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Chapters (60)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. 1
  4. 2
  5. 3
  6. 4
  7. 5
  8. 6
  9. 7
  10. 8
  11. 9
  12. 10
  13. 11
  14. 12
  15. 13
  16. 14
  17. 15
  18. 16
  19. 17
  20. 18
  21. 19
  22. 20
  23. 21
  24. 22
  25. 23
  26. 24
  27. 25
  28. 26
  29. 27
  30. 28
  31. 29
  32. 30
  33. 31
  34. 32
  35. 33
  36. 34
  37. 35
  38. 36
  39. 37
  40. 38
  41. 39
  42. 40
  43. 41
  44. 42
  45. 43
  46. 44
  47. 45
  48. 46
  49. 47
  50. 48
  51. 49
  52. 50
  53. 51
  54. 52
  55. 53
  56. 54
  57. 55
  58. Acknowledgements
  59. About the author
  60. Copyright

‘Oh yes, Sarah. I think you need to come chat to her. She’s worried about First Confession tomorrow.’

‘What’s she worried about? She just needs to say the words, kneel down, stand up.’

‘She’s ten.’

‘I know what age she is, Mum.’

‘At that age you didn’t like sleeping without the light on.’

Having heard this before Chandler cut in. ‘Can’t you deal with it? Can’t Dad?’

‘We could but I think it would be better coming from her father.’

‘It’s busy in here.’

‘It can’t be that busy.’

‘Just deal with it for now, Mum. I’ll be back later to talk to her. Or get one of her friends to talk to her.’

‘So your advice is to have one ten-year-old counsel another ten-year-old?’ She sounded incredulous at the idea. Chandler didn’t blame her. It wasn’t one of his best, but his mind was drifting to the situation at hand. To Gabriel.

‘I’ve got to go, Mum,’ he said and hung up.

In the momentary silence, Chandler thought of Gabriel. The terrified victim at the station and the calm, silky voice in the car on the way to the hotel. A notion arose that Gabriel had made it all up; crying wolf to get attention. Providing a spark to an otherwise mundane existence. Searching for fame. Or infamy. Like a serial killer might do. But Gabriel had genuinely looked scared. Plus, the blood and bruises were real. As was the chaffed skin around the wrists and the blistered hands. And if Chandler dismissed the idea of it being an act . . . all that was left was the very real possibility that there was a killer out there.

He looked at the phone. There was a chance Mitch might send someone else. It was a faint hope. Like the one he had of never having to work with Mitch again.

6

2002

Even for late November it was a hot day. Chandler was hugging the treeline to steal any shade he could amongst the scattered branches, weaving a zigzag path from trunk to trunk. The others were doing the same, resembling a bunch of uniformed drunks lost in the outback, desperately seeking water and shelter. Salt stung the cut made by his zombie-like 6am shave. A twelve-hour shift trekking the outback wasn’t really what he’d joined the police for, tracking through the middle of this hellhole in search of a lost hiker. But as rookies, he and Mitch were in no position to refuse the detail.