Read Online Challis - 03 - Snapshot by Garry Disher - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Garry Disher
Tags: Fiction, Mystery & Detective, Police, australia, Police Procedural, Large Type Books, Melbourne Region (Vic.), Destry; Ellen (Fictitious Character), Challis; Hal (Fictitious Character)
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think? It
jammed on him?
Possibly. What did you do then, Georgia?
When she heard the white car start
up she raised her head and watched it leave. It made a lot of smoke. Yes, a
white car. A kind of old car, she thought, with a funny door.
Funny door?
Not the same colour. Kind of a
yellow. Look, she said, pointing to one of the drawings. An off-white car with
a pale yellow door and the driver inside, his arm out of the window, presumably
waving her away.
If the original door was rusted or
damaged, Ellen murmured to Challis, it may have been replaced by one from a
wrecking yard.
Challis nodded. It was a job for
Scobie.
Do you think you could look at some
photographs for us, Georgia?
That quick shrug again. Dont know.
Pictures of mens faces,
sweetheart, her grandfather said. You might recognise the men who hurt Mummy.
Okay.
If you do, he said, well catch
them and have an identity parade. Do you know what that is?
Challis let the super prattle on.
Identity parades were only useful to back up solid evidence. A failed lineup
was like manna from heaven to a defence lawyer. And the idea of putting Georgia
McQuarrie through an identity parade was galling to him. Hed tried, and
failed, to observe a distance with regard to the child. The job swamped you if
you didnt learn to see the blood and the damaged flesh and lives as outcomes
or problems to solve. But you couldnt go on thinking like that without giving
the pressure some kind of outlet. Humourof the blackest kindwas a common
outlet; booze; a hobby; the exclusive company of other cops. Without an outlet,
your heart would fracture. That little girl with her wintry face...Challis didnt
have children but Ellen and Scobie did. What went through their minds every
day? Did they ever stop worrying about their kids? Abused kids, bloodied kids,
orphaned kids.
Is there anything else you remember
about the two men, Georgia?
What colour was their skin?
Barbara McQuarrie wanted to know.
Dear, please, McQuarrie said.
Same as mine, Georgia said.
Challis rested his forearms on his
knees. You couldnt see their faces very clearly.
No. The man with the gun had a
beanie on. It was all pulled down and his collar was turned up.
Was he fat? Thin?
Medium.
Tall? Short?
Medium.
What about the way they spoke?
Barbara McQuarrie asked. Did they speak English?
Love, please, McQuarrie said.
Its a fair enough question.
Ellen broke in. What about the
other man, Georgia, the driver of the car. Was he wearing a beanie, too?
No.
What colour was his hair?
He was kind of bald.
Bald, or had he shaved his hair
off?
I think shaved.
Did he say anything?
He just waved at me to go away.
Anything else about his face that
you can remember?
He was kind of a bit younger than
the other one.
As old as your dad?
Georgia screwed up her face
assessingly. Younger.
Anything else?
Sort of a round face, a bit fat,
Georgia said.
Then she went alert in McQuarries
arms as a door opened in the hallway and a voice called, Mum? Dad? Georgia?
She hurled herself out of the room.
Snapshot
* * * *
11
Robert
McQuarrie came in looking pale but composed, frowning a little as the
clamouring hands of his daughter pulled his suit askew. Then his mother rushed
to him with a small, incoherent cry, which seemed to break his resolve. He
blinked his eyes. Finally the superintendent was clapping an arm around him in
a clumsy embrace.
Challis watched, unmoved. Robert
McQuarrie seemed to notice him then over the shoulders of his parents. He had
an open face, smooth and well tended, like his hands. A little button nose,
inherited from his mother, gave him the appearance of a plain, over-sized
schoolboy dressed in a costly suit.
He broke the embrace and approached
with his hand out. Robert McQuarrie, he said. And you are?
Challis made the introductions,
McQuarrie scarcely glancing at Ellen.
Ill be available later, but right
now I need to comfort my daughter.
I
jammed on him?
Possibly. What did you do then, Georgia?
When she heard the white car start
up she raised her head and watched it leave. It made a lot of smoke. Yes, a
white car. A kind of old car, she thought, with a funny door.
Funny door?
Not the same colour. Kind of a
yellow. Look, she said, pointing to one of the drawings. An off-white car with
a pale yellow door and the driver inside, his arm out of the window, presumably
waving her away.
If the original door was rusted or
damaged, Ellen murmured to Challis, it may have been replaced by one from a
wrecking yard.
Challis nodded. It was a job for
Scobie.
Do you think you could look at some
photographs for us, Georgia?
That quick shrug again. Dont know.
Pictures of mens faces,
sweetheart, her grandfather said. You might recognise the men who hurt Mummy.
Okay.
If you do, he said, well catch
them and have an identity parade. Do you know what that is?
Challis let the super prattle on.
Identity parades were only useful to back up solid evidence. A failed lineup
was like manna from heaven to a defence lawyer. And the idea of putting Georgia
McQuarrie through an identity parade was galling to him. Hed tried, and
failed, to observe a distance with regard to the child. The job swamped you if
you didnt learn to see the blood and the damaged flesh and lives as outcomes
or problems to solve. But you couldnt go on thinking like that without giving
the pressure some kind of outlet. Humourof the blackest kindwas a common
outlet; booze; a hobby; the exclusive company of other cops. Without an outlet,
your heart would fracture. That little girl with her wintry face...Challis didnt
have children but Ellen and Scobie did. What went through their minds every
day? Did they ever stop worrying about their kids? Abused kids, bloodied kids,
orphaned kids.
Is there anything else you remember
about the two men, Georgia?
What colour was their skin?
Barbara McQuarrie wanted to know.
Dear, please, McQuarrie said.
Same as mine, Georgia said.
Challis rested his forearms on his
knees. You couldnt see their faces very clearly.
No. The man with the gun had a
beanie on. It was all pulled down and his collar was turned up.
Was he fat? Thin?
Medium.
Tall? Short?
Medium.
What about the way they spoke?
Barbara McQuarrie asked. Did they speak English?
Love, please, McQuarrie said.
Its a fair enough question.
Ellen broke in. What about the
other man, Georgia, the driver of the car. Was he wearing a beanie, too?
No.
What colour was his hair?
He was kind of bald.
Bald, or had he shaved his hair
off?
I think shaved.
Did he say anything?
He just waved at me to go away.
Anything else about his face that
you can remember?
He was kind of a bit younger than
the other one.
As old as your dad?
Georgia screwed up her face
assessingly. Younger.
Anything else?
Sort of a round face, a bit fat,
Georgia said.
Then she went alert in McQuarries
arms as a door opened in the hallway and a voice called, Mum? Dad? Georgia?
She hurled herself out of the room.
Snapshot
* * * *
11
Robert
McQuarrie came in looking pale but composed, frowning a little as the
clamouring hands of his daughter pulled his suit askew. Then his mother rushed
to him with a small, incoherent cry, which seemed to break his resolve. He
blinked his eyes. Finally the superintendent was clapping an arm around him in
a clumsy embrace.
Challis watched, unmoved. Robert
McQuarrie seemed to notice him then over the shoulders of his parents. He had
an open face, smooth and well tended, like his hands. A little button nose,
inherited from his mother, gave him the appearance of a plain, over-sized
schoolboy dressed in a costly suit.
He broke the embrace and approached
with his hand out. Robert McQuarrie, he said. And you are?
Challis made the introductions,
McQuarrie scarcely glancing at Ellen.
Ill be available later, but right
now I need to comfort my daughter.
I
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