How could you do this? How could you do this? This wasn’t the plan. You said no one would get hurt!

Relax. I know what to do. The pub will look like a robbery. Take this. A little bonus for our troubles.

She could see Bran throwing the cash bag up onto the roof of the Barking Frog just to spite his trigger-happy partner. Bran was like that. Spiteful. Wimpy little tantrum-throwing bitch who hurled things when he was mad. Jay hadn’t worried about the tantrum and the perfectly good cash thrown away. They were about to be deep in a whole lot more. And he didn’t need to fight Bran on this. Bran had only agreed to this whole thing because Jay had promised no killing. And now they were three victims deep, too far in to ever hope of turning back.

Oh, Amanda had been dumb. She had stood at the door of this house the very next day and looked at the face of the one named Bran and not known anything was amiss. She’d not looked down at his workman’s boots. She’d gobbled up their pathetic stories about being Victoria’s grandsons. She had seen Victoria Songly sitting in the orange and black recliner just inside the door and not known the woman was dead. Yes, it had only been a slice of her visible from the doorway. An elbow on the armrest, not enough of a view to measure for life, or the absence of it. Victoria had been positioned there deliberately, the tea beside her a real artistic touch. The men had later moved the dead woman, put her by the glass doors so that just her feet could be glimpsed over the fence by any of the curious cops who happened to take a peek. Socked feet and slippers that would hide the lividity in her skin, the swelling, as she decomposed. Amanda should have known something was wrong. Even the thinnest blood didn’t warrant socks and slippers in Cairns.

Keeping her body there in view of the cops had been daring, creative, cunning. She had to give them that. Because dumping her body would have created a liability. A body could be found, particularly with all the land and creek searches being held nearby for the gun. If the old lady appeared to be at home, present and comfortable, then there was no need for questions. All they’d had to do was fend off the cops. Ah, yes, she’d spoken to an officer—they didn’t remember the name. She’d said she didn’t remember anything, hadn’t heard anything. Oh no, no, she couldn’t talk now, she was asleep. She was confused. She was busy. Come back later. Maybe tomorrow. Everything’s fine. There were enough men and women on the investigation to support the bluff. Detectives had been pulled in from as far away as Brisbane. All the two men had to do was stay vague, stay casual, stay happy. Victoria had Alzheimer’s. What good was she to anyone anyway?