Pam mused on that. ‘Is Ledwich a suspect in the highway killings?’
‘He was, then he wasn’t, and now he is again.’
‘How come?’
‘One, he’s on the sex offenders list. Two, his alibis are weak. Three, thanks to our burglars we now know that he owns a four-wheel drive-or did, until they torched it for him.’
‘Pity about that. Now you can’t check it for forensic evidence.’
‘I told Challis you were on the ball.’
Pam rolled her jaw a little. ‘Thank you, sir.’
‘Something wrong with your mouth? Toothache? Take it from me, don’t leave it and hope it’ll go away. See a dentist straight away. I had a bad toothache once, I was in court all week, couldn’t do a thing about it except stuff myself with painkillers. When I was finally called to give evidence, the defence walked all over me. Couldn’t think straight.’
‘I got clipped by a surfboard, sir.’
He stared at her. ‘You’re kidding me. You surf?’
‘Learning to.’
‘Huh.’
They found Ledwich on a stepladder, erecting a sensor light on the corner of his lockup garage. He climbed down, wiping his hands on an oily rag. ‘You can’t be too careful.’
‘Can’t you?’ Pam said.
If she disliked the look of a man, she’d stare disbelievingly, to rattle him. She saw it work on Ledwich. There was something oily about him.
‘We were wondering, Lance,’ Sutton said, taking out his notebook, ‘whether you wouldn’t mind reconsidering one of the answers you gave me the other day.’
‘Which one?’
‘The one that went: No, I don’t own another motor vehicle.’
Ledwich flushed sullenly. ‘My sister. Stupid bitch.’
‘Why should she get into trouble over you, Lance?’
‘Look, it was unregistered, I’m not allowed to drive for another twelve months, she’s got a good garage, so I thought, why not store it at her place.’
‘Your heart must really be broken.’
‘Why?’
‘Your pride and joy, stolen and trashed like that.’
‘Oh, yeah,’ Ledwich said, as though he’d just remembered to grieve for it.
‘You don’t seem too upset, sir,’ Pam said.
‘Well, you know, insurance’ll cover it.’
‘Are you sure about that?’
Ledwich faltered. ‘Won’t they?’
Sutton said, ‘Did you pay someone to do it for you, Lance?’
‘Do what?’
‘Steal and burn your Pajero.’
‘Christ no.’
‘It’s a fair assumption.’
‘I don’t follow.’
‘Fibres from the dead girls inside the Pajero, the police checking tyres, only a matter of time before you got caught out. You must’ve been panicking, needed to get rid of the evidence in a hurry.’
‘You’re clutching at straws, mate.’
He was too cocky, as though some of his cares had been laid to rest recently. Pam found the nerve to say, ‘Let’s assume you’re the victim here, Mr Ledwich. Was there anything in particular about your Pajero that might explain why it was stolen, or anything that might help us identify who took it? Accessories, CD player, items left inside it, that kind of thing?’
Ledwich wiped his palms again. ‘No. I got nothing to hide.’
Now, that was an odd response. Pam pushed it: ‘No-one suggested you had, Mr Ledwich.’
‘You lot are acting like you’re more interested in my car than who took it. I mean, Jesus.’
‘He’s wound up,’ Pam said later.
‘Definitely hiding something.’
They questioned the neighbours, then drove to the scene of the aggravated burglary. The Fairmont-traced to an elderly widower in Waterloo-had been towed away. Fire and insurance investigators were there, but not the owners, who were still resting in hospital. Pam walked through the house while Sutton talked to one of the stable hands. The damage was minimal, she realised, some scorching and a patina of soot and smoke, so that, with imagination, she was able to picture the rooms as they’d been before the fire. A vulgar hand had decorated the place. It was as if she were looking at an interior design magazine in a doctor’s waiting room, one fussy room blending into another, so that they seemed oddly familiar to her.
Ellen got in late after a fruitless morning interviewing other names on the sex offenders list. She was surprised to see Rhys Hartnett’s Jeep at the courthouse, and after locking her car, crossed the driveway to find him. He was unloading wall vents. ‘Hi,’ she said, startling him.
‘Hi.’
‘We’ll have to stop meeting like this.’
He frowned and rolled his shoulders, as though she’d come too close and should back off.
‘You should give yourself some time off, Rhys,’ she said.
He shrugged. ‘If I don’t get this job done I’ll miss out on other contracts.’
Ellen realised that she hadn’t accounted for his finishing at the courthouse and going elsewhere. It would leave a hole in her life. She hadn’t discussed the matter further with Alan and Larrayne, but she found herself saying, ‘Speaking of which, I’ve decided to accept your quote.’
He stopped what he was doing and looked at her carefully. ‘That’s okay with your husband?’
‘It’s my money.’
‘Just out of interest, what did the other companies quote?’
She looked down briefly and toed the gravel with her shoe. ‘I didn’t actually approach anyone else.’
‘To set your mind at rest,’ he said, ‘the reason why I’ve always got work is because I quote low.’
‘I can give you a cash deposit,’ she said. ‘Would that help?’
‘Help me with the tax man.’ He held up both hands. ‘Whoops, forget I said that.’
‘We all have hassles with the tax man, Rhys.’
‘Yep. Look, a deposit won’t be necessary. Pay me at the end.’
Ellen thought: What a stupid conversation. He must think I’m stupid. It’s because we don’t know each other. We stand here out in the open when we should be in a quiet corner somewhere.
‘What do you say to lunch in the pub?’ she said, careful to keep it light.
He looked at her for a long moment, then glanced at the ground. ‘Now?’
‘Give me ten minutes.’
‘See you then,’ he said.
Pam Murphy came back with Scobie Sutton to find John Tankard waiting for her in the passenger seat of the divisional van.
‘Sucking up to CIB, Pammy?’
She ignored him and drove the van to the Sunday market in the car park opposite the Waterloo tennis courts. There had never been reports of stolen goods on sale, but still the police were obliged to make a walk-through of
