Suze had wanted to tell the parents about the water bottle and the shoe straight away to gauge their reaction, but Caruso convinced her to wait. After three hours with the reverend, going over movements around the church on Saturday and doorknocking the nearby residences, Caruso was wondering if the items had been dropped by mistake or left there deliberately for the police to find. But why? And by who? Imogen Lawrence had been photocopying posters in the church office on Friday. Dr Parker’s older daughter had been at a house in that suburb weeks ago. As far as they knew, Bella and her family had never been to the church. Was the mortuary thing another coincidence or a message from a sick perp? One shoe. Implied she didn’t need the pair.

In all the interviews with the playgroup mums, no-one had mentioned Bella having a water bottle. What kid decides to go exploring beyond the fence and remembers to take a water bottle with them?

Someone had access to that water bottle, before or after taking Bella.

Caruso checked Bella’s wardrobe himself, as well as under the bed and in the toy box. After just four days, the room felt empty, missing its young occupant. The fairy doona was perfectly straight on the bed, no wrinkles or creases. The clothes were folded in the drawers, the toys put away. No sign that a child had played here recently. He tried not to picture his niece’s bedroom with the same fairy doona; emotion would only cloud his thinking. Bella’s collection of shoes and boots were lined up in matching pairs. No single shoe to be found. Nothing in the parents’ bedroom, the spare room, the lounge room. Another officer searched the garage, the garden shed and the laundry, which had a wooden box of winter boots.

Taking the key from Mrs Parker, Caruso wondered what she’d locked away in the downstairs room. Something she was keeping from her husband, clearly. Pushing open the door, it took a moment for Caruso to process what he was seeing. Shelves and shelves of stuffed toys and teddy bears. Blue and fluffy. Folded baby blankets and wraps. White wooden boxes filled to the top with baby clothes. Little socks, woollen beanies, striped bibs, tiny shoes, hats and caps.

In between the piles of clothing were photos in frames decorated with captions like It’s a Boy and I love Mummy. The photos showed the baby by himself at birth attached to monitors and oxygen tubes, then with Lexie and Marty together. The newborn floating in a baby bath, tubes snaking off to medical equipment in the background. In a baby swing. With his extended family. In the lap of his half-sister, a young Victoria. Another shelf held a photo album with baby bears on the front cover.