‘The prints on the image is our best lead at the moment. The second set we assume must belong to the person who placed it there. I know you’re convinced you’re the only person who touched it, Margot, but we will take your prints, Gabe, just to eliminate you.’

‘I’m assuming you’ve already run the prints through a database?’ he says.

‘When we ran the prints nothing came back, so he’s not on the system and even if we got a match it would mean we had a suspect for the image, but it’s also possible the two are not linked, the fire and the image.’

‘Possible,’ Gabe said. ‘But extraordinarily unlikely, surely?’

‘There’s room for doubt. We got a good sample so if they do anything else, if they commit any other crime and leave a left thumb or left index print, we’ll be able to connect the two.’

It might be a criminal who has gotten lucky, an arsonist who has never been caught. A mind that’s burning, itching to cause carnage. Or, since the prints don’t match any other crime or criminal, maybe this was a first offence. A first-time crim. I can’t think which is worse – a hardened criminal who’s evaded authorities or someone who hated us so much they’re prepared to become one.

‘There was something else,’ Simms says. ‘The station officer reported that the nature of the fire suggests most of the fuel used was not in close proximity to the incendiary device.’

‘In plain language that means— ’

‘Most of the fuel was in the lounge room, not the study where the Molotov cocktail landed. So someone has likely spread fuel in the house before throwing the Molotov cocktail through the window. I’m waiting on the full report from the fire investigation unit, but it could be that the door was left open to accelerate the fire by providing more oxygen, or someone simply forgot to close it.’

‘You’re joking,’ Gabe says.

‘Wish I was. It means someone was inside your house.’

I feel goosebumps rise in my forearms. Gabe’s arm comes around my shoulders. ‘But why wouldn’t they light it from inside silently? Why would they bother breaking the window and waking us up?’

His shoulders rise and he turns his palms to us. ‘That’s a question I’m afraid I can’t answer.’

•

In the early afternoon on Monday I have Xanthe. She smiles politely.

‘Come on through.’ With some clients, I must read over their notes before each visit to refresh my mind; some patients I see only once a month and it’s necessary to rehash the previous visits. But not with Xanthe as she comes twice a week.