‘Does it tally with what my granddaughter told you?’
‘Yes.’
‘I suppose that’s something.’
Challis waited.
‘You’re treating this information seriously?’
‘I’m treating it as having potential, sir,’ said Challis carefully. ‘I’ll submit it to standard investigative procedures, as I would any information.’
That last sentence sounded clumsy in his mouth, as if he’d swallowed one of McQuarrie’s memos.
‘Good. Anything else makes us look inept, as if we’re clutching at straws.’ McQuarrie paused. ‘But getting back to this rag of yours.’
‘Rag?’
‘The Progress. There have been rumblings.’
When McQuarrie failed to elaborate, Challis said, ‘What rumblings, sir, and what do they have to do with me?’
McQuarrie sat back in his chair and touched his fingertips together. Everything about the man is staged, a clichй, Challis thought, as McQuarrie said, ‘It’s felt, in certain quarters, that Ms Kane has been overstepping the mark.’
McQuarrie paused, but this time Challis didn’t fill the silence. He gazed at the superintendent, forcing the man to elaborate.
‘The material she chooses to publish is divisive, and potentially libellous.’
McQuarrie stopped. Challis said, ‘Since when is that a police matter, sir? Has there been a formal complaint of actual wrongdoing?’
‘It’s a police matter,’ McQuarrie snarled, ‘when a senior officer has an affair with the editor and passes sensitive information to her.’
Challis felt a pulse of anger, quick and hot, and it must have shown in his eyes, for McQuarrie swallowed and braced himself in his chair.
‘Don’t do anything you’ll later regret, Hal.’
Challis’s voice, when he found it, was a low, dangerous rasp. ‘My private life is no one’s concern but my own. As for police matters, I would never jeopardise an investigation. Never.’
‘But she’s your girlfriend. You pass things on to her.’
‘No,’ said Challis. ‘Sir, what’s this about?’
‘The Progress hasn’t always been a friend of the police,’ McQuarrie said, ‘but we’ll leave that aside.’ He seemed to search for the words. ‘I was wondering if you could have a quiet word with Ms Kane.’
Something about McQuarrie’s wet mouth and eyes then said nudge nudge, wink wink, as if he were offering Challis a blokey endorsement for having sex with Tessa, for what might be said in bed before, during and after love play.
Challis stood. ‘With respect, sir, you’re not listening to me, and I have better things to do.’
His head was pounding when he reached the foyer of the police station. He felt enraged, fretful, impotent, and didn’t trust himself to remain in the building. He hadn’t eaten and his blood sugar was low. He threaded blindly through the people waiting for service at the front desk, intending to make his way to Cafй Laconic and its coffee and focaccias, when he heard footsteps and felt a tug on his sleeve.
‘Hal,’ beseeched the super, ‘I need your help.’
47
That same Monday afternoon, Pam Murphy sat across an interview room table from Alan Destry and an Ethical Standards sergeant, and imagined herself running a marathon, gaining on the leaders. It’s a murderous run, not for the faint-hearted. One by one the runners withdraw, exhausted. She comes upon Destry. He’s gasping, thirsty, crippled by cramp, severe asphalt scrapes on his knees and palms. ‘Help me,’ he wheezes.
She smiles without any warmth at all and runs on by.
‘Constable Murphy?’ he said. ‘You with us?’
Pam blinked. She sat erect and waited.
Suddenly he opened a folder and dealt a dozen photographs across the table.
‘The scene of the accident,’ he said. ‘The fatality.’
Twin fatalities, Pam thought, if you include the horse. She leaned forward and glanced at the photographs one by one. As well as the horse, the rider, the ruined fence and the overturned Toyota van, there were several shots of the road itself and the grassy verge between it and the ruined fence. Plenty of skid marks, paint scrapes and gouges in the grass.
There was a digital recorder and playback machine at Destry’s elbow. His finger hovered over a button. ‘I have here a recording from D24, the police radio control and communications centre,’ he said. ‘I have listened to it.’
He seemed to be waiting for her to panic, begin justifying the high speeds reached, or her tactics in the little Mazda sports car. She stared at him neutrally. The Ethical Standards guy, she noticed, was fidgeting, frowning.
‘Well?’
Pam shrugged. ‘I have nothing to fear. I did everything by the book.’
Don’t let him bully you, Ellen had said.
‘Why don’t you tell me in your own words what happened.’
‘I did that on Thursday.’
‘Since then,’ he snarled, ‘you and Constable Tankard have had time to get your stories straight, time to whitewash what happened.’
‘Not true,’ said Pam calmly. She wiped her damp palms on her thighs. The Ethicals guy was cocking his head at Alan Destry.
Encouraged, Pam said, ‘Play the tape. I reported speed and traffic conditions, and-’
‘Your pursuit controller ordered you to abandon the pursuit, is that correct?’
‘Yes.’
‘And did you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Yet you were on the scene in seconds. In fact, you saw it happen. I quote from the tape: “He’s come to grief. We’re with the vehicle, near where Penzance Beach Road passes Myers Reserve.” Do you recall saying that?’
‘Yes.’
‘You went on to say: “Get an ambo…It doesn’t look good.” Correct?’
‘Yes.’
‘Doesn’t look good,’ Alan Destry repeated, staring at her. ‘What do you mean by that? That you stuffed up?’
‘No. It means that we’d witnessed a possible fatality.’
‘You called for an ambulance and the helicopter?’
‘Yes.’
‘But not immediately.’
‘I chased the driver of the Toyota across the paddock.’
‘Answer the question put to you, not the question you’d like to be asked.’
‘I didn’t immediately call the ambulance, no.’
‘Did you examine the horse and rider before, or after, giving chase to the driver of the van?’
Pam swallowed. ‘After.’
‘How soon after? One minute? Ten?’
Pam didn’t want to shift the blame or get John Tankard into unnecessary trouble, but he had been there. ‘Constable Tankard attended to the woman riding the horse while I tried to chase the driver on foot. I gave up after one minute. The driver had a head start and had disappeared into the nature reserve.’
‘The rider died at the scene?’
‘Yes.’
‘Were you trying to intercept the Toyota?’
Pam blinked at the change in direction. ‘No. We held back.’
‘Yet the Toyota struck horse and rider, suggesting the driver was speeding and panicking.’
‘We held back at all times.’
The Ethical Standards officer leaned forward, suddenly lean and hungry. ‘You know what the lawyer hired by the dead woman’s family is going to argue at the inquest, and afterwards when they sue the police, don’t you? That you and Constable Tankard were negligent, if not reckless, in continuing to follow the van.’
Pam swallowed. She didn’t have a friend in the guy after all. ‘The chase had been formally abandoned, sir. We were merely shadowing the van, monitoring its movements, as ordered.’
‘The dead woman’s family is already making noises to the effect that the Office of Public Prosecutions should consider laying charges against you and Constable Tankard-on top of their talk of suing the force.’
‘What charges, may I ask?’
‘Culpable driving or reckless conduct endangering life.’
‘The pursuit controller abandoned the chase, sir. Our presence was necessary in case the suspect vehicle doubled back.’
Alan Destry looked at her with a faint curl of his lip. ‘Was that discussed over the air with the controller?’
‘No.’
‘No. You took it upon yourselves?’
‘I thought the police service valued initiative?’
‘Don’t get smart, constable.’
‘No, sir.’
The look he gave her then was personal, and spoke volumes about his grievances and paranoia. At one level, he was doing his job, but mainly he was scoring points-against me? she wondered. Against his wife?