He stormed towards his phone.

Stevie rose from the sofa and put her hand on his arm. ‘Monty, you’re off the case, remember? This is between Angus, James and me. I want to do it, I’ll have protection and I’ll be wired. You’re just going to have to trust me.’

Monty glared at her and raised a corner of his lip. ‘Just what is it you’re always trying to prove?’

Stevie froze. ‘What the hell do you mean by that?’ Her eyes darted to De Vakey, catching the deepening furrow between his brows. This wouldn’t do. Making a scene in front of De Vakey, showing how easily Monty’s words could hurt her would not bloody do at all.

She took a deep breath, let it out slowly and settled back into the sofa. ‘It’s not about me, it’s about catching this killer before he kills again.’ Her voice sounded a lot calmer than she felt and she was pleased to see that her hand was steady as ever as she reached for her smokes.

Monty had turned his back on her, feigning an interest in something outside the window. His broad shoulders began to sag.

‘I’m still not happy about this,’ he said finally, dragging his feet back to the sofa.

Stevie dismissed him with a wave of her hand. ‘So you’ve said, but there’s nothing you can do about it, is there?’ She turned to De Vakey. ‘Moving on. You said before that our killer had some kind of police involvement. This reinforces Monty’s theory that someone with police access must have tampered with the files. Keyes and Thrummel are the obvious candidates for taking them from Monty’s flat, but someone else is clearly involved too.’

‘Yes, the missing notes are disturbing. Clearly the albino cleaner also needs checking out. In fact, all your male colleagues at Central can loosely be considered suspects or accessories.’ De Vakey gave Monty a look he thankfully missed.

‘The thin blue line is getting thinner,’ Monty said to his toes. ‘I had Wayne check the database for Harper’s missing alibi. It wasn’t there, so it must never have been entered in the first place. Nor was the name of the prostitute interviewed about the Lorna Dunn murder. It’s common knowledge that the case was bungled, but experienced officers couldn’t cock things up to this extent.’

He looked at Stevie, hesitated for a moment, running his tongue over dry lips. ‘I also asked Wayne to check out Tye Davis. Wayne talked to his supervisor at the mine and was told Davis was working the day Royce was murdered. He’s sending Wayne down his timesheets.’

Stevie felt the blood rise to her head. ‘What? Couldn’t you have said something to me first?’

‘We know a disgruntled cop might be involved—after everything you went through with Davis, surely he crossed your mind?’ Monty said.

De Vakey raised an eyebrow at Stevie’s reddening face. ‘Is there something I haven’t been told?’

Stevie forced herself to breathe. ‘Later,’ she said to De Vakey. He would have to know, but not now, and not with Monty present. She pulled her legs onto the sofa and hugged her knees. ‘Is there any chance there’s a second party involved in the actual murders?’ she asked.

‘In my experience this kind of killer works alone. He would consider the murders to be private, personal moments that he would have no wish to share. But it needn’t stop him from manipulating other people to serve his purpose...’ De Vakey’s sentence tapered off, as if he’d become lost on another train of thought.

Monty also seemed to grow distant. ‘I’m going for a little drive tomorrow, visit an old mate.’ His flat tone gave nothing away. For the first time during this discussion Stevie felt as if the two men might be on the same wavelength. She stubbed out her smoke and waited for Monty to continue. When nothing else seemed forthcoming she prompted, ‘Who?’

‘Peter Sbresni.’

‘The lead of the KP killings? Monty, he’s not a mate, you’ve never even met him! He was sacked before you got here for Christ’s sake!’

Monty shrugged. ‘We shared the same barber for a while.’

‘You’re still suspended; it could take days to get the results of your blood test and get you officially off the hook. You’re on a razor’s edge as it is, you can’t jeopardise yourself any further.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with looking up an old mate. I may be suspended but I can still socialise.’

‘I’ll come with you, then,’ Stevie said, concerned about what Monty might get up to once he was outside the system.

‘I don’t want you involved. You need to stay with De Vakey and help Angus and the others.’

‘You want to keep me out of the loop to get back at me for this re-enactment thing, is that it?’

‘For God’s sake, Stevie, you’re being petty now. You’re far more in the loop working with the team than you are with me at the moment.’

She was being petty, she knew it, but couldn’t seem to help it. She was still angry about his overprotective attitude, smarting that he chose to show it in front of De Vakey.

De Vakey held up his hands like an exasperated father trying to calm down warring siblings. ‘It’s been a long day. I think we should all get some sleep and rethink our course of action in the morning.’

They all went to the door. As De Vakey descended the steps, Monty held Stevie back with a hand on her arm. Out of De Vakey’s earshot he said, ‘I’m sorry if I came on too strong, I suppose I overreacted. It’s just, I...’

Stevie took his hand and squeezed it. She knew what he was going to say and tried to make it easier for him. ‘I know. You promised Dot you’d look after me. She should never have asked you to do that.’ She let out a breath. ‘It just makes everything so complicated, doesn’t it?’

His eyes met hers and held them for a moment. He set his jaw, dropped her hand and walked back into his flat.

***

De Vakey’s hotel room told Stevie little about the profiler she didn’t already know: that he was a neat freak with expensive tastes was as obvious here as anywhere else. A small suitcase rested on the luggage rack, a folded handkerchief on the nightstand next to one of his books, his laptop closed on the table.

After flinging her jacket over one of the chairs, she used the excuse to wash her hands to check out his bathroom. An old-fashioned badger bristle shaving brush rested near the sink. She picked it up and brushed it across her cheek imagining the feel of an unshaved man against her skin, breathed his scent from an expensive bottle of cologne. The silver hairbrush next to the cologne was the kind her grandfather had used.

They were from different worlds, she reflected, and he was definitely not her type. In fact, other than the idealised men in her DVD collection she didn’t think she had a type anymore. Why then, did she feel tingles of excitement when he sat close or put a hand on her arm? Why, when he’d asked her up to his room, did she even have a moment’s thought that it might not be to discuss the case? His physical attraction, compounded by his enigmatic qualities had obviously stirred up dormant hormones. But the awareness gave her power; she’d identified the problem now and could be on her guard.

But did she want to be?

She watched as he busied himself at the bar fridge, selecting a bottle of champagne, brows creased, as if it was the most difficult decision he’d had to make all week. Choice made, he popped the cork with practiced ease and held a full glass out to her.

‘I don’t drink champagne,’ she said, standing in the middle of the room.

‘Would you prefer a beer?’

‘I thought we were here to talk about the case.’

‘We are, but I don’t see why we can’t make our unpleasant business as pleasant as possible.’

He held the champagne glass out again. Noticing her slight sway of hesitation, he was at her side in an instant.

She reluctantly took the offered glass and sat down on a chair near the small circular table, as far away from the king-size bed as she could get.