Like Palmer, Bill Dennis was a tall, athletic-looking man, somewhere in his thirties. He was also very well dressed for a detective. The stitching and material of his suit spoke of the care and attention of an expert tailor: no sign of uneven weave or missing threads. There was no way this guy was wearing some glue-seamed piece of shit. As Detective Dennis hunched forward over the table to read from the file, the suit seemed to flow around him rather than bunching and wrinkling. When he moved back, it returned to its smooth and pristine state. It’d been a while since Julianne had bothered with such things, but she’d have wagered that between them, Detectives Dennis and Palmer were strutting about in eight or nine grand’s worth of tailoring. Were it not for the imposing mirror filling that far wall, the impression created would have been of two senior executives at the boardroom table of a wealthy mining company. Downing had been right. Everything about Bagot Road Police Station suggested an almost limitless source of funds.

‘Thank you for those details, Detective,’ said Shah. ‘It helps to have some information.’

‘Sure,’ Dennis replied, favouring both Downing and Shah with a sympathetic smile. ‘It does. And, you know, if there was anything, even the smallest thing, that came to mind about why anybody would want to hurt Mr Ross and you, Mr Shah, that’d be very useful information for us to have.’

The Australian sounded so reasonable, so friendly and eager to help out, that it was a moment before Jules realised that he and Palmer were running a good cop/bad cop routine. She almost blinked in disbelief. One, that they would even try. And two, that she hadn’t spotted it as soon as the amiable Detective Dennis had wandered in sporting such a disarming expression on his handsome face.

Downing returned the smile as though he were a kindly and benevolent uncle.

‘I am sure my client will give the matter due consideration,’ he said. ‘Of course, it defies belief that two men with a common history – friends, indeed – should be targeted in such a fashion in what for them, remember, remains a foreign city, even if they have chosen to make it their new home. I assure you, Detectives, that if Mr Shah is able to make such a connection, you will find out about it. But as you would appreciate, he works in an industry which, while crucial to maintaining the security and even the good governance of the city and the Territory, is nonetheless plagued by any number of unscrupulous operators, many of whom would not hesitate to step well beyond the boundaries of decency and law to achieve an advantage for themselves.’