‘This is Detective Inspector Russell Powder,’ I said. I squinted at the report in front of me, looked at the name of the tech who’d taken charge of the collection. ‘Put me onto technician Ryan Snelling.’
A click, and some silence, while I stared at my screen and ground my molars. When Snelling got on the line his voice was tight. ‘Yes, DI Powder?’
‘Why in the name of Friedrich Miescher’s fucking ghost am I seeing a “notebook” reported in the evidence inventory of my case?’
Snelling had to take a moment to think about that, during which he breathed so heavily into the phone I almost spontaneously combusted with rage where I sat, spraying chunks of myself all over the ceiling and windows. ‘Excuse me, sir?’
‘I’m looking at the collection that was handed into the lab yesterday for testing,’ I said. ‘Case number 33481B. Chloe Lutz. Fifth item from the top. Under “tampon packet” it says “notebook”. Why does it say that?’
‘Well, because … because a notebook was submitted with that collection, sir.’
‘No, it wasn’t.’
‘Yes, it was,’ Snelling said. ‘That particular discovery was actually made here in the lab. The notebook was in a hidden zippered section of the—’
‘Why the fuck wasn’t I told about it?’ I thumped the table with my fist, made my laptop do a little dance beside me. ‘You make a discovery of an extra item of evidence in a murder case during submission and you don’t immediately inform the case detective? Is this your first day on the job?’
‘Detective Inspector Powder, your submitting officer was—’
‘Photograph the contents of the notebook, right now, and send them to me!’ I yelled.
‘Sir, your officer—’
‘Stop talking! Do what I’ve asked you to! Before I climb down the phone and make it so that your mother has to view what’s left of you on a petri dish through a microscope!’
I hung up and called Evan. He didn’t answer. Typing in all caps, I sent a series of separate texts so his phone would ping a bunch of times in rapid succession.
NOTEBOOK DISCOVERED IN LUTZ HANDBAG BY LAB TECH.
WHY DIDN’T YOU SEE IT?
I’M
GOING
TO
KILL
YOU
EVAN.
I got up and went to the fridge, enjoyed the blast of cool air that hit my rage-boiling face as I opened it. The cupcakes from Bridie’s helpful friend were there on the top shelf in a Tupperware container. Although I have a phobia of women of a certain vintage, I hadn’t eaten in at least 24 hours, so I ate two of them in big, fast bites, chain-feeding them into my mouth and moaning quietly to myself at how good they were, because there was no one there to know about it. Lemon curd with soft centres, so moist they stuck to the roof of my mouth. My phone pinged on the counter, so I shut the fridge and went back and looked at the region-wide SMS blast instigated by Gail.
Do you know this man? New South Wales Police are seeking information on the pictured individual, who may be able to assist with enquiries related to a violent incident at RedbellyCrossing on Friday, 6 March 2026. The individual is described as …
I looked at the screenshot of the kid in the cap at the bar, closed the message with satisfaction. At least someone was doing their job. The phone pinged again just as I was about to set it down. The text was from Bridie. Her name on the preview screen, such a rare sight, sent a prickle of excitement through my chest. I opened the message and expected a picture of a wallaby, but instead saw that it was a pinned location. As I was puzzling over the map she’d sent me, another message from her came through.
It was just one word.
Help.
EVAN
Iwalked up to the desk at forensic evidence holding and immediately felt the number of cameras that were focused on at me multiply tenfold from those that gazed over the car park. The young male desk officer turned to me, another pimpled young guy lumped with weekend lab-desk duty, not two hundred metres from the one who had been manning the desk at the forensics lab across the street yesterday. This one wasn’t writing the next great Australian novel but was toying with his slicked-down hair and watching me walk in with nervous cat energy.
‘Powder,’ I said in greeting. The officer glanced at my badge as I set it on the counter. ‘I need to come around there and look at a couple of boxes.’
