‘It’s thirteen o’clock.’

‘Shh ... ugar. Uncle Monty will be here any minute.’

Her daughter’s face crumpled.

‘What’s the matter?’ Stevie asked.

‘You said I could stay up and see Uncle Monty if I was ready for bed when he got here.’

‘Well, let’s get you in the bath and into your jammies, spit spot. Maybe he’ll read your bedtime story when he arrives.’

In the bath, out of the bath, and the doorbell rang just as she’d finished yanking the pyjama pants over Izzy’s damp legs.

‘Uncle Silly, Uncle Silly!’ Izzy splashed through the sudsy puddles of the bathroom floor, whirling down the jarrah passage to the front door.

Monty shoved the takeaway bags at Stevie before scooping Izzy into his arms and swinging her low. ‘I’m not your Uncle Silly, I’m your Uncle Smarty Pants!’ he said, hauling her back up and holding her high towards the chipped ceiling rose.

‘No you’re not. You’re Uncle Silly. Even Mummy says that’s your name!’

‘Oh she does, does she? I think we’ll have to start calling her Mrs Fusspot—what do you think?’

Izzy began to twist vigorously in Monty’s outstretched arms until Stevie worried he might drop her. ‘Okay now, that’s enough. Calm down before it ends in tears,’ she said.

‘Yes Mummy,’ Monty said in a falsetto voice. Izzy jiggled harder, kicking out at his chest.

Stevie spoke to him through gritted teeth. ‘You stir her up and you can put her to bed. I’ll go and reheat the Chinese.’

Monty reappeared half an hour later, looking the worse for wear. ‘Have you ever heard of the Three Bears triggering posttraumatic stress syndrome?’ he said.

‘I think I’m hearing about it now.’

‘I’m cold and clammy, my heart is racing and I want to run away.’ He sniffed the air. ‘But I think I’ll stay and eat first.’

Stevie began to unload the Chinese from the oven while Monty laid the table and filled her in on Wayne’s meeting with the hobby shop man. Stevie almost dropped the food when he mentioned the purchase of the extra paint, splashing her hand with scalding sauce.

‘Shit.’ She slammed the foil container onto the table and sucked her hand.

‘Here, put it under the cold tap,’ Monty said, turning it on for her.

‘He’s going to kill again.’

‘No he’s not, we’re going to stop him.’

The cold water soothed her burning skin and she regained her composure. ‘Not without help we’re not,’ she said. ‘How was your meeting with Baggly?’

They sat down at the table. Monty pushed a dish of food towards her and handed her a spoon. ‘About as enjoyable as a nosebleed; he won’t let me reopen the KP case, says the budget won’t take it.’

Stevie had just taken a mouthful from the serving spoon and couldn’t speak. She held up her hand. Monty smiled and waited for her to swallow. Finally she said, ‘De Vakey thinks this guy has killed before. He said the whole operation’s far too slick for a novice. He asked me about the KP murders but I said it was sensitive, that he’d have to discuss the cases with you.’

Monty clicked his fingers. ‘I knew it. This deserves a celebratory drink.’ He went to the fridge, took out beer and tomato juice.

They clinked glasses. Monty said, ‘I’ve got the files in my car. I’ll be going through them with a fine toothcomb when I get home.’ He rubbed his hands together and grinned, his tongue darting towards his lower lip. It was a quaint habit he reserved for deep contemplation or excitement. ‘Now, tell me what else De Vakey said.’

‘At first it was like getting blood from a stone. He was reluctant to make anything canon, especially when he had nothing else to compare it to.’

‘We’ll soon change that.’ Monty dipped his spring roll into the sauce and took a bite.

Stevie reached into her back pocket for De Vakey’s list. ‘He’s pretty confident about certain facts though, and wrote me out a rough list to give you.’

‘My glasses are in my case. You read it to me.’

She washed some chicken and almonds down with another swallow of beer. ‘Okay, feel free to interrupt if you don’t understand anything.’

Monty nodded. ‘Go on.’

‘First, the perpetrator has killed before. Next, De Vakey says our guy has a high IQ and is supremely confident. The planting of the commissioner’s hair can be seen as a direct challenge to the police, the gauntlet has been thrown. The Easeful Death message is meant to confuse and may mean nothing at all. The thrill for him is the game he has set up with the police more than the actual crime itself. James...’

Monty looked at her across a mountain of rice. ‘James?’

‘Yes, James—he said first names, remember? James says he’s never known a serial killer who’s not suffered from some kind of serious sexual maladjustment and is puzzled about the absence of rape in this case. He thinks maybe the killer is on some kind of control trip and sees holding himself back until later as part of the challenge.

‘The crime itself is all about domination, manipulation and control, more so of the police than the victim herself. The posing of the body is this guy’s signature. James is sure he’s committed crimes of a similar nature before, though perhaps not as sophisticated as this.’

Monty opened his mouth as if to speak, but seemed to think better of it. She knew his mind was on the KP files, but he wouldn’t pass further comment until he had verified certain facts for himself.

‘We’re looking for a man with an average to large build,’ she continued. ‘Strangulation requires upper-body strength, especially the kind capable of cracking the hyoid bone as indicated by the Royce autopsy.’

‘Possible age?’

‘Twenty to forty.’

‘The super’s going to love that.’

‘He can’t narrow it down until we have proof of his other crimes. A young man with a lot of experience can have the same level of sophistication as an older, less experienced killer.’

‘Fair enough. Anything else?’

‘The homicidal triad.’

‘Bed-wetting, arson, cruelty to animals?’

‘Cruelty to animals and/or smaller children; he may also have been a bully at school.’

‘Want any more rice?’

Stevie shook her head.

Monty piled a second helping onto his plate and mashed it in with the remaining sauce.

‘He’s cold, controlled and calculating,’ Stevie continued, ‘and above all he has a tremendous grudge against the police. He also has a great deal of insider knowledge. Could be an excop, a wannabe cop whose application was turned down, or even a serving cop. Anyone who has a close association with the police, really.’

Stevie began to scrape the leftovers into a single bowl.

‘Weren’t the security guards ex-cops?’ Monty asked after some thought.

‘Yes, but James is sure that a single individual committed this murder. Besides, the guards confirm each other’s stories.’

‘But that doesn’t mean one hasn’t paid the other off. I still want you to have another look at them. Go into their personal histories this time.’

‘James suggested polygraphing them.’

‘Arrange it, then.’

‘Okay, I’ll set it up.’

‘Does De Vakey think this guy’s only targeting women?’

‘He says women are definitely part of the equation. If not he probably wouldn’t have taken such care with the provocative posing. This man probably had a domineering mother who made him feel inferior.’

‘So this is a double whammy: grudge against the police and a grudge against women?’

‘Yes,’ she said, scrutinising the list further. ‘Oh and here are some more gems for you to take as you will. He drives a dark van that he keeps meticulously clean, and he might own a German shepherd.’

Monty looked incredulous. ‘You’re pulling my leg.’

‘It makes sense when you think about it. Apparently compulsive individuals are attracted to dark cars. This was a compulsively neat crime. The van would be clean and tidy, so would his home. If you remember, we did discuss the van at this morning’s brainstorming session. It would be a sensible way to transport the body.’