Megan shouted. ‘You’ll burn in hell.’

He grinned on standing. ‘Oh, you are full of good ideas. Burning! I love it. I’ll go and get my matches. I’m going to be the very best sadist I can be. Mother will approve.’

Megan attempted to tear her hands free as she yelled for help, shouting louder and louder until her words become screams. She screamed and screamed some more, unable to stop as her entire body trembled and her bowel threatened to evacuate its contents.

Heath hit Megan once, bang, hard on the point of the chin, silencing her with one mighty punch, before approaching the hatch. ‘I’ll see you both in a minute or two. I’ll fetch my camera while I’m down there. It seems like a good idea to record events for posterity. I won’t bother closing the hatch this time. You’re not going anywhere, not all tied up like that with your hands behind your back. But call for help one more time before I return, and I’ll cut your tongue out with a blade. You won’t say anything else at all after that. You’ll just splutter and choke on your blood.’

As Megan looked up, close to unconsciousness, Heath picked up the wig from the floor, beginning his transformation.

47

Heath stopped mid-step as Kesey knocked on the front door of his Picton Street home. He could clearly see her silhouette, but he had no intention of answering. He took a backward step as the piggy detective pressed her face against the glass, willing her to walk away, so he could get on with his day of days. But the officer stayed put, and Heath feared that she’d seen him, dressed in his mother’s clothing, dark wig, cherry-red lipstick, black mascara and all.

Heath wanted to cry out a stream of heartfelt abuse when the detective knocked again, a series of short raps of her knuckles this time. But she didn’t stop. Bang! There it was again.

Heath searched his troubled mind for an answer to his latest predicament at the hands of the interfering law. He wanted to tear her apart, to inflict terrible suffering for daring to stick her snout in where it didn’t belong. But was that wise? Could he get away with it? He knew he had to do something, but what?

‘She’s still there, Henry, oink, oink. Your plan is crumbling around your ears – first, the cock-up in Syria and now this abomination. You’re losing your touch, my boy. I can’t imagine your dear father being nearly as careless.’

Heath’s eyes flashed as he looked up at his mother as she hovered close to the high ceiling. ‘Shut the fuck up, Mother, let me concentrate, I need to focus.’

He heard the sound of laughter, a high-pitched female cackle. ‘She’s still knocking, Henry. There it is again. And I can see her piggy face, look, she’s peeping through the glass. Do something, Henry. She’s not going anywhere. She’s here to stay.’