I return to the desk and ask where the chief is, but the sergeant just shrugs at me with a malicious smirk twisting his mouth.

As I turn to leave, Chief Watson bursts through the door. The way his brow carries extra furrows doesn’t bode well.

‘What do you want, Boulder?’

‘I’m here to update you on what we’ve learned about Kira Niemeyer.’

His eyes flash as he waves me towards his office. ‘You just bought yourself two minutes.’

He makes notes as I speak. I pay close attention to his face when speaking and there is a tiny glimmer of surprise when he hears about Kira’s hooking. That one split second of lost composure tells me all I need to know about Farrage’s progress. I tell him everything apart from the fight with Mr Steroids and the identities of Kira’s clients.

It takes a lot of self-control not to ask him how Farrage’s investigation is going, but I need to keep the chief onside.

He asks the odd question then sits back in his chair. ‘Overlooking the illegal methods you and your buddy used, I’d have to say you’ve made decent progress.’

He speaks again while I am still considering how to reply to his dig about illegal methods. ‘From what you’ve told me, the list of suspects could be massive.’

‘It should also include her family members.’ The chief’s eyebrow lifts. ‘Her father is an influential man who would lose a lot of standing if her secret came out. It’s not beyond the bounds of possibility that he or her brother were responsible. Unlikely, but not impossible. The brother will also stand to gain a larger inheritance now.’

He rises to his feet indicating the meeting is over. ‘Thanks for coming in. Because of your report, I now know which way to point Lieutenant Farrage.’

My nose for trouble has often caused me grief, but it is now twitching enough for me to pay it some heed.

‘There’s something else going on isn’t there, Chief?’

There’s a moment’s hesitation before he answers. ‘You could say that. A man has been found in the trunk of his car with his face mashed to a pulp.’

I can’t stop the low whistle passing my lips. ‘Two bodies found in three days. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’ve got a serial killer on the loose.’

The haunted expression on his face tells me that’s what he’s afraid of.

Serial killers, despite all the movies and books suggesting otherwise, are a rare occurrence. Spree killers are more common, but whomever is behind the killings in Casperton it isn’t a spree killer. It may not even be a serial killer as the methods are different.

Somehow I know serial killers are only recognised as such when they’ve been accredited with five or more murders. I guess that when the magic number is reached the feds will swoop in and take over.

I can empathise with Chief Watson. If he does have a serial killer on the loose, he has big problems. Farrage and his buddies aren’t equipped to deal with a high-profile and intense investigation. That leaves him as the only competent detective in Casperton PD.

In all probability, three more people have to die before the chief gets the help he needs.

‘Have you identified the body?’

‘Yeah. I’ve just come back from informing his family.’

I don’t ask the question. I just look at him until he answers it.

‘Paul Johnson. He’s divorced with one kid and worked up at Panchtraik Reservoir. The car was parked halfway between here and there. It looks like he stopped to change a flat and got himself killed.’

‘It doesn’t match, does it? Were his wallet and cell taken?’

‘No. And the keys to his car were in the ignition.’

‘Doesn’t sound like a robbery. Good luck with that.’

‘You’re not taking an interest?’

I shake my head. ‘We’ve been hired to investigate Kira’s murder. It’s your job to investigate every homicide.’

Leaving the chief to his thankless task, I drive towards the Tree. I’m due to start work soon and I’m hoping it will be busy. I have a bunch of questions I need answers for.

15

I wake up feeling only half refreshed. After speaking with dozens of people to no avail, I’d come home and worried at the mystery some more.

Alfonse has emailed me the key points from the forensic samples lifted at the site where Kira’s body was found. Other than specks of blood on a couple of branches, there was nothing of significance found within the immediate vicinity. Considering how Kira had been killed it was almost certain the blood would prove to be hers, but the CSI team will still test every drop found.

A wider search uncovered a few items of trash but they all showed signs of weathering and were probably dropped by hikers or kids partying.

Kira’s body has undergone the routine sweep for forensic samples and drug tests. The results coming back negative isn’t a surprise. Programs like CSI have made the general public forensically aware, which means anyone in possession of live cells takes precautions against leaving trace evidence.

On the other hand, the lack of fibres and hairs tell me Kira’s murder was planned in advance. Therefore, she was a specific target, killed for a reason.

Nobody I’d spoken to at the Tree had given me any information worth pursuing. Tallying with my own memory and impression of her, everyone agreed Kira had been an easy-going person who caused no offence and was more inclined to make friends than enemies.

I log on to my PC and check the email address I created to contact Kira’s clients.

I’ve got two replies already.

Both responders offered condolences and promise to call me at some point today.

I guess some may think it unprofessional of me to email potential suspects suggesting they call me to clear their names. Those people can go take a running jump at themselves. I need to speak to these guys and this is the best way I can think of to get their attention.

Because I don’t have the time or resources to see each one face to face, I’d instilled a measure of urgency into their responses by threatening to go and question them at their home or workplace. As I’d done with Hank Young, I’d reminded them how it was in their interests for Kira’s killer to be caught before the police knocked on their door.

I’m not proud of my actions, but sometimes the means are justified by the ends.

The first call from one of the nine comes as I am stepping into the shower. I lift the new cell I’d bought in Salt Lake City and answer the call. I hang up after five minutes feeling none the wiser.

The person I’d spoken to broke down in tears when questioned about his times with Kira. His protestations of innocence carried a truthful ring. Throughout the call, my bullshit detector had remained silent. While not infallible, it tends to be right ninety-five per cent of the time.

I never feel comfortable with men crying, more so when the man in question is a stranger. To me the whole idea of baring your soul in such a public fashion feels sordid and grubby. My skin begins to prickle and itch as I strike a mental line through his name and climb into the shower, where I scrub myself under a jet of cool water until I feel clean and invigorated.

Forgoing my usual jeans and T-shirt combo, I dress in my best shirt and add a jacket. The shoes I choose are the ones least in need of a good polish.

While I’m not concerned about my appointment with Dr Edwards, I want to make the right impression. It is no secret the good doctor has been urging my mother to have me visit him. For some reason he is positive the issues affecting her will one day manifest themselves in me. He is either caring enough to try and make a pre-emptive strike, or dispassionate enough to get his claws onto my wallet as soon as possible.

Being a fighter by nature, I register the value of a pre-emptive strike better than most, but there’s no way I’m prepared to expose my fears and worries to a shrink.