Whispering Death

27

The break-in at the Clare Valley house was reported to police on Thursday afternoon by a lawn-mowing contractor who’d spotted a smashed alarm box on one wall and a pane of glass leaning against another.

Now, Friday morning, Clare detectives were poking around, and when an AFP inspector named Towne arrived, Detective Constable Burke was given the task of liaison.

‘Like I told you, nothing much to see.’

Towne nodded, offered a huge smile that had nothing in it, and continued prowling, hands behind his back, peering at the ground. He was young for an inspector. Burke, trailing the man, was guessing university fast-track and all that crap. Being a federal task force hotshot was the second mark against him. The third was the guy’s appearance, effortlessly classy.

Burke saw Towne stop, crouch, stand and move on again. He sighed, tugging at his collar, feeling uncoordinated, his suit a rotten fit.

The show pony stopped again. He peered, straightened, said, ‘ Ah hah! ’ half mockingly.

‘What?’

Towne pointed down at the soil between a pair of stubby rose bushes. The roses were giddily perfumed, bees droned and Burke sneezed.

‘Gesundheit,’ Towne said.

Burke trumpeted into a handkerchief. ‘Footprints, so what? We took casts.’

‘Size elevens?’

‘Yeah.’

Towne nodded-he was a nodder-and moved on, glancing at the house now, veranda, windows and eaves. ‘Like I showed you,’ Burke said, ‘he used a glasscutter on the study window.’

‘Yes. But why didn’t the alarm sound?’

‘It probably did but he smashed it. We found a croquet mallet tossed under a bush.’

‘Not wired to the security company or local cop shop?’

‘No.’

‘The blessed ignorance of some people,’ said Towne, shaking his head.

Burke had had enough. ‘So what brings a man like you to our humble B and E?’

Towne ignored him, par for the course. Burke felt like smacking the guy over the ear hole. In his long experience, hotshots like Towne liked to keep you offside. Tell you everything was on a need-to-know basis-and of course someone like you didn’t need to know.

Towne walked on. Then he stopped and said, ‘I’ll need to see the logs for the three days prior to this incident.’

Incident. It was a fucking burglary that had tied up four officers for two days. ‘Looking for what, exactly?’

A car passed by on the dirt road, its suspension rattling. Then dust was pouring across the lawn towards them, Burke amused to see the AFP guy brush futilely as it settled onto the fine cloth of his suit.

‘Burglary logs,’ Towne said at last, blinking his eyes. ‘Break-ins, high-end and domestic, anywhere in the Clare Valley.’

‘You think he was active here for a few days?’

‘She,’ said Towne. ‘It’s what she does sometimes.’

‘A female suspect?’ said Burke, using the language of official reports. ‘Wearing size eleven shoes?’

But Towne was walking down the driveway, towards the road. Burke scurried a little to keep up.

‘Do you play golf, Sergeant?’ said Towne, tossing the words over his shoulder.

‘What?’

‘It’s good for all-round fitness.’

Burke’s loathing grew. He joined the federal policeman at the road’s edge. ‘What are you looking for?’

‘Trying to get a feel for her, that’s all,’ Towne said.

The wanky, outer reaches of police work, thought Burke. ‘Do we have a name? Description? MO?’

Towne closed and opened his eyes and suddenly looked deeply fatigued, vulnerable, hair poorly combed. He looked almost human for a moment. But it vanished.

‘She’s youngish and presumably very fit, given the kinds of stunts she pulls. Good at throwing us off the scent.’

‘The shoe prints,’ said Burke with dawning comprehension. ‘She shoves her shoes into larger shoes.’

‘Exactly.’

‘What else?’

Towne exhibited one of his abrupt mood shifts, spinning around and returning to the house. ‘Highly mobile.’

Burke hurried after him. ‘She gets around?’

‘One month she’ll hit a gated community on the Gold Coast, the next a few houses on the Swan River, the next some heritage houses in Battery Point, and so on. Every state, so far, except Victoria.’

Burke brooded on that. ‘Could mean that’s where she lives.’

It was clear from Andrew Towne’s body language exactly what he thought of this observation. A hick observation. Made by a hick.

But then the federal policeman went very still, looking at Burke with a smoky, hellish darkness in his eyes. ‘What did you just say?’