‘If they’re empty, why are they still there?’ my brother groaned. ‘Who signed them out last? What do the books say? Were the seals still on or were they tampered with?’
‘I didn’t look that hard. Do you want me to go back?’
‘Urgh. No.’
‘You were barking up the wrong tree anyway,’ I said. ‘It’s Branch. He’s our guy. I know it would just make your day if you could single-handedly wrap up Chloe’s murderanda couple of cold cases thathave been sitting around since you were still in a nappy, Russell. But you’ve annoyed everyone enough already without getting Cop of the Year for catching a serial killer while you’re at it.’
‘I have a feeling about this.’
‘Your feeling is wrong.’
‘It’s never wrong,’ he said, and I struggled not to groan, because he was acting like fucking Sherlock Holmes or Batman or something. Instead, the arrogance made me facepalm myself so hard it made an audible slapping sound. ‘I’m going to go back and speak to John Special, the husband of one of the women,’ he went on. ‘Maybe he can tell me what the police took, at least. What theyhadin evidence.’
‘Okay. You keep wasting your time. I’m going to check in at the Branch property, see what’s happening there.’
‘Tell me if you can see anything of Chloe’s there, will you?’ Russell said. ‘The place is crawling with coppers, but they’re all from out-of-area. Half of them will just be wanting to get a sound bite onto the nightly news and they won’t be paying attention.’
‘Your unshakeable faith in your fellow police officer is always so heartwarming.’
‘They weren’t there in the hotel room. They don’t know what Chloe’s stuff looks like. We’re supposed to be on the lookout for a phone and a laptop, but there might be something else.’
‘Something else like what?’ I said. I started driving again towards the ferry stop. ‘There must be eight million pairs of women’s panties in that place. You think Chloe Lutz wrote her name on hers with a laundry marker?’
‘We might get lucky. There might be something else that just catches your eye.’ Russell sighed. ‘It’s worth trying, Evan. Although—Jesus, you’re right. I don’t know why I’m asking you of all people. You didn’t spot that footprint in the blood. And you couldn’t spot anotebook inside a handbag. How are you going to spot a serial killer trophy on semi-hoarded, twenty-acre property?’
Something sparked in my brain. I took my foot off the accelerator, felt the car slow.
‘Tell me what happens,’ Russell said and hung up. I pulled to the side of the road, hoarded properties, serial killers and trophies on my mind. The ferry operator tried to wave me down to the waiting vessel. Instead, I turned around and headed back the way I’d come.
RUSSELL
Ihad Bridie drop me off at the back of the pub, marched in and tossed Rob Winter’s car keys at the first constable I encountered. Told him to go get the vehicle and bring it back. I could see the burning curiosity in his eyes. Probably half the town knew by now that a couple of hours earlier I’d carjacked Winter and driven off in a mad hurry. But he didn’t ask. I found Fry hanging around by the operational marquee, overseeing a guy on a laptop, probably as determined as I was to still linger in the case even though he’d been officially stood down. I kept well back so he didn’t smell wallaroo on me and held out the camera I’d taken from the back of the drug house.
‘You’re the tech genius,’ I said. ‘Can you get any footage from that?’
‘Probably not,’ he said, before he’d even taken the device from my hand. I heard years of disappointment in his tone, the tendency for tech never to be as useful to an investigation as fiction would have you believe. He took it finally, turned it in his hands. ‘I’m not familiar with this brand or model, but most of the time, something like this only works if it’s connected to wi-fi and sending its data to a computer. Do you have the computer?’
‘No.’
‘Itmighthave its own drive.’ He started picking at a compartment into the back of the device. ‘But I doubt it. I’ll give it a crack anyway.’
‘Thanks.’
The constable at the laptop swivelled sharply in his chair at the sound of my thanks, surprised and confused, like I’d just farted aloud. My reputation continued. I started marching away again and stopped when I realised Fry had followed.
‘Something you needed?’ I asked, still keeping out of wallaroo stink range.
‘Ah, listen,’ Fry was still picking at the door to the camera. ‘Last night. In the bush. The panic attack. I don’t usually, uh …’
‘I’m not sure what you’re referring to, Constable Fry,’ I said. ‘I killed a man last night. My recollection of the events beforehand is hazy at best.’
‘Well, I’ll remind you then,’ Fry lifted his gaze to mine, determined. ‘I had a panic attack, and you got me through it, and I’m telling you right now that I don’t usually have those.’
‘At what point did I ask you for an exhaustive breakdown of your medical and psychological history?’
‘None,’ Fry gave an exhausted exhalation at me, at all the rigid dickheads like me he’d obviously encountered before.
‘Just as I thought,’ I nodded. ‘If you’re done, I’ll be off.’
