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Authors: Garry Disher
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car park tonight.
Challis glanced past the
superintendent at Ellen Destry, in time to catch a fleeting grin. Good for
you, sir.
Its the thin edge of the wedge.
For all of his talk about the thin
edge of the wedge, the superintendent was a diplomat, a man who bent with the
wind. His was the face the public saw whenever the police had to explain
anything. Challis knew that McQuarrie played golf with well-heeled men, and he
had no trouble seeing him scurrying along behind, letting them set the agenda.
Right, Kymbly Abbott, McQuarrie
said. Bring me up to speed. Any forensic joy?
Nothing to speak of. He used a
condom. No prints, but indications of a latex glove.
Tyres, footprints, sightings,
nothing like that?
Nothing, sir, except one witness,
who phoned this morning. She saw Abbott on the highway the night she was
murdered.
McQuarrie spun around and regarded
the wall map, his long hands on his bony hips. Challis winked at Ellen, then
joined McQuarrie at the map. Here, sir, where it starts. Apparently she was
sitting on the kerb, her feet in the gutter, holding out her thumb.
Pity our witness didnt pick her
up.
Yes, sir.
Mad. These young girls, I dont
know.
Challis couldnt find an adequate
response to that. He pointed at the map. And heres where Jane Gideon went missing.
The cases might not be related.
Thats occurred to us.
She might have recognised the
driver and gone off with him. Isnt aware that people are worried about her.
Challis rubbed his forehead
irritably. True.
McQuarrie said, But doubtful. Its
been too long and we cant discount that letter.
I agree.
I had Tessa Kane on the blower.
Yes, sir.
Wanted a comment. Of course, I didnt
tell her anything.
Wise, sir.
McQuarrie clapped his hands
together. Right, well, keep me posted.
* * * *
Five
A
fter
her encounter with Sergeant Destry that morning, Pam Murphy had caught the bus
for Myers Point. It had swayed along the coast road, Pam swaying with it, her
surfboard upright against her knees like a broad, blank-faced, yellow extra
passenger. The drivers were used to her by now. Every Wednesday morningshift
work allowingsince mid-October. The other passengers shed never seen before:
two tired-looking men in blue overalls, a raucous mother with a four-year-old
who seemed to suffer clips about the ears without pain, and an elderly woman
with a handbag.
The elderly woman alighted with her
at Myers Point and limped toward a small weatherboard cottage. A woman watering
the garden there carefully turned off the tap and embraced her visitor. Pam
found that she was moved by the little incident. She had a sense of lifelong
friends, who saw one another when they could and spoke on the telephone every
day.
She walked around to the surfing
beach. The board grew heavy and awkward. She was hot. She needed a car, but
money somehow failed to stick to her. She was chronically in debt. She was
barely able to scrape up thirty dollars for this mornings lessonnot that
Ginger would have insisted, but he was only a kid and it wouldnt have been
right.
He was waiting in the car park next
to the public lavatories at the head of the dunes. Five others this morning,
four women like herself and a guy in his fifties, a fit-looking character
decorated with tattoos and a ponytail. Sure enough, there was a big chrome and
black enamel Harley parked nearby.
Ginger flashed her a smile. She
wished it was just Ginger and herself and the wide blue sea this morningas it
had been once or twice before.
The little group walked down through
the gap in the dunes and came out upon flat sand opposite a mildly chopping
sea. Ginger turned right and led them for some distance, staring critically at
the water, the way the waves were forming and breaking. Pam admired the way he
walked at an easy lope across the sand, while she and the others made hard work
of it. Plenty of natural grace in that walk, nice tight muscles, long arms and
legs, chin tipped back, his
Challis glanced past the
superintendent at Ellen Destry, in time to catch a fleeting grin. Good for
you, sir.
Its the thin edge of the wedge.
For all of his talk about the thin
edge of the wedge, the superintendent was a diplomat, a man who bent with the
wind. His was the face the public saw whenever the police had to explain
anything. Challis knew that McQuarrie played golf with well-heeled men, and he
had no trouble seeing him scurrying along behind, letting them set the agenda.
Right, Kymbly Abbott, McQuarrie
said. Bring me up to speed. Any forensic joy?
Nothing to speak of. He used a
condom. No prints, but indications of a latex glove.
Tyres, footprints, sightings,
nothing like that?
Nothing, sir, except one witness,
who phoned this morning. She saw Abbott on the highway the night she was
murdered.
McQuarrie spun around and regarded
the wall map, his long hands on his bony hips. Challis winked at Ellen, then
joined McQuarrie at the map. Here, sir, where it starts. Apparently she was
sitting on the kerb, her feet in the gutter, holding out her thumb.
Pity our witness didnt pick her
up.
Yes, sir.
Mad. These young girls, I dont
know.
Challis couldnt find an adequate
response to that. He pointed at the map. And heres where Jane Gideon went missing.
The cases might not be related.
Thats occurred to us.
She might have recognised the
driver and gone off with him. Isnt aware that people are worried about her.
Challis rubbed his forehead
irritably. True.
McQuarrie said, But doubtful. Its
been too long and we cant discount that letter.
I agree.
I had Tessa Kane on the blower.
Yes, sir.
Wanted a comment. Of course, I didnt
tell her anything.
Wise, sir.
McQuarrie clapped his hands
together. Right, well, keep me posted.
* * * *
Five
A
fter
her encounter with Sergeant Destry that morning, Pam Murphy had caught the bus
for Myers Point. It had swayed along the coast road, Pam swaying with it, her
surfboard upright against her knees like a broad, blank-faced, yellow extra
passenger. The drivers were used to her by now. Every Wednesday morningshift
work allowingsince mid-October. The other passengers shed never seen before:
two tired-looking men in blue overalls, a raucous mother with a four-year-old
who seemed to suffer clips about the ears without pain, and an elderly woman
with a handbag.
The elderly woman alighted with her
at Myers Point and limped toward a small weatherboard cottage. A woman watering
the garden there carefully turned off the tap and embraced her visitor. Pam
found that she was moved by the little incident. She had a sense of lifelong
friends, who saw one another when they could and spoke on the telephone every
day.
She walked around to the surfing
beach. The board grew heavy and awkward. She was hot. She needed a car, but
money somehow failed to stick to her. She was chronically in debt. She was
barely able to scrape up thirty dollars for this mornings lessonnot that
Ginger would have insisted, but he was only a kid and it wouldnt have been
right.
He was waiting in the car park next
to the public lavatories at the head of the dunes. Five others this morning,
four women like herself and a guy in his fifties, a fit-looking character
decorated with tattoos and a ponytail. Sure enough, there was a big chrome and
black enamel Harley parked nearby.
Ginger flashed her a smile. She
wished it was just Ginger and herself and the wide blue sea this morningas it
had been once or twice before.
The little group walked down through
the gap in the dunes and came out upon flat sand opposite a mildly chopping
sea. Ginger turned right and led them for some distance, staring critically at
the water, the way the waves were forming and breaking. Pam admired the way he
walked at an easy lope across the sand, while she and the others made hard work
of it. Plenty of natural grace in that walk, nice tight muscles, long arms and
legs, chin tipped back, his
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