The woman sniffed but said nothing.

‘It makes us think that maybe you knew what your husband had been up to and were trying to get rid of evidence—had he told you to get rid of evidence, Mrs Kusak?’

The woman twisted her hands on her lap and spoke in heavily accented English. ‘We were separating. Miro was a worthless piece of shit. He’s a Slav, I’m Italian, I should have listened to my mamma, but I didn’t. I should have thrown him out years ago, but I didn’t. When I went to the dump I didn’t know what Miro had done, all I knew was that I wanted to be rid of the worthless shit Slav and all his worthless shit things.’

‘Our crime scene officers will be able to recover his things. If anything incriminatory is found you might find yourself charged as an accessary to murder.’

‘No no, only clothes, books and shit.’

‘What about a computer?’ She knew that a hard drive and a flash drive had been found in the Toyota, but she wondered how much the woman knew.

‘He took the computer with him when he left.’

‘Which was when? Not a year ago? When was he last here?’

‘Three days ago was the last time I saw him.’

After Bianca’s abduction but before her death, Stevie calculated, when she was most likely being held prisoner in the pump house.

‘Did he spend a lot of time on the computer?’

Mrs Kusak nodded. ‘Always, he spent all his time and money on computers. Always the latest and the best.’

‘Doing what?’

‘Looking at filth. He made me sick.’

‘Did you know that he had an unhealthy interest in young girls?’

The woman inspected her rings. They were hardly visible between the folds of fat on her fingers. ‘Maybe. It was filth.’

‘Your neighbours said he used to stare at their children. They never let their kids near him. Or you.’

‘He only looked. That’s all. I told him it was wrong but he never listened to me.’ She sniffed. ‘My neighbours are nosy bitches, I’m gonna move.’

‘Do you admit to lying to the police then, about the separation?’

‘I no speak good English, they heard wrong. I told them we was separating, that’s all. He was looking for somewhere to rent. This week I told him to take his computer and leave.’

‘Where did he work?’

‘Samson’s factory in Welshpool, he worked shifts. I never know if he was coming or going.’

Stevie’s gaze slid across the mantelpiece, taking in the colourful religious cards, noticing the absence of family photos. ‘Do you have children?’

‘No. He was married before. There was,’ she hesitated, ‘problems with the kids of his first marriage. We think better not to have them.’

Stevie could guess what the problems were. Jesus Christ, lady, you’ll think twice about marrying a Slav but not a paedophile? This exercise in patience was getting harder by the minute.

‘Was he capable of killing a child, Mrs Kusak?’ she asked, suppressing a shudder. Talking to this woman was testing enough for her—she flinched at the thought of the effect she would have had on Tash. She wished she’d listened to her instincts and seen the woman herself yesterday.

The woman shook her head vehemently. ‘He never would, no, never. He couldn’t kill nothing. He hated blood, he even hated fishing. If she died, it was accident. He didn’t kill her.’

For all that the woman filled her with revulsion, Stevie believed her. It helped too that the pathologist had determined the murder to be a sexual assault gone wrong.

‘The child had been missing for nearly two days when her body was found. Have you any idea where he might have taken her after he abducted her?’

Mrs Kusak seemed to ponder the question, but who knows where her mind was.

‘Mrs Kusak?’

The woman let out a sigh and rolled the hem of her black dress between her fingers. ‘Yes, I think I know,’ she said. ‘Mundaring Weir. He always takes the dog to a special place there where no one else goes—it’s a good dog, but it always fight other dogs.’ She nodded to herself, ‘Yes, he would have taken her there.’

‘Where is this special place?’

Mrs Kusak stopped her fidgeting but still couldn’t look Stevie in the eye. ‘Near the old pump station, by the water. People aren’t supposed to go there. They’ve closed off the track but Miro parks at the lookout and walks down with the dog. He always hangs about down there. He even takes me sometimes. It’s what I told that bitch woman cop yesterday.’

Stevie kept her face impassive while she thought hard. Tash had known this yesterday and not told her. Damn her for not saying anything, damn her bloody migraines. How could she have said nothing? What the fuck was she playing at?

‘Does anyone else know about this place where he takes the dog?’ Stevie asked, her eyes fixed on the cross hanging on the wall above Mrs Kusak’s head.

‘Why you need to know that?’ Mrs Kusak asked.

Why do you think, you stupid bitch? ‘Because we need to find out who killed him, Mrs Kusak,’ Stevie said with brittle patience.

Mrs Kusak narrowed her eyes. ‘Then why don’t you ask that woman cop from yesterday?’

Stevie stood up. ‘Are you accusing Constable Hayward of your husband’s murder?’ she asked.

The woman’s eyes dropped. ‘Yes—no—I dunno.’

‘You have to be very certain Mrs Kusak, before you start making accusations. What time yesterday did Constable Hayward come to see you?’

Mrs Kusak shrugged and touched her hair, making the pendulous folds at the top of her arms swing. She looked through the window at the pink-flossed sky. ‘Before now, four o’clock maybe. My neighbour’s kids was having a party, they start at lunch and go all night. I asked her to go and see them, warn them to shut up. She said no, tell me I no deserve to ever sleep good again.’

Now that did sound like something Tash might’ve said. Stevie cleared her throat. ‘What time did she leave?’

Mrs Kusak shrugged. ‘I dunno, about five maybe.’

Stevie had called at Trish’s at about six thirty and she was still not home. ‘Do you wish to proceed with the harassment charges against Constable Hayward? If you do, you’ll need to put your complaint and any other suspicions you might have about the constable in writing.’

There was a momentary pause before Mrs Kusak answered, ‘No.’ She dropped her head into her hands and began to sob, her plump body wracked with self-pity.

‘You told me on the phone that Constable Hayward showed you pictures from the child’s autopsy. Is that true?’ Stevie asked, unmoved.

Mrs Kusak didn’t look up. She spoke through her hands. ‘No, I said that to make you listen. But she was still a bitch. She told me all about how she died, that little girl...’

‘You lied about the separation, you lied about the autopsy photos. What else have you lied about, Mrs Kusak?’

When the woman looked up, Stevie saw for the first time genuine tears of grief carving their way down the powdered cheeks.

‘My Miro, what am I gonna do without him, the dirty no good Slav...’

She loved him, Stevie realised. Despite it all, she still loved him.

15

Monty drove while Stevie sat in the passenger seat of the unmarked police car, pondering the various forms of love. Mrs Kusak had told the officers making the initial enquiries that she and Miro were separated, then she’d told Stevie they were in the process of separating. It was obvious upon the search of the house that despite her trip to the dump, he was still very much in residence. They’d found his shaving equipment in the bathroom, his underwear in the bedroom drawers, even his pyjamas folded under the pillow. If she had really planned on chucking him out, they would never know. What made a woman stay with a man like that, she wondered, when she was so aware of his foul proclivities?

And what about you, her inner voice nagged. You lived with a man who raped you and caused misery to countless others. You’re a cop, you of all people should have seen through him—you are in no position to judge.