got off a shot that sent a stone chip into his face. Blood coursed down his forehead, blurring his right eye. He swiped at it with his forearm and another shot smacked numbingly through the wooden club. He lay afraid and very still, and then began to retreat again. If he could reach the far rim of the plateau, he might be able to try an outflanking manoeuvre.
The next shot creased his ear and he pissed his pants. None of his nerve endings would let him alone. He trembled, tics developing in his face, and the blood dripped onto the dust, balling there. He supposed he was sobbing aloud, he didn’t know, but retreated in a mad scramble from the hut until he found a stone refuge, where the rocks were grey and licheny, weathered and streaked with bird shit. It was a good place. He huddled there and, in his visions, Lisa Joyce appeared above him and shot him like a fish in a barrel.
Dimly then he heard a starter motor grinding. He risked a look: Lisa was in the Jeep. That galvanised Challis. He charged forward, making for the Range Rover and Rex Joyce’s hunting rifle.
Instantly Lisa stepped out of the Jeep. Challis was barely halfway to the Range Rover. He ducked and swerved, but she merely stood with her arms wide to the world. ‘I haven’t got any bullets left.’
Challis halted tensely. ‘Then drop the rifle.’
‘I haven’t got any bullets left.’
‘So put the rifle down.’
‘It was all Rex’s fault.’
‘Lisa, drop the rifle.’
Challis advanced, and Lisa stood there with the rifle outstretched.
‘Drop it, okay?’
‘None of it was my idea.’
Still Challis advanced. He reached the Range Rover, leaned in and retrieved the hunting rifle from between Rex Joyce’s legs. He jacked a round into the breech, then emerged from the shelter of the vehicle, blinking furiously to clear his bloodied eye, the rifle to his shoulder. ‘Lisa, I’m warning you.’
‘I suddenly said to myself, what am I doing, shooting at Hal?’
Challis stopped, the rifle aimed squarely at her, and said quietly, ‘Lisa, are you listening to me? Do you understand what I’m saying? Please put the rifle down.’
Lisa grinned and deftly slapped the rifle from one hand to the other and up to her shoulder. Challis shot her legs out from under her.
She screamed and rolled in the dirt. ‘Ow! You shot me!’
‘Yes.’
She tossed in agony, raging at him. Challis retrieved her rifle, ejected the magazine and checked the breech. She’d had one bullet left.
‘I didn’t think you’d shoot me!’
‘In a heartbeat,’ Challis said.
She began to cry and swear and deride him. He found a handkerchief and wiped the blood from his eye, then crouched beside her. ‘Shut up,’ he said, tearing off one of his sleeves.
‘It hurts!’
‘You’ll live.’
He bound her leg and then sat, depleted, not thinking about anything at all but feeling the weariest he’d ever felt. And then a surprising contentment settled in him. He tilted his face to the sun and adjusted his body to the pebbly dust as if he were part of the landscape. Finally Sergeant Wurfel’s Land Cruiser appeared over the rim of the plateau like a breaching whale.
58
Ellen pushed her food away, barely touched. ‘Let’s go back and see if we have a result on Billy’s prints.’
They returned to the station, taking the back stairs to CIU, checking the incident room first. Only John Tankard was there, pecking at a computer keyboard. He didn’t see them.
Ellen closed her office door carefully and called the lab. ‘What?’ said Pam afterwards, seeing the expression on her face.
‘The fake Billy is in the system. The prints we lifted from the drink cans in the Victim Suite belong to a Kenneth Lloyd.’
She logged on to her computer. She knew what she was about to do would generate an electronic record, but would Kellock be checking for that? Had he flagged Lloyd’s name? She had to risk it.
She typed, her hands flying over the keys. Soon Lloyd’s face and record filled the screen. ‘That’s him, all right,’ said Ellen. ‘The false Billy DaCosta.’
She scrolled down. ‘Charged with inappropriate sexual behaviour when he was fifteen. Two arrests for soliciting last year.’ She stopped, then looked up at Pam, who was peering over her shoulder. ‘Arresting officer, Senior Sergeant Kellock.’ She peered at the screen again. ‘Charges were reduced. Rap over the knuckles.’
‘Kellock’s influence?’
‘Probably.’
There was an address for Lloyd. Ellen tapped her finger on the screen. ‘I know this place. Gideon House. It’s a kind of shelter for homeless kids. Let’s see if our boy’s at home.’
Pam shuddered. ‘I don’t hold much hope of that, Sarge. Either Kellock has topped him or given him a thousand bucks to make himself scarce.’
‘We have to try.’
Ellen used her office phone, for its number was blocked. She heard it ring, and then a voice came on. ‘Gideon House.’
‘Please, I’m going out of my mind,’ said Ellen, her voice whiny and adolescent. ‘I’m tryin’ a find me brother. He’s run off
Behind her, Pam snorted. The voice said, ‘I’m afraid we can’t give out the names of our clients.’
‘I’m really, really worried about him. Mum’s desperate. His name’s Ken Lloyd. We call him Kenny.’
There was an assessing silence. ‘Well, I guess it’s all right. He was here, but he left.’
‘Did he say where he was going?’
‘Look,’ said the voice, ‘I’ll put Mrs Kellock on the line. She’s the supervisor here. Please hold.’
Ellen hurriedly cut the connection. Pam saw the tightening of her face. ‘Sarge?’
Shaken, Ellen looked up at Pam and said, ‘I was asked to hold for the supervisor-whose name is Mrs Kellock.’
Pam sat, her face etched in a kind of fierce concentration. ‘Hell, Sarge.’
‘It could be a coincidence,’ Ellen said, ‘another Mrs Kellock entirely. Or she doesn’t know what her husband’s been up to.’
‘Come on, Sarge, it all holds together. That’s how these guys get their victims.’
Ellen’s desk phone rang. She stared at it in consternation, then answered it. ‘Hello?’
A familiar voice said, ‘Sergeant Destry. I was hoping you’d be in.’
‘Mr Riggs, my favourite forensic tech,’ said Ellen, trying not to let her tension show, and failing.
‘No need to be snide.’
‘Good news, or bad?’ said Ellen. ‘Maybe you’re ringing to tell me you’ve sacked all of your incompetents and our DNA evidence is solid after all?’
The silence was hurt and sulky. ‘Well, if you don’t want to hear this…’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Ellen, meaning it. ‘A long day.’
‘Ditto,’ said Riggs.
Ellen sighed. ‘What have you got?’
‘That blood on the dog collar.’
Ellen had completely forgotten about it. ‘You have a match?’
‘Kind of
