‘I think he knew the doc’s name all along. Looks like Sammy was thinking of going into the blackmail business—get the doctor to pay for his silence. He’s been casing out Breightling’s joint and Miranda’s business.’

Stevie grunted. ‘Just as well he didn’t get any further. One manipulative kid on the loose is enough.’

‘Interesting thing, one night he was about to jump the wall at the Breightlings’ house when he saw a girl fishing around in the garden pond and chickened out. The girl had to be Emma. What do you reckon she was doing?’

‘Somehow I doubt she was catching tadpoles,’ Stevie murmured.

She was still pondering what Emma might have been up to in the pond when Angus rang. She listened to his report while Wayne continued to weave his way through the traffic to the Breightling’s home.

‘We’ve got him,’ she said to Wayne when she punched the off button. ‘We now have a convincing motive for Li’s murder and it backs up everything Sammy’s told you.’

‘Financial pressure from Stoppard?’

‘Financial thumbscrews more like. According to Angus, Stoppard and Breightling have been involved in a series of small developments since they first met, all instigated by Stoppard and all yielding modest returns. Then a few years ago the investment opportunity of a lifetime pops up. They invest in a large property in Wanneroo with plans of developing it into some kind of golfing estate. Stoppard provides the security for the loan with both parties responsible for repayments. But once the development starts, Stoppard calls on Breightling to repay the lot, which of course he doesn’t have, having just poured thousands into his wife’s business—which suddenly happens to be failing—upon the advice of his accountant.’

‘Who happens to be Stoppard—and, let me guess, Tall Poppies is far from failing?’ Wayne asked.

‘Right. Angus thinks Stoppard’s been cooking the books, getting together a tasty nest egg for himself, with or without Miranda, we’re not yet sure. Anyway, Breightling can’t get the money in the required time frame, so Stoppard puts the partnership into receivership and they are forced to sell the property for a song.’

‘Don’t tell me, to another company owned by Stoppard...’

‘Yes, which Breightling had no idea about. So in the end, Breightling is teetering on the verge of bankruptcy, when his old pal Stoppard says, hey, I know a guy who might be able to help you with a loan.’

‘And the rest is history. Jeez, with friends like Stoppard...’

‘You don’t just get screwed for your money, you lose your wife and daughter too.’

‘I wonder which was the most important to Stoppard?’ Wayne mused. ‘Do you think he hoped Li would knock Breightling off?’

‘Maybe, but not necessarily. I think Stoppard just wanted to see Breightling suffer.’

‘That’s something I just don’t get. How long has Breightling known about him and his wife? I can’t understand why the hell he’s been putting up with it.’

‘Yeah well, relationships—who knows? But as far as Stoppard was concerned, Miranda and Breightling staying together would be worth much more financially to him. I doubt he was ready to let Breightling go until he’d sucked him totally dry.’

‘The guy’s a mongrel.’

‘And at the moment he’s exercising his right to remain silent. But we’ll get him. Clarissa’s pulling apart his laptop as we speak; it’s just a matter of time. She’s already accessed the Dream Team chat room, it’s full of creeps setting up deals, swapping and sharing their material.’ She worried her thumbnail for a moment. ‘There’s a link where you can order video footage of any kind of abuse you want to see, rape on demand, even snuff movies.’

Wayne shook his head.

‘There are members in the US, the UK and Germany—it’s going to be of interest to police on several continents. We might even be setting up a worldwide sting.’

‘How would you do that?’

‘By highjacking Stoppard’s online identity. But we have to act quickly, while we still have a media blackout—we don’t want word getting out that Lolita’s been arrested.’

‘I can see you’ll be having your hands full for a while.’

‘Yeah, plus identifying the kids in Stoppard’s films, and their parents or so-called carers.’

Traffic was lighter now. They whizzed down Guildford Road in silence for a while before Wayne spoke again.

‘Okay, so we’ve worked out the Zhang Li angle, but what about Kusak? They were both killed by the gun that belonged to Emma’s father.’

Stevie shrugged. ‘Maybe Emma and her father did it together? All along I’ve had the feeling she’s trying to protect someone.’

‘But do you really think he’d use his own daughter as bait to catch a paedophile?’

She shook her head. ‘No, for all his faults, Breightling loves his daughter. He would never put her in harm’s way like that.’

‘But so far that’s what the evidence is telling us.’ Wayne pulled the car to a stop outside the Breightlings’ house. ‘Here we are.’

Christopher Breightling opened the black lacquer door and squinted at them through the bright sunlight. He was in need of a shave and his pale T-shirt was stained with what appeared to be red wine.

‘What do you want? Can’t you just leave us alone for a while?’ he said.

Stevie was getting used to the effect she’d been having on people lately. She edged her foot into the crack in the door to prevent him from slamming it in their faces. ‘We need another word, sir.’

He rubbed his hands over his face. ‘When is this ghastly business going to end?’

‘I’m afraid it’s only just warming up,’ Wayne said as they pushed past him into the house. The curtains were still drawn, the kitchen strewn with evidence of a long night and the air sour with old wine. Music thundered down from Emma’s room on the mezzanine, a particularly loud heavy metal riff that made Christopher clamp his hands over his ears and groan.

Wayne flicked his head in the direction of the music and Stevie climbed the twisted staircase to Emma’s room. The girl was still in her pyjamas, lying on her bed propped up on her elbows and engrossed in sketching something. She wasn’t aware of Stevie’s presence until the stereo was switched off.

‘Oh, hi,’ Emma said, looking up from her drawing.

‘I didn’t know you were into heavy metal,’ Stevie said.

The girl shrugged. ‘Sometimes, in some moods.’

‘Then it sounds like you must be very angry.’

Emma returned to her sketching. ‘What are you doing here?’ she said, keeping her eyes on her work.

Stevie sank onto the edge of the bed. ‘I’m afraid we’ve come to arrest your father.’

At last she seemed to have the girl’s attention. The pale face flushed, the pencil snapped on the paper. ‘Why?’ she demanded.

‘We think he’s responsible for two fatal shootings.’ Somehow, a shooting sounded so much softer than murder.

Emma spun herself into a sitting position. Light from the window glinted on her glasses, making them look like windows with the shutters down.

Stevie looked at the drawings; images of gargoyles and pointy-tongued dragons. When Emma saw she was looking at them, she scraped them up, screwed them into a ball and threw them at her.

‘You’re wrong, you’re wrong!’ Emma shouted. Then she sprang to her feet, grabbed a photo from the desk and held it out to Stevie with both hands. It was the much younger Breightling with the African children. ‘Look at this, my father’s a doctor, he doesn’t kill people, he helps people!’ Then she burst into tears.

Stevie took the photo and put it back on the desk and attempted to comfort the girl. She clasped her thin shoulders and searched the small anguished face. ‘Emma, take some deep breaths. You are going to have to tell someone what you know about the death of Miro Kusak. It’s the only thing that might help your father now.’

Wayne peered around the door. ‘You ready?’ He was clearly bursting with something he wanted to tell her.