drove in, and he called her name as she locked her car. She didn’t want to seem too eager, and was pleased when it was he who moved first, stepping over the line of driveway shrubs and toward her.
‘Another early start?’
‘No rest for the wicked,’ she said, feeling immediately that she’d said something inane.
They chatted for a while. Then he fished for a square of paper that had been folded into his overalls and shook it out. ‘This was on my windscreen when I knocked off yesterday.’
She hadn’t seen this particular one before: BEEN HASSLED BY TANKARD AND VAN ALPHEN? DON’T LET THE FASCISTS GET AWAY WITH IT. REGISTER A COMPLAINT. DO IT NOW.
She passed it back. ‘Nothing to worry about.’
‘What’s it about?’
You were loyal to the job, your fellow members. Ellen Destry didn’t particularly like Tankard and van Alphen, but still, she didn’t know Rhys Hartnett, even if she did find him nice to look at and think about, so she said, ‘The world’s full of aggrieved people.’
He said darkly, ‘There’s a youngish bloke, big beer gut. He pulled me over when I first come here, did the full roadworthy on the van. Treated me like I was scum.’
‘Let’s just say a couple of my colleagues are a bit over-enthusiastic,’ Ellen said.
Rhys waved the leaflet. ‘Sounds like they’re getting people’s backs up.’
‘Rhys, about tomorrow. I should give you directions. Penzance Beach is a bit of a maze.’
And she rattled off directions, as you tend to do, even as he said he knew the Peninsula, and had a street directory.
He grinned, not listening, until she’d finished. ‘Look forward to it.’
She went in and found an envelope on her desk. Preliminary report on the tyre cast.
Challis stood before the wall map and said, ‘I’d like to welcome officers from Mornington and Rosebud. It’s good to have you on board. Most of you know one another already. If you see someone you don’t know, introduce yourselves after the briefing.
‘Now, to recapitulate. Two young women murdered, and a letter, which we think is genuine, promising another. Kymbly Abbott left a party in Frankston on the night of 12 December, was seen hitchhiking at the start of the Old Peninsula Highway, and was found raped and strangled by the side of the road early the next morning. Just under a week later, on the night of 17 December, the VAA recorded a call from a Jane Gideon, whose car had broken down outside a produce stall on the Old Peninsula Highway. The tape indicated the presence of someone else, Gideon was not there when police and the VAA mechanic arrived, and her body was found on Wednesday, dumped by the edge of the Devil Bend reservoir.’
Challis paused to sip from his coffee. He let his gaze take in Ellen Destry’s detectives and each of the new officers. He gazed at them calmly. He had no idea what they thought of him. He didn’t care. But he wanted them to know that the investigation was his, and that they were all equal in his eyes.
‘What have we got to go on? Very little. Indications that our man wears gloves, probably latex, the kind used by people who handle food, and therefore easily obtainable and that he uses condoms.
‘We’ve found traces of cotton and other fabrics on Abbott and Gideon, but some of those are likely to be innocent, and those that aren’t innocent are no good to us if our man burnt his clothing after each murder. His caution in other regards suggests that he might.
‘Abbott and Gideon were dumped. We don’t know what traces from the murder scene may have been transferred with their bodies because we don’t know if our man kills inside a house or a vehicle or somewhere else. But we do know they weren’t killed where they were abducted, out in the open, for the only signs of dirt or grass found on the bodies came from where they were found.
‘Now, the victims. They have in common that they were young, unaccompanied women, and abducted on the Old Peninsula Highway at night. We’ve found nothing to suggest that they knew each other, and I think we can say that they didn’t know their killer.’
He paused. ‘All we have is a set of off-road tyre tracks from the vehicle that must have dumped Jane Gideon. Ellen can tell us more.’
He saw her cough, as though he’d caught her with her attention wandering. ‘We found identical twin tracks- from the rear tyres if he backed in, and presumably he did to make dumping the body easier-and they’ve been identified as Coopers, an American tyre, this particular one an off-road tyre, quite distinctive, and rather uncommon in this country.’
A Rosebud detective said, ‘Ellen, I’ve seen utes with off-road tyres.’
Others murmured their agreement.
Challis stepped in. ‘But try to think your way inside his skin. He snatches a young woman, subdues her, and needs to hide her. He’s not going to hide her on the front or rear seats. Too risky. And if he were driving a utility, would he risk putting her in the tray, under the tarp or a blanket or a few old bags? I can’t see it, myself.’
‘A ute with canvas sides and roof,’ someone said.
‘Yes, possibly,’ Challis said, ‘but that would entail getting out of the cab and walking around to the rear, and when he dumped Gideon he didn’t leave footprints. The only footprints we found at the scene belong to the kids who found her. My gut feeling is, our man tossed the body out from the rear of his vehicle, and did it without alighting from the vehicle itself, suggesting a four-wheel drive or similar, with rear-opening doors.
‘But keep an open mind,’ he went on. ‘Now, prevention. You’ve probably observed lately that a mild panic has settled over the community. Many women are scared, and who can blame them? That’s going to make it more difficult for our man to operate. Maybe he’ll shut down, maybe he’ll move to another part of the Peninsula-but everyone’s wary, not just here in Waterloo. Maybe he’ll move interstate and become someone else’s headache, but that doesn’t mean we stop investigating what he’s been getting up to here. I’ve found similar cases interstate, so maybe he’s been active before, but we’re going back ten years or so, and the details are sketchy and it’s hard to recognise a pattern unless you’re looking for one.
‘Any questions?’
Scobie Sutton had been tapping his long teeth with a pen. ‘That Land Cruiser we saw at the Saltmarsh house.’
Challis turned to Ellen Destry, who shook her head, saying, ‘Different brand, different rim size. The Cooper we want fits a 235-75-15 rim, meaning a smaller vehicle, like a Jackaroo or a Pajero.’
‘And not a Volvo station wagon?’
‘No. Ledwich’s in the clear.’
‘And we have to ask ourselves,’ Challis put in, ‘whether or not a man like Ledwich-essentially a coward who relies on knock-out drugs and deception-is capable of graduating to the kind of violence and risk-taking needed to snatch young women from a public highway.’
Sutton slumped. They all did, a little.
Danny Holsinger finished work at 1 p.m., went home, pulled off his T-shirt and jeans, which were dusty and damp from his morning on the recycling truck, and stood under the shower for ten minutes. Just the thought of Megan Stokes made him tug on his tackle, his mother on the other side of the door, screaming, ‘You going to be in there all day?’
‘Ah, get stuffed, you old bitch.’
‘Don’t you talk to me like that.’
He waited. Nothing more. His mother slagged off at him just to keep in practice. He towelled himself dry and pulled on shorts, a T-shirt and sandals. Poofter gear, yuppie gear, he privately thought, but it was humid out and Megan had given him the gear as a present a few weeks earlier and he needed to keep in her good books.
He found her in a shifty mood. Wouldn’t look him in the eye, half-ducked away from his kiss. ‘Check out the shorts, Meeg,’ he said.
‘You look good in them,’ she said absently.
‘How’s the backpack?’
‘Oh, good.’
