Challis - 04 - Chain of Evidence by Garry Disher Read Free Book Online Page A

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    Two
streets away, Sasha was home. A cross between a Shi-Tzu and a Silky Terrier,
with a squashed-in face and adenoidal breathing, Sasha was small, guileless and
hairy. She didnt discriminate between humans, for all humans adored her. She
sought them out. She sought warmth human and sun. When shed jumped into the
Tarago van yesterday, it wasnt the first time shed done something like that.
Last year shed travelled all over the Peninsula in the back of an electricians
van, asleep under the guys spare overalls. When called on his mobile phone by
Sashas owner, hed sworn black and blue that Sasha wasnt with him. The poor
owner had gone out of his mind looking for Sasha, phoning the dog pound, the
RSPCA, all the vets in the local phone book. Then, at the end of a long day, hed
received a sheepish call from the electrician: Got your dog here, mate. Sorry.

    Everyone knew the story, and so,
when an elderly woman who lived on Trevally Street saw Sasha jump out of an
unfamiliar white van that Friday afternoon, she smiled indulgently and watched
Sasha race home. The stories she could tell if she could talk, thought the old
woman fondly. What adventures has she had this time?

    If Sasha had been able to talk, she
might have revealed that she hadnt been fed for twenty-four hours. She also
hadnt been loved for twenty-four hours. Her instincts had told her to
cuddle up to the child, but the child had been asleep for most of the time. At
one point Sasha had bared her teeth in protection of the child, had even drawn
blood, and been kicked clear across the room for her pains.

    * * * *

    7

    Sitting
in the patrol car outside the Jarrett house, John Tankard was thinking about
life after Pam Murphy.

    He felt betrayed. Sure, he knew that
hed often rubbed her up the wrong way, and she hadnt appreciated his clumsy
attempts to get her to sleep with him over the years, but hed always counted
her as an ally, one of the gang, us against themthem being ordinary citizens,
crooks and senior police officers.

    Now she was leaving him behind,
stepping over a line that would take her into the ranks of the enemy. He didnt
know if he could work with anyone else. Would a new partner put up with his
bullshit, or report him? Would a new partner watch his back? Console him when
things got a bit rough, personally speaking?

    He shifted in his seat, half closed
his eyes and gazed at the Jarretts wreck of a house. Three cars crowded the
front yard: a rusting Toyota twin-cab, a little black Subaru and a lowered
silver Mercedes with smoky windows. Just then, four Jarrett kids came out,
boys, one of them sauntering over to the front gate, where he turned and
swiftly dropped his jeans. Pale, skinny shanks. Tank was furious. We can
arrest him for that.

    Murphy said wearily, Leave it,
Tank.

    Yeah, well, said Tank uselessly.

    Who at Waterloo did he like and
trust apart from Pam? Some of the other constables were okay, guys you could
have a beer with, but they came and they went. The plain-clothed crew, like
Challis, Destry and Sutton, were a bit up themselves. Kellock and van Alphen
were okay, old-school coppers crippled by the kinds of procedures and
regulations that made it hard to do your job properly. Yeah, John Tankard had
plenty of time for Kellock and van Alphen.

    Pity they were a lot older than him.
Pity they were senior in rank. He couldnt see either of them becoming his best
pal when Murph left. He respected them, thats all. Looked up to them. Thank
Christ he had that in his life.

    Two girls aged about ten walked
past, beating their knees with tennis racquets. Sweet kids, friends, not a care
in the world. Then they saw the Jarretts and veered away, suddenly afraid, and
John Tankard acknowledged what was at the back of his mind: an image of
Natalie, his kid sister, and how awful it would be if anything ever happened to
her.

    The radio crackled. Sergeant van
Alphen was replacing them. Apparently Sergeant Destry had called an urgent
briefing.

    * * *