Whispering Death

5

Hal Challis was stroking Ellen Destry’s bare feet, thinking how shapely they were, and how much he was going to miss them over the next eight weeks.

Noon, an early lunch on the deck of her house before the taxi came to collect her. Five p.m. flight to London with a stopover in Singapore, so she needed to be at Melbourne Airport by three. Allowing ninety minutes for the taxi ride-covered by her study grant-she’d need to leave by 1.30. Plenty of time for lunch in the sun.

They’d already had the quickie.

Challis kneaded an instep absently. Ellen’s feet seemed light in his lap. He admired the fine down on her legs, the taut length of her calves. She was watching him with a drowsy smile, so he halted his gaze at the hem of her shorts and admired the view beyond her side veranda.

Ellen had bought this house in Dromana, on the southern slope of Arthurs Seat, two months ago. He could see why she liked living here. Small, shaded houses on narrow, sleepy streets, some sealed, others no more than potholed dirt tracks marked ‘no through road’. The bay visible between the houses and trees further down the slope. A village atmosphere, with shops at the bottom of the hill and the beach close by for her morning walk. And the freeway only a quick couple of blocks away.

But it wasn’t a place he could live in-not that either of them wanted that. But they did want each other, so it was all right. A modern arrangement, some nights spent together at his place or at hers, others spent apart.

‘You could fly to Europe with me,’ she said.

‘I could.’

No he couldn’t. Spend eight weeks as a tag-along boyfriend while she studied regional sex crimes policing in the UK, Ireland and parts of Germany, France and Holland? Ellen busy with her European colleagues during the day and writing up her notes at night, while he trudged over the hard flagstones of one cathedral after another?

It was only for two months. He had ongoing criminal investigations and junior detectives to oversee, and anyway he’d rather travel with Ellen when they both had time off.

‘But I know you won’t,’ she said.

He gave her a sweet, tired smile. They would talk often, as close to face-to-face as you could get with a webcam.

A seed pod dropped from one of her garden trees and bounced off the bonnet of his Triumph, which was parked in her driveway. Watching his gaze shift to it, Ellen said, ‘Why don’t you use my car for the duration?’

His TR4 was uncomfortable and frequently unreliable, and she said so now, again.

‘Or,’ she added, ‘surprise me while I’m away and buy yourself a new car.’

He’d already thought he might do that, in fact. ‘Am I someone who doesn’t surprise you?’

She jumped from her chair and onto his lap. ‘God, Hal, constant surprises, most of them welcome.’

‘I thought a BMW.’

‘Another surprise.’ She paused. ‘Though I’m not sure I could be with someone who drives a BMW.’

They kissed and the weather-rotted fabric of his deck chair began to tear under their weight. They stood and surveyed the damage. ‘I’ll fix it while you’re away. New canvas, upholstery tacks…’

Not only that: her lawn was no better than a patch of dirt and dry grass, the decking needed a couple of coats of stain, several windows were stuck, the TV antenna resembled a kite caught in a tree, and weeds grew in the gutters. He gazed at the outside walls: new paint job.

She gave him a complicated look. ‘I don’t want…You’ll have plenty…’ she said, trying to find her meaning.

He knew. She didn’t want him to be her knight in shiny armour, didn’t want to be beholden. By the same token, he didn’t want to throw himself into doing everything for her. It was complicated. The relationship was new, and they were still drawing lines in the sand, in an amiable kind of way.

As if to dispel any hint of tension, she came to him, wrapped him close so that he felt the beat of her heart. ‘I’m going to miss you.’

‘Me, too.’ He paused. ‘I could come to the airport.’

She shook her head under his chin. ‘Please don’t, I couldn’t bear it, all that hanging around. Besides, Larrayne will be there.’

Ellen’s daughter was at university now, but still a little hostile around Challis. ‘Okay.’

‘Sighs of relief all around.’

They fetched two kitchen chairs and Ellen lowered her feet back into his lap. ‘How will you spend the weekend?’ She sounded as if she needed to know he wouldn’t be miserable with her gone.

‘I thought I’d make tentative steps to sell the Dragon.’

‘Good.’

‘Really?’

In her practical way she said, ‘Look, I thought it was great you were restoring an old aeroplane. Totally un-cop like. But I can see your heart isn’t in it anymore.’

Challis was relieved. ‘My interest seemed to evaporate the moment I tightened the last screw.’

She nodded. ‘How do you sell an aeroplane?’

‘I thought maybe a broker. There’s a man called Warren Niekirk, deals in vintage planes.’

‘A local?’

‘Yes.’

‘That’s handy.’ She looked at her watch. ‘I’d better change.’

But she didn’t move. An explosive racket drove the birds from the trees and Challis glanced across at the neighbouring house. Two women lived there, gardeners at the maze on Arthurs Seat, each with a bikie boyfriend, and one of the boyfriends was firing up his Harley Davidson.

‘The music of the suburbs,’ Challis said. ‘Do they know you’re police?’

‘Don’t think so.’

His phone rang. He stared at it, sitting there on Ellen’s warped veranda table, and willed it to stop.

‘I hate your ring tone.’

‘What’s wrong with it?’

‘It’s the same as that woman’s in Love, Actually.’

‘What woman?’

‘The one with the mad brother.’

Challis couldn’t remember the film or the ring tone. He wasn’t someone who had favourite films. Ellen was. On her reckoning, she’d seen Love, Actually a million times.

He pressed the talk button. ‘Challis.’

‘Boss, we’ve got a rape,’ Pam Murphy said.

And Ellen Destry, about to jet off and learn how to deal with rape cases, read his face and swung her graceful feet to the floor.