Day’s End by Garry Disher

Author:Garry Disher [Disher, Garry]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: The Text Publishing Company
Published: 2022-09-22T00:00:00+00:00

19

THE MONDAY BRIEFING, and as Hirsch entered the outskirts of Redruth at 7.50, he spotted the Wurlie’s van on the back of a breakdown truck. So much for Steph’s defiant tour. U-turning, he followed it to Redruth Motors, where he parked against the kerb and walked across to the workshop as the driver hopped down from the cab. Uncle Doug.

Greeting him, Hirsch said, ‘Problem?’

Doug regarded him calmly, pulling on heavy-duty gloves. ‘Sugar in the tank.’

‘Double whammy,’ Hirsch said.

Doug was expressionless, as if he’d seen years of lukewarm police responses. Then, apparently satisfied that Hirsch was interested, he turned, yanked open the driver’s door and leaned in, emerging with a pair of yellow kitchen gloves.

‘Had a hunt around. Found these in the bin outside the bank.’

The old ES&A bank a few doors down from the hall, Hirsch thought. Now an antique shop. But mainly he was thinking of another pair of yellow gloves, found near where Vikki Bastian had been attacked in her car. ‘I need to fetch an evidence bag,’ he said, trotting back to the Hilux.

The gloves formed part of his briefing report a few minutes later.

‘Send them in for testing,’ Sergeant Brandl said. ‘Are we thinking that one person was responsible for the graffiti and the attack on Ms Bastian?’

She swivelled in her chair to study the photo array on the wall behind her. Head shots of Petra Osmak and Scott Greig. Vikki Bastian’s chafed and bruised face and wrists. The ski mask found at the school. The Renault van. ‘Presumably a friend of these two,’ she said, pointing at the mugshots.

‘Maybe if we had their phone records…’ Tim Medlin said.

The sergeant shook her head. ‘Could be days before we know what’s on their various devices or who they’ve been calling. We need to find out who else they went to school with.’

‘Or,’ Jean Landy said, ‘Petra tied Vikki up and Greig did the graffiti. They trade revenges.’

‘Strangers on a Train,’ Brandl muttered, throwing down her pen.

‘Pardon?’

But Hirsch knew: he’d come to the same conclusion but was self-conscious about announcing it, and listened as the sergeant explained. A Hitchcock film about two strangers meeting on a train and trading murders, giving each other perfect alibis.

‘Bit far-fetched,’ Brandl said. ‘But you never know.’

‘Scott Greig’s a film buff,’ Hirsch said. ‘And he strikes me as the…the strategist, I suppose. He maybe even suggested the gloves.’

‘Or,’ cautioned Brandl, ‘only one person is responsible. A friend. A relative.’ She shrugged. ‘Or something else is going on.’

Something in the air, thought Hirsch, musing on the supermarket stormtroopers, Bob Muir’s apprentice, the 5G tower, the harassment of Kate and Wendy. Unrelated, but touched off like spot fires by whatever was floating in the atmosphere.

They split up, Brandl and Hirsch to question Petra Osmak, Landy and Medlin to question Scott Greig.

Petra’s grandfather answered the knock on the door.

‘She’s still in bed.’

‘Please wake her, Mr Osmak. We would like to interview her further.’

‘Is she under arrest?’

‘We merely have a few more questions for her.’

That was received

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