Caruso could see why the hate site had evolved. The physio, Yvette Tobin, had called the police after the baby had died, insisting the parents were responsible for his death. But the post-mortem report showed natural causes. Unhappy with the outcome of the police investigation, Yvette had contacted the hospital and Natalie Alvarez. It seemed that Nurse Natalie had latched onto Marty’s case and served him up as an example of a Dr Death, hell-bent on euthanising children. She’d exploited his name and his story for her own crusade. Nurse Natalie was quoted in a number of papers saying: Doctors pledge an oath to do no harm but so many of them, like Dr Martin Ross, take matters into their own hands. He needs to be investigated—at the hospital and at home. Life—every life—is precious. We mourn today for the loss of this little baby. It made for great media headlines and the son’s death had become a media circus, the public whipped into a frenzy.

Chatswood police had checked Dr Parker’s patients for any links to the hate site. Caruso’s team was checking them again, including four families whose children had died unexpectedly under Dr Parker’s care: Hayden, Wang, Bell and Papadopoulos. The hospital had set up an inquiry focusing on the four deaths, and someone on the inside had passed confidential files to Nurse Natalie and the media. From the investigation report and the newspaper coverage, Caruso could see that Martin and Lexie had been dragged through hell.

That didn’t necessarily make them innocent.

Last night, the Royal Military College, Duntroon, had sent some army cadets. Additional SES volunteers had come from the nearby town of Queanbeyan. They’d all continued searching in the soft, drizzling rain. But they’d uncovered no evidence of Bella’s whereabouts. Whenever he shut his eyes, Caruso saw the girl’s smiley face, followed by images of the horrific things a perp might do. All the child cases he’d worked on, read about, studied, heard about morphed together and appeared in his thoughts of Bella.

Yesterday morning, his oldest niece had been playing soccer down at Weston Creek football fields—the closest ones to Merrigang. He’d popped in at the right time to see her team score the winning goal off a corner. Cheering, Caruso hugged the other three children, held them tight for a moment, and then slipped them a dollar each to buy some lollies. They’d started to run off towards the canteen at the edge of the fields when his sister called them back.

‘Stay here until the game finishes,’ she instructed. ‘Then we’ll all go together.’

‘But we always go to the canteen alone,’ argued the eight-year-old.

Above their heads, his sister whispered to him, ‘Any news? Have you found her yet?’