‘No. There’s too much evidence against him.’
Kellock looked at her then, as though relieved to think that she might sway Jarrett. She felt nothing for him and looked away. ‘Mitigating circumstances, Laurie. The judge will understand. No one should have to bear what you’ve had to bear.’
He seemed to be listening. She went on: ‘We failed to protect Alysha or punish her abusers, we hassled your family, we blamed you for shooting van Alphen-that wasn’t you, I take it?’
He shook his head.
‘And Kellock and van Alphen killed your nephew.’
There was a twist of pain on Laurie Jarrett’s face. He shook his head as if to clear it. ‘Killing Nick was the only good thing they did,’ he muttered.
Ellen and Pam exchanged puzzled looks. ‘I thought you hated them for that,’ Ellen said, while Pam asked, ‘What do you mean, Mr Jarrett?’
Laurie Jarrett looked from one woman to the other. The pain outgrew him as they watched, his voice and manner breaking apart. ‘Don’t you understand? Ellen, I took your advice, really sat down and talked to Alysha. Know what she told me? Nick and the others had sold her to Clode.’
Ellen gulped. You thought you’d seen the worst, and then someone would go one step further. ‘Oh, Laurie.’
She ran the shooting of Nick Jarrett through her head again. She’d never doubted that Kellock and van Alphen had ambushed him, but she’d always seen it as a case of rough justice. Now she could see that Kellock had an additional-or different-motive: he feared that Nick Jarrett might have learnt about his involvement with Clode and Duyker. Nick Jarrett probably wasn’t part of the ring-Clode was merely a source of ready cash-but he might have known about it. Clode might have boasted about his other activities and acquaintances.
‘Laurie, let him go.’
‘I should’ve realised what was going on,’ Jarrett said, his distress growing. ‘I can’t bear to think about it.’
Kellock twisted violently as if he knew it was his end. Jarrett clubbed him again. Ellen cringed at the meaty sound of it. ‘Laurie! Listen to me! Did Clode owe money to Nick? Is that why he was beaten up?’
He blinked. ‘What?’
‘Did Clode owe Nick money?’
‘Who fucking knows?’
‘We need details, Laurie. We need to speak to Alysha. We need you there. Come on, put the gun down.’
‘You must be joking,’ Jarrett said, bright and unequivocal again, as though his heart had never broken. He struck Kellock’s kidneys with the barrel of the shotgun. ‘Get in.’
Kellock hauled his huge mass over the driver’s seat and across the gearstick to the passenger seat. Jarrett climbed in after him, first motioning the shotgun at Ellen and Pam. ‘We’ve leaving now. You two won’t try to stop us.’
Ellen said, ‘Don’t do this, Laurie,’ and Pam began to circle around him.
In answer, he shot out the tyres of their car. They froze, their insides spasming, pellets and grit spitting and pinging. He said again, ‘You won’t stop me.’
Ellen glanced around at Pam, who gave her a complicated look. ‘We won’t stop you,’ she murmured.
The Toyota threw gravel at them as it started away but it wasn’t speeding. It moved sedately through the trees, exhaust toxins hanging in the still air, and they heard it pause at the main road above, and turn right. Waterloo lay in that direction, where the land levelled out to meet the sea. But before that there were many other roads, and back roads, full of secret places known to men like Laurie Jarrett.
61
After finding Neville Clode’s body-Clode bent in a foetal position in a pool of blood, his private parts perforated from a shotgun blast-Scobie Sutton secured the scene, putting a senior constable in charge, and then sped away to help the girls in Red Hill. He hated to think of them going up against Kellock. Kellock scared him. He hated Kellock.
He was driving a police car, there being no unmarkeds available. He rocketed through Bittern and turned onto Bittern-Dromana Road, which had a reputation for a couple of dangerous intersections. If you were drowsy or inattentive, you were alerted by a series of speed humps. Not short stubby ones, like in a suburban street, but broad shallow ones. They didn’t harm your suspension but they sure made you jump and take notice.
He was mentally mapping his way to Red Hill when he heard the dispatcher warn all personnel to be on the lookout for a white Toyota twin-cab, registered owner Laurie Jarrett, last seen in the Red Hill area. Jarrett was believed to have a hostage and be armed and dangerous. Oh God, Scobie thought. He accelerated. He was still down on the coastal plain, fifteen minutes from Red Hill. Frantic, he thumbed the speed dial on his mobile.
‘Ellen! You all right?’
‘I’m fine, Scobie.’
‘I’m on my way there now.’
She got a little short with him. ‘No need. Go back to Clode’s. But keep an eye out for Laurie Jarrett. He’s taken Kellock hostage. It was Jarrett who killed Clode and Duyker.’
Her voice unnerved him, it was so matter-of-fact. But he supposed it always would be and always had been. She broke the connection. Distracted, he tossed the phone onto the passenger seat, and so was unprepared for a sudden and dramatic series of percussions under the car. Warning humps: he was approaching one of the dangerous intersections. He braked. The car swerved, alarming a motorcyclist. His face went red, his palms damp: Ellen had never hidden the fact that she considered him a bad driver.
He came to a halt at the stop sign. A white twin-cab was approaching from the opposite direction. It also stopped. Scobie peered intently: dimly through the windscreen he could see Jarrett, one hand on the steering wheel, the other holding a shotgun under Kellock’s jaw.
He fumbled for the siren. He hadn’t been in a patrol car for fifteen years. Not that he needed a siren. It was unmistakably a police car that he was driving.
Jarrett accelerated through the intersection and swept past. Scobie made a wild U-turn and went after him. Afterwards he wondered if he should have done that. It panicked Jarrett. He was later told that Jarrett would have killed Kellock anyway, but right then Scobie’s job was to save Kellock and arrest Jarrett.
He put his foot down. Both cars flew along the stretch between Balnarring and Coolart Roads, through undulating farmland, spring grasses tall in the ditches and the roadside trees heavy, sombre and still. Up the gradient and there was Coolart Road and another stop sign and warning humps. The Toyota hit the first one at speed, and Scobie was told later that Jarrett’s finger must have tightened involuntarily on the trigger of the shotgun. All he knew now was, the rear window of the Toyota was suddenly messily red, opaque, and the vehicle was slewing across the road and into a tree.
62
It was several hours before Pam Murphy could go home. She went to her little house in Penzance Beach- weatherboard cottage under pine trees, ten minutes walk from the beach-wondering if she’d participated in something that would alter her perception of the job, and of herself. She went home wondering if she and Ellen Destry could have affected the outcome in any way.
Pros and cons.
On the pro side, their.38s were on the ground and Laurie Jarrett was holding a shotgun on them. Plus, he’d shot out one of their tyres. Plus, they’d done the right thing and formally reported the incident, alerting the police of
