was happily married?’

Meg smoothed her thighs as though to dry her palms. ‘Of course!’

‘We heard that she was seeing someone,’ Challis lied.

A barely concealed flicker, the eyes shifting sideways. ‘She wouldn’t do that.’

Perhaps Meg meant that she wouldn’t do that, but couldn’t vouch for her sister, thought Challis. Meg clammed up then, visibly distressed, and they left, feeling small.