‘She’s not telling us something. We both know it.’ Gabriella stalked along the paving stones, bristling like a cat. ‘The little bitch. She wants to try and paint us as the villains – she wants to play the victim? Oh, she’ll see what we’re capable of, just you wait . . . Did you see the way she loosened the dressing gown and then pulled the camera back, so everyone could see she was barely wearing anything underneath? It made it look like we’d just dragged her out of bed, or from the bath, or . . . something equally creepy.’

‘We need to speak to Jack Michaels,’ said Con.

‘Yeah, and he’ll know we’re coming now.’

‘We can use that,’ said Con. ‘We might just need to bend a couple rules.’

‘Done. I don’t care, as long as we find out what Madison is up to.’ Gabriella pulled the driver’s side door open.

A text message came through on Con’s phone: Hello, this is Pastor Hugh again. Please call me when you can. It is a matter of some urgency.

Con quickly texted his reply: Sorry, will call soon. Can you text what this is regarding?

Ignoring the journalists trying to get their attention, Con climbed into the passenger side and they sped off. It began to rain again.

CHAPTER 21

MURPHY

Murphy, Butch and Skinner sat in the cushy couches around the fireplace in the shed. The other two were taking long drags from their joints and relaxing. Skinner didn’t know, but the one they’d given him had been painted in angel dust. Once they’d pumped Skinner full of the stuff they planned to interrogate him. Or it could go terribly wrong and he’d try and kill them. They had to wait for it to kick in and see.

Murphy scrolled through the comments on the video posted by the Justice for the Limestone Four Facebook page. It was surprising how many people he’d known his whole life wanted him dead. His mind went to the Glock hidden in the back of the couch he was sitting on; maybe he should keep it with him from now on.

Catching MMMMadisonMason’s comment, he clicked on her page, and saw she was streaming a live video.

‘Knowing that our friend is gone . . . knowing that Cierra and Jasmine are still out there, and even Bree . . .’

Jasmine, where are you? I’m coming for you, I promise.

Butch and Skinner had gone quiet, listening in. They both cheered when Madison declared Murphy’s innocence. At the mention of Jack Michaels, Murphy felt a flash of anger. Butch spat on the floor, and Skinner looked sheepish.

When Madison flipped the camera to show the detectives, and Detective Pakinga called for someone to come forward about whatever Madison was hiding, Butch roared. ‘How dare those pigs say that about the poor girl!’

‘Shut up, dopey,’ said Skinner, punching his shoulder. ‘We’re listening.’