Snapshot

42

Challis had no choice but to release Lowry without charge. Later that Friday afternoon, the car repairer called to say that his Triumph was ready, so he swapped the loan car for it and returned to the station, where he called the last briefing before the weekend.

Outlining the results of the Lowry interview, he said, ‘We need more: warrants for his home and office phones-including any second-hand phones he may have in stock, and phones brought in for repair-and warrants to search his house, shop and car. We need a weapon, ammunition, or anything that will tie him to the murder. Meanwhile, the funeral’s on Saturday. Scobie, I want you to attend, photograph the mourners.’

‘Boss.’

Challis rubbed his palms together. ‘Getting back to Lowry. Ellen? Is he our man?’

Ellen shrugged. ‘Janine McQuarrie liked to confront people- mainly men-who she thought were abusive in some way. She liked to rub their faces in it. She went too far, confronted the wrong man. But was it Lowry? She pissed him off, but as he said, Hal, he was being interviewed by you on Tuesday morning, just before Janine was shot.’

Challis nodded. ‘But that doesn’t let him off the hook. He could have hired someone to do the job.’

They brooded. Scobie Sutton said, ‘Ellen’s right about the pattern to Janine’s behaviour. We know she confronted Lowry, and my wife has told me about similar incidents. By sending those photos to her husband and the others, Janine was being true to form.’

‘So who else did she confront,’ said one of the Mornington DCs, ‘and why, and in what way?’

Challis cleared his throat. ‘And were the photographs the first step, or was she following up an earlier, face-to-face confrontation?’

‘All four men seemed shocked and puzzled though, Hal,’ said Ellen.

‘True,’ said Challis, glancing at the uncurtained window. The day was closing in. They’d all be driving home in darkness. He said slowly, ‘Did she confront the super? Maybe Robert refused to be cowed by her, so she went to his father.’ They shifted uncomfortably at the thought of interviewing the super.

Later Challis was to refer to it as speak-of-the-devil. At that moment, McQuarrie appeared in the doorway of the incident room. Nostrils flared, he directed a hard bright smile at them one by one and said, ‘Inspector, sit down.’

‘Sir?’

‘I said sit,’ McQuarrie snarled.

Challis shrugged and complied. McQuarrie stood at the head of the long table and said, ‘Now, which one of you devious shits sent this to my son?’

He tossed an envelope onto the table. After a moment, Challis picked it up gingerly by the bottom corner and shook out the contents. McQuarrie said irritably, ‘You may put your dirty mitts on them, Inspector. They’re copies-or copies of copies. The lab has the material sent to my son.’

Even so, Challis sorted the contents with a pen: the familiar photograph of Robert McQuarrie, naked, his face in a rictus of pain or ecstasy, and a sheet of A4 paper with a ransom demand printed on it. He went cold; his mind raced.

‘My son stayed home today,’ McQuarrie said, ‘to be with his daughter, like any decent father, and found this, this garbage in the mail this afternoon. He came to me in tears-in tears-and showed it to me.’

The super glared and waited. No one spoke. ‘It might interest you to know,’ he went on, ‘that Robert and I have already talked through the admittedly unfortunate matter of his participation in the sex party scene, and the fact that Janine had been taking candid photographs and sending them anonymously to him and to other men. Talked it through yesterday. But now another photograph has been sent to my son, with a ransom demand, after Janine’s murder, so I can only conclude that someone in this room thought he-or she-could make a few dollars out of my son’s misery.’

He paused. ‘No one cares to comment? Your little ruse has backfired, backfired badly. Robert has admitted everything. He’s hidden nothing. Yes, he’s ashamed; yes, he knows his conduct was tawdry; but these so-called swinger parties were for consenting adults. We all make mistakes, and my son is man enough to face up to his. He swears that’s the end of it, and I believe him. Meanwhile he’s just lost his wife in the most appalling way-he loved her, despite the fact that she was taking these photographs-and he has a daughter who loves and depends on him. For Christ’s sake, the funeral’s tomorrow.’

McQuarrie had worked himself into a fine, livid rage. His spittle flecked the table. ‘We were given assurances that nothing would be leaked to the media or to other police, so someone in this room, or a friend of someone in this room, must have sent the latest letter. But if you or your friends think you’re going to get a cent out of us, you’re sadly mistaken.’

They were silent.

‘Well?’

Eventually Ellen stirred. ‘Sir, perhaps it was sent by Janine and got delayed in the post.’

‘Good try, Sergeant. It was sent by express post, guaranteeing next-day delivery, and lodged in Frankston yesterday afternoon.’

Challis read the blackmail demand again. Fourteen point bold: $10,000 or I place this on the Net. Expect a call.

‘Sir, I can vouch for everyone in this room.’

‘Bullshit, mister. The force is riddled with corrupt officers; don’t you read the papers? I intend to make a formal complaint to Ethical Standards against each and every one of you unless I get a confession right this minute.’

Challis looked around at them all, their affronted faces. He couldn’t see any of them being responsible for this. So it had to have stemmed from the theft of his laptop. He had to do the right thing by them.

And they would hate his guts as a result.

‘Sir, I think I know what happened.’

McQuarrie curled his lip. ‘I’m all ears.’

‘My house was burgled.’

McQuarrie pounced. ‘You took sensitive material home with you? From an active investigation?’

‘In a manner of speaking,’ Challis said, and he laid it out for them, glancing at them one by one, apologising but not asking to be absolved.

‘Your laptop?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘You should have reported it immediately.’

Ellen cut in. ‘He did report it, sir. To me. Constable Sutton and I have been investigating a series of burglaries, and this seemed to fit the pattern.’

‘But neither you nor Inspector Challis saw fit to report the theft to me.’

‘Sir, with respect, we recovered the stolen goods a couple of hours later. That incident yesterday, the stolen Toyota van that struck the woman on her horse…’

‘I’m aware of it.’ Some of McQuarrie s fire abated. ‘Presumably the burglars copied the files from your laptop, Inspector.’

‘Sir.’

McQuarrie stared at him for a long time. ‘I’d replace you in an eyeblink if you weren’t so far advanced on the murder. I don’t want a massive task force digging around, but I’ll form one if you’re not up to the job.’

Taken off the case, Challis thought. Another clichй. ‘We’re making good progress, sir,’ he said, his face and voice unreadable.

‘But afterwards, Inspector, afterwards…’

‘Sir.’

‘Find these burglars,’ McQuarrie said, and left.

Challis, heartsick, tried to apologise. They waved it off:

‘Forget it, boss.’

‘Wouldn’t be the first time someone took stuff home with them.’

Relieved, Challis said, ‘It’s late. Go on home.’