‘Never saw any person or vehicle in Quarterhorse Lane that shouldn’t have been there?’
‘No. Or rather-’
‘Yes?’
‘I was once followed by someone.’
‘Go on.’
‘You must know about it. It’s been in the papers.’
Sutton frowned. What was the stupid cow on about? ‘What, Mrs Riggs?’
She turned to him, her back rigid, her nose tipped back as though to avoid catching his scent. ‘Road rage, of course.’
‘Road rage,’ Challis said.
‘This fellow thought that I’d cut him off, and he followed me all the way home.’
‘But what did that have to do with Miss Macris?’
‘Obviously I didn’t want the fellow to know where I lived.’
Scobie still didn’t get it. ‘So?’
But Challis did. He stared with distaste at Stella Riggs. ‘You didn’t drive to your own house, you drove to Clara Macris’s house.’
‘Yes.’
‘You thought if there was going to be trouble later, then it would be she who copped it.’
‘I must protest. It wasn’t nearly so calculated as that. I-’
‘Many road rage incidents involve quite considerable violence. Clara Macris may be dead because of you.’
For the first time, Stella Riggs’s composure began to break. ‘I didn’t think-’
‘No, you didn’t.’
She shrieked, ‘I turned into her driveway hoping the policeman would be there, or if he wasn’t then he could be fetched to help me.’
Challis closed his eyes. He opened them again and said gently, ‘Then what happened?’
‘The man following me drove past the front gate, then turned around and drove away again, so I left.’
‘You didn’t see or speak to Miss Macris?’
‘No.’
‘What did he look like, this man?’
‘Two men.’
‘Two men. Would you recognise them if you saw them again?’
‘The driver had short hair and wore a singlet, that’s all I can tell you. He looked like a labourer. The other fellow was smaller.’
‘And the vehicle?’
‘It was a Mitsubishi Pajero.’
Challis sat back. ‘A Pajero.’
She sounded almost proud. ‘My late husband drove one for many years. That’s how I know.’
Sutton said, ‘What colour?’
‘Maroon, from memory.’
‘What more can you tell us about it?’
Stella Riggs got up and crossed the room to the mantelpiece above the fireplace. ‘I jotted down the registration. Yes, here it is.’
On their way out, Sutton said, ‘She killed her, didn’t she?’
‘As good as,’ Challis said.
When Pam Murphy knocked on Challis’s door, half an hour later, she was tentative, wondering if he’d be distracted and dismissive.
‘Sir, I heard you talking in the car. You think whoever was driving the Pajero might have come back and killed Clara Macris.’
The inspector switched his attention fully on to her. ‘It’s possible. Do you have something?’
She told him about the litter that she’d bagged where the Pajero had been torched.
‘You did this off your own bat?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Bottles, cans, and what else? Cigarette packets?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘You didn’t handle them?’
‘Picked them up with my pen, sir.’
‘Where are they now? Evidence locker?’
Pam squirmed. ‘My own locker, sir.’
‘Damn.’
‘Sir?’
Challis looked up at her, faintly irritable. ‘We require a clear chain of physical evidence if we’re to use it in court. Anything you find at the scene of a crime must be logged in officially and immediately. If the chain is broken, the evidence, in effect, is tainted, even if it hasn’t been touched by anyone else.’
‘Sorry, sir.’
‘What were you thinking?’
‘Well, sir, I wasn’t supposed to be at the scene and I felt a bit stupid, Tank-Constable Tankard, sir-slagging off at me for wasting my time. And it was near the end of the shift and we had a lot on our plate…’
Challis gestured. ‘It’s all right, Constable. At least we can see if we’ve got any prints worth using. If we’re lucky, they’ll match prints already on record. If they do, then it’s a matter of leaning hard or finding other evidence we can use in court.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘So, get it all over to the lab. I’ll tell them to give it priority.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘How old was the stuff you picked up? Had it been there for long?’
‘I left the really old stuff, sir.’
Tessa Kane waited at the front desk for almost an hour before Challis appeared. She saw his face shut down the moment he recognised her. He looked tired. Pushing the hair away from his forehead distractedly, he said, ‘I’ll see if I can find us an empty office.’
‘It’s all right. I’m just dropping this off.’
She handed him a letter and then an envelope, in separate freezer bags. ‘It was in the box this morning. I tried to contact you earlier, but you were busy.’
He said, without looking at her, ‘That’s right.’
They were both looking at the letter in his hands. ‘Our man sounds resentful,’ Challis said.
Tessa leaned against him fleetingly. ‘He wants to be on the front page again.’
After a while, Challis said, ‘Thanks, Tess,’ and made to go.
‘Hal, can’t we start again?’
Later, as Challis bumped along the narrow track to his front gate, Tessa Kane hard behind him in her Saab, he was forced to brake to avoid a massive structure ahead of him, one edge protruding a little into his path, the other filling the side gate to his neighbour’s vineyard. It was a superphosphate bin, chalky white in the evening light, sitting high on metal struts. Another country lane stranger to add to his list: top-dressing contractor. He’d already thought of a further two since leaving Waterloo. Horse trainer. Red Cross collector.
He stopped thinking about it. It was all academic, anyway. They had to find who wanted Clara Macris dead,
