Angus reined in his temper. ‘Now, you know that’s not strictly so.’

Barry flicked her a wink. It would have annoyed her yesterday, but not today. ‘You go, girl,’ he said.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Angus said, ‘I’m just going to pretend we never had this conversation.’

A tap at the door interrupted their discussion and a man with a nose the colour of a ripe plum entered the room. Stevie recognised him as one of the cops who’d brought Monty in and then left to search his flat.

‘Thought you might like to know we found nothing at your boss’s flat, though he’d made it pretty hard for us—he’s not much of a housekeeper is he? The place was like a pigsty. I’m just going upstairs to report to the super. I’ll be around all afternoon so call me if you want to bring him in for any more questioning,’ Keyes said.

Angus nodded and thanked him.

As the big man turned to leave the room, Barry called out, ‘Hey! What happened to your nose?’

Keyes’ hand gingerly crept to the injured appendage. ‘I walked into a door.’

Everyone in the room exchanged glances when Keyes made his hurried exit. Barry’s laugh lifted some of the tension in the room.

Wayne said, ‘I won’t even say that was a relief, because we all know Monty didn’t kill Michelle, that they wouldn’t find anything in his flat.’

‘Yeah,’ Barry said, ‘this is nothing but a steaming pile of bureaucratic bullshit.’

Angus sighed. ‘It’s the system. Baggly has no choice; he’s merely following procedure. Now, we need to organise a search of Michelle’s apartment, talk to her neighbours, parents and friends, find out who was last to see her alive.’ He looked at Wayne. ‘I want you and Barry to spearhead that side of the investigation.’

‘Right,’ Wayne said.

‘Angus, did you find out anything else from the shop managers?’ Stevie asked, trying to put her frustration with him aside.

Angus shook his head. ‘Not much, the woman is adamant she set the alarm before she left. A guy who was putting in an all nighter in a nearby office later verified hearing it. He said he didn’t even think to report the alarm, said if he reported every alarm he heard he’d never get any work done.

Stevie said, ‘So to recap, our unsub cut the external phone line and got in through the window via the window-cleaning hoist, regardless of the jangling alarm which he knew no one would do anything about.’

‘Wait a minute. What’s this unsub caper?’ Wayne asked.

‘Sorry,’ Stevie shot De Vakey a smile. ‘That’s FBI talk, short for unnamed subject. Some of James’s lingo is rubbing off.’

Her smile faded when she caught Wayne’s smirk. She bit her lip. They might be on the same side where Monty was concerned, but nothing else seemed to have changed.

‘The shop manager said they have a permanent window cleaning facility on the building,’ Angus said. ‘A metal support that runs around the whole of the outside at the top. It’s just a question of knowing how to attach the contraption. The actual hoist that you found, Stevie, was from an equipment hire company. Our guy paid them to drop it off in the street for him. It sat there all afternoon and no one thought twice about it. He must have set it up after dark. I still have officers checking to see if anyone saw him, but so far no luck. I also have someone interviewing the people at the equipment hire company for a description.’

‘He’s really sticking it to us, isn’t he?’ Barry said, ‘Cocky bloody bastard. Has SOCO finished their examination of the hoist?’

‘Nothing definite yet, but they did find traces of silver paint.’

Addressing the whole team, Angus said, ‘You know the routine. I’m going to the hospital to get the latest from the pathologist. I’d like to schedule another meeting with Wayne, Barry and all other available detectives working both cases at...’ he looked at his watch, ‘five o’clock. Off you go then.’

13

A personality disorder is not to be confused with a mental illness. Someone with a mental illness will not take long to catch. The unsub who is technically sane will pose the greatest challenge to the investigators.

De Vakey, The Pursuit of Evil

Wayne and Barry crawled through the constipated Beaufort Street traffic on their way to Michelle’s gym. They’d learned from her parents that she worked out every morning except Sunday. Finding out if she was there yesterday morning would help start to trace her last movements.

‘At least we haven’t had to muck around with victim identification, but jeez...’ Barry thumped the steering wheel. ‘I’ve never seen Monty so shook up. I mean, it’s not like they were even still married!’

‘C’mon, I’m shocked and I only met her once. You wouldn’t wish this on your worst enemy,’ Wayne said.

Barry’s eyes slid from the road to his passenger. ‘Quite the sensitive-old-age-dickhead, aren’t you, Wayne?’

Wayne smirked. Sensitivity was something he’d never been accused of.

‘And the way old man Birkby spoke about him,’ Barry continued, ‘you’d have thought he was holding Monty personally responsible. He could barely say his name without rupturing a blood vessel.’

‘Well, you know what grieving families are like, they always need someone to blame. Maybe he thinks this would never have happened if they’d still been happily married.’

‘I just hope no one lets on that Monty’s watch was found in her hand. When the shock wears off Birkby’s going to start asking questions.’

‘We’ll have Mont in the clear by then.’

After several beats of agitated tapping on the steering wheel, Barry said, ‘But it’s gotta be someone in Central who took the watch, hasn’t it?’

‘Or someone else with a legitimate excuse for being there, but a cop most likely.’

Wayne had investigated where Tye Davis was at the time of Linda Royce’s murder. It seemed he had a solid alibi: the shift supervisor at Paraburdoo to whom Wayne had spoken on the phone said Tye had definitely been working that day, he’d seen him himself. With one gone, but about fifteen other suspect cops to go, this was going to be a slow process of elimination. He sighed, staring vacantly at a passing group of schoolgirls wearing soup-bowl hats. He would have preferred a face-to-face interview with the supervisor and wondered if it was worth contacting a cop mate in the Pilbara to do it for him.

The chirp of his mobile interrupted his musings. Devoid of expression, he listened to Angus for a few minutes before punching off. ‘It seems the man who hired the window-cleaning hoist paid for it with a stolen credit card,’ he said to Barry.

‘Description?’

‘The bloke who organised the hire has just gone on two weeks leave. He flew to Bali this morning.’

Barry pulled a frog face. ‘That’d be right.’

They parked outside the gym. As Barry climbed out of the car he gave a yawn and a stretch, eyeing off some lycra-clad nubiles descending the front steps as he did so.

Wayne took a cursory glance around the car park for Michelle’s Alfa. They should be so lucky.

Barry said, ‘You ever belong to a gym, Wayne?’

‘What do you think?’

Wayne locked the unmarked and followed Barry up the steps to the front entrance. The air was fusty with the smell of mould and old trainers, and provoked an irritating tickle deep in his chest. In front of them, a young girl with pillow lips sat behind a reception desk, stabbing at a computer with red-taloned fingers. Above her head a noticeboard enticed potential members with discount packages. To Wayne, gym membership was about as alluring as a round with Mike Tyson.

Barry sidled up to the desk and produced his ID.

‘Hello, Miss...’ his eyes lingered on her name tag longer than necessary. ‘Sophie Preston.’ He pronounced the name slowly as if savouring every syllable. She appraised Barry under sickle-thin eyebrows and smiled back.