Free Challis - 03 - Snapshot by Garry Disher Page A

we cant rule him out, or not
entirely, and we cant rule out the possibility that he suspects his son and is
protecting him.

    Yes, said Ellen simply, confirming
that shed come to the same conclusions. He cant take over the investigation,
can he?

    Challis shook his head. Regulations
wont allow it.

    But hell meddle?

    Yes.

    Then a little Mazda sports car was
beside them, tooting. Ellen tooted back and the Mazda shot away along the
rain-slicked highway. Challis stirred. Who was that?

    Pam Murphy and John Tankard.

    Challis frowned, then twigged. Kellocks
safe driving campaign.

    * * * *

    12

    Constables
Pam Murphy and John Tankard, dressed as if they belonged to the Special
Operations Group or the FBI, with peaked caps, waisted jackets and pants tucked
into their boots, promptly began discussing Challis and Destry. Tankard thought
they had a thing going.

    No way.

    Theyre always together.

    Tank, we re always together.

    He subsided, muttering, but it was
short-lived. What about the newspaper chick?

    What about her?

    Is he still giving her one?

    I dont know and I dont care. Its
none of my business.

    Then, with his old nudge nudge, wink
wink: Has he given you one yet?

    Tank, grow up, okay?

    It was no joke, cooped up with John
Tankard in the little sports car. It was bad enough that he was a big, fleshy
man, but ever since coming back from six months stress leave for shooting dead
a deranged and armed farmer, hed been a little unstable. His mood today was
pretty typical of the Tankard she remembered, the racist and bully whod been
called a storm trooper by the locals, the partner who was more interested in
her tits than police work, but he was also given to moments of moody
daydreaming and insecuritywhich she attributed to counselling that hadnt
taken very well.

    She could sense him looking at her,
and confirmed it with a quick, sideways glance, disturbed to see and feel a
queer, sulky heat coming from him as he asked, Could you do it?

    Do what?

    What that newspaper chick did, have
sex with a lot of guys, everyone watching. He cocked his head at her
assessingly. Nah, cant see you doing that.

    As if throwing her a crude challenge,
hoping shed rise to it and come across for him. She didnt have sex with
anyone. She was there as a reporter.

    Yeah, yeah, whatever. Bet Challis
was pissed off. But if you cant keep your chick in line, what do you expect?

    She ignored him.

    I mean, he went on, he couldnt
even control his wife. She sleeps around on him and tries to have him killed.

    Tank, Pam snarled, only
Neanderthals feel the need to keep their women in line.

    He sniggered to see her riled. She
drove on, cross with herself. Early afternoon, and still the fog persisted. As
they approached a roundabout, she said, Mornington, Tyabb or straight ahead?

    But Tankard was in a reverie beside
her and failed to answer. Maybe he was looking inwards again, at his sorrows.
Pam was suspicious of Tanks new-found introspection, wondering if it would
slow his response times, blunt his survival instincts. Well, she wasnt put on
earth to cure him. Still, shed always known where she stood with the old
Tankard. Hed been reliably suspicious of everyone, confrontational but not
unsteady, with the instincts of a cop driven by self-preservation rather than
ambition. In fact, hed been entirely lacking in ambition, relying on the
police force for a sense of brotherhood and security, even as he distrusted or
despised his fellow cops.

    She chose to drive straight ahead,
which would take them to Penzance Beach and Waterloo.

    He stirred. Did you say something?

    Forget it.

    Tankard struggled like a dim
schoolboy caught staring out of the window. Finally he said, in the faintly
lost manner of the new John Tankard, Do you see the point of this? Spending
four hours a day on the roads thanking people for the one time in a thousand
they happen to show courtesy to another motorist or signal before turning a
corner? This is bullshit.

    True, Pam