Hearing a knock at the door, I look out and see the two patrolmen the chief had summoned on the drive over.

The chief ends his call and issues his orders to the patrolmen.

As he strides towards the door he throws me a sideways nod. ‘C’mon, Boulder. We’ve got the Tanners to see now.’

What neither of us have mentioned is how the killer identifies the people who find the bodies. It’s not the kind of information shared with the press or mentioned outside of law enforcement circles.

Therefore, the killer is either being fed information by the police, is a member of the force or is watching the dump sites.

It’s a question which cannot remain unanswered. ‘How does the killer know who finds the bodies?’

‘Lord knows.’ He scratches at his chin while screeching around a corner. ‘I looked into all my men when I moved here. They may be useless and in some cases downright stupid, but none of them have been in trouble for excessive force or anything like that. I don’t know them well enough to vouch for them, but for the most part I’d say they’re too damn lazy to go to all this trouble.’

For the most part I agree with his assessment, but there is always the element of the unknown.

The idea one of them is sharing information with the killer doesn’t fly. As soon as they’d worked out what was happening they’d have stopped. The only way they’d have continued is if the killer had threatened their families.

Which is possible, but not likely.

That leaves a third option. ‘Do you reckon he’s watching the dump sites then?’

‘What other explanation is there?’

I can’t think of one. I would push a bit harder, but we’ve arrived at the Tanner’s house.

46

When we return to the station, I find a seething mass of bodies crushed into the reception area. The adults are sitting on a variety of office chairs while the children are either sitting on their parents’ knees or are cross-legged on the floor.

Every face is filled with worry and anger. I can empathise with their concerns. Nobody enjoys being roused from sleep and told they or their loved ones may be in danger from a serial killer.

Farrage is being harangued by a group of angry men who demand he leave the station and catch the killer at once.

Frustration and a feeling of impotent rage fills the air with a noxious tension, turning the room into a powder keg of emotion. One wrong word in here could start a fight as discomfort and worry combine.

As soon as the chief is recognised, the men surrounding Farrage abandon him and focus on the higher power. At least Farrage has the decency to hide his face so nobody except me sees his relief.

The chief lifts his hands, palms outward. ‘One at a time please.’ His voice isn’t raised but it carries enough of an edge to cut through the chatter and silence the room.

‘You first.’ He points at the man on the left of the group. ‘What is it?’

The man is mid-forties and carries himself well in spite of the situation. ‘It’s my wife. She didn’t come home tonight. He’s got her, hasn’t he?’

‘We don’t know that for certain. Boulder, take him to my office. I’ll be there directly.’ The chief turns to the next man. ‘Yes?’

I lead the man into the chief’s office.

‘What’s your wife’s name?’

‘Wendy… Wendy Agnew.’

‘What time was she due home?’

‘Around midnight. She was dropping a colleague at the airport after work.’

I look at my watch. She’s two hours late.

‘How come you’ve just noticed she is missing?’

Guilt replaces the worry on his face. ‘I knew she was gonna be late so I went for a couple of beers after work. Had a couple more when I got home. When I got woken and brought here, I never looked at the time. I just assumed she wasn’t home because it was before midnight.’

I don’t know what to say to that. If he’d been sober he would have noticed sooner. Yet I know all too well the pull of another beer. It’s one of the reasons I drink so rarely.

‘Have you called her cell?’

‘Of course. It just keeps going to answer phone after a few rings.’

The fact it is ringing is good news to balance the bad of it not being answered. If it was going straight to voicemail there is a chance it has been destroyed or isn’t picking up a signal.

I pluck a pen from the desk and point at the chief’s desk pad. ‘Write her number on there for me.’

I pull out my own cell. Alfonse picks up before the first ring is complete.

‘Run a trace for me.’ I recite the number Agnew has written down. ‘Call me back as soon as you have a location.’

‘Do you think he’s got her? Do you think she’ll be his next victim?’

I don’t reply because my answer to both of his questions is yes. Instead I change the subject. ‘What car does she drive? What’s her licence plate?’

My distraction works. A part of him understands giving me information is more important than anything he wants to know. I jot the details down on the corner of the chief’s pad and tear it loose.

A thought enters my head before I leave to get the chief. ‘Have you called her work to check she left?’

‘No.’ Hope springs into his eyes as he reaches for his cell.

‘Are you part of the Tanner or Masterton family?’

‘Tanner.’

He turns away as his call is answered.

The hunch of his shoulders as he asks his questions relaxes for a moment before returning with more intensity.

When he turns to tell me what he’s learned, I see fat tears tumbling down his cheeks. ‘She left at eleven-thirty.’

I’m about to leave the room and get the chief when he enters with a woman. She’s in her forties and is dabbing at reddening eyes with a paper tissue.

The chief is the first to speak. ‘This is Gayle Prosser. Her husband Donny went to work at seven this morning and never came home.’

I get her attention by touching her elbow. ‘Are you related to Frederick Masterton?’

‘He’s my nephew.’

I step into the corner of the room and gesture for the chief to join me. ‘How much do you know?’

‘They had a fight this morning and he hasn’t answered her calls all day.’ He gives an exasperated shake of the head. ‘She says it’s not the first time though. When they fight he tends to go for a beer. He doesn’t usually stay out all night, but this morning’s fight was a big one.’

‘Have you put a trace on his cell?’

Defeat fills his voice. ‘I’ve requested one, but I was told not to expect an answer before tomorrow afternoon.’

‘What’s his number? Alfonse will get it long before then.’ He hesitates. It’s one thing hiring us to help out, but to actively encourage us to break the law goes against every principle he is paid to uphold.

I watch his face as he conducts the internal debate. It doesn’t move beyond a tiny flickering of the eyelids. I know he’ll be balancing the probability of Prosser lying asleep on a buddy’s couch against the fact he could also be in the hands of a serial killer.

Concern for the safety of a civilian wins the battle with his instinctive law-abiding morals.

As he begins to open his notebook, my cell rings.

I listen to what Alfonse has to say, then read him the second number right from the chief’s notebook.

Taking the chief’s arm in my hand I make for the door.

47

I turn onto Main Street and stop at the first set of lights, which are showing red. There’s no traffic but I have the chief of police sitting beside me. I’m only driving because his car was blocked in and mine wasn’t.

‘Dammit, Boulder. Put your goddamn foot down. Ain’t nobody in this town gonna give you a ticket tonight.’