Everyone was thinking about this when Angus added, ‘I’ve got something on the slogan, too.’ He was referring to the words ‘Easeful Death’ printed down the victim’s right thigh, a detail they’d been able to keep from the press. It gave them leverage should someone confess, or a comparison should they have a copycat.

‘I think it’s an allusion to Keats, part of a line from his poem, “Ode to a Nightingale”. I mean it’s not the kind of phrase that gets tossed around on a regular basis; I reckon it has to be from that poem. The whole line reads, Half in love with easeful Death. I should have twigged it straightaway. Keats is one of my favourite poets.’

Barry slapped his head with his hand. ‘Damn. I must have slept through all those poetry appreciation classes at the academy.’

Angus tossed down his pen and let out a long-suffering sigh.

‘Okay, so what the hell’s it supposed to mean?’ Barry persisted.

Angus answered, patient as ever, ‘Keats was dying from consumption. He was musing that an easeful death might be preferable to what he was going through.’

‘There was nothing easeful about what Linda Royce went through,’ Wayne said quietly, his gaze fixed on the notes in front of him.

Barry shrugged. ‘Yeah, but maybe it could’ve been even worse.’

Monty must have sensed Stevie’s suppressed shiver. He said, ‘Okay, that’s enough. For now let’s just concentrate on the message itself. Evenly spaced capitals in black marker pen, written after the paint had dried. I talked to the experts in Documents about the writing. Unlike ordinary writing, carefully hand-printed capitals are very hard to match to a particular individual, so the writing itself is a dead end.’

‘But why kill her after the paint and not before?’ Barry asked.

Stevie looked at Monty. ‘So he could pose her? Rigor mortis can start as early as two hours after death.’

Monty nodded. ‘That’s what the lab boys think, that he wanted to pose her before rigor set in. A lot of care was taken over the paint; it would’ve taken a while. Killing her after the paint job would have given him a bit more time to transport her, put the props in and pose her before she stiffened up. They surmise that he came back later and took the props away when she’d stiffened into the required position. There was a slight indentation on each forearm containing minute splinters of wood. They think she was propped up with wooden dowels.’

A sombre silence followed this macabre theory.

Barry shook his head. ‘Boy, are we dealing with one sick individual here. Have we any idea what he used to transport the body?’

‘A van would make sense; more room than a car,’ Wayne suggested.

‘Whatever he used, there has to be some kind of paint evidence left behind. Even dry paint will leave traces,’ Angus mused.

‘We’re jumping the gun here, folks,’ Monty said. ‘We haven’t even found the vehicle yet. For the moment everything rests on Wayne’s hobby shop man.’

Wayne pushed his chair back and climbed to his feet. ‘If that’s it, Mont, I’d like to get cracking now.’

Monty stood and began to scoop up his mess of papers. ‘All of you have plenty to keep you busy. Let me know any developments. I’ll pass on the news of the hair when I hear back from the lab.’ He turned to Stevie who was gathering her own gear together.

‘Have you heard from De Vakey yet?’ he asked her.

She looked at her oversized watch, the only jewellery she wore. ‘Yeah, I suppose it’s time I picked him up and took him to the scene,’ she said without enthusiasm. The kids would soon be filing into the assembly hall, Izzy and the other little ones waiting behind the curtains, ready to go on stage. She wondered if Dot had scored a seat in the front row. The last time Izzy had waved at her in the middle of the performance and made the audience laugh.

‘Before you go, I want a word,’ Monty said.

Stevie followed him into his office and closed the door. He didn’t mince his words. ‘Stevie, what’s got into you lately? You’ve been looking like a fart that can’t get out. Barry was only thinking aloud; it’s called brainstorming, we do it all the time. You didn’t need to snap his head off like that.’

‘That was the last straw, he asked for it, you know he did.’

Monty said nothing but rubbed his face as if to say warring detectives were the last thing he needed right now.

She wanted to tell him that Tye was back in town, that he was seeking custody of Izzy, that the case was affecting her personally, more than any other she’d been involved with. He was her best mate; she should be able to tell him. But he was also her boss and he would take her off the case if he knew. This was another thing he didn’t need to hear right now.

Instead she said, ‘I’m sorry, Mont, I’m just tired,’

He gave her a sympathetic look. ‘It’s an ugly case.’

She prickled, realising how close she’d come to giving herself away. ‘I don’t think my sensibilities are affected any more than anyone else’s; I’m sure the guys are just as disturbed by this as I am.’

‘Yes they are, but I don’t want the battle of the sexes brought into this, okay?’ His face softened. ‘Look, I know it’s been a hard grind, but it’s over now, Stevie, you’ve arrived. Just try and loosen up and cut the guys some slack.’

She nodded and remained silent. Anything more from her and he was likely to launch into one of his every-member-of-his-team-was-chosen-on-merit speeches.

‘I want you to knock off early today. Be home for Izzy when she comes in from kindy.’

She was about to object, but he held up a hand before she could start.

‘No, this isn’t preferential treatment. I’ll bring over Chinese tonight. You can fill me in on De Vakey’s progress and I’ll tell you how the rest of us have gone. I’ll just bring the work to you instead of you staying at Central for it—how does that sound?’

She felt herself relax. ‘Nothing too spicy.’

He grinned back at her, shaking his head. Just then, the phone rang. He mouthed a silent stream of curses as he listened to the voice on the other end.

5

An individual from a neglected, deprived or abused background may find comfort in the newly dead; the dead are no threat, they are his to control.

De Vakey, The Pursuit of Evil

Monty usually enjoyed passing the time with the super’s attractive secretary, but this morning not even Christine’s subtle flirtation could get his mind off what he was going to have to tell his superior.

‘Coffee, Monty?’ she asked in a last-ditch effort at amicability.

‘No thank you,’ he said and began to riffle through one of the police union mags from the coffee table in an effort to avoid any more of the one-sided conversation.

The sound of muffled voices had been filtering through the closed office door during Monty’s long wait. Now a sudden crescendo got the better of his curiosity. He caught Christine’s eye and jabbed his thumb at the closed door. ‘Who’s the hapless victim?’

She laughed. ‘I think the superintendent might be the victim this time. It’s Justin.’

Monty had always got on well with Baggly’s son. The kid was studying criminal justice in the hope that it would give him an edge when applying to the increasingly competitive police academy. Monty had no doubt he’d make the grades academically, but could only hope that with time and maybe some encouragement, he’d lose some of his reserve. There was no such thing as a shy cop. As things were, he had trouble imagining how a distraught victim of crime would glean any kind of reassurance from the young man he knew, with his lonely eyes and shuffling feet.

Baggly’s door burst open and Monty found himself face to face with the subject of his musings. Justin did a double take when he saw Monty and flushed.

‘How’s it going, Inspector?’ he said between breaths, flipping his head to clear a strand of dark brown hair from his eyes. He wore shiny black shoes, pressed jeans and a starched white shirt.