‘You don’t look too good, mate. I’ve heard post-traumatic stress can be a real bitch. I bet even those medications aren’t enough. I mean, you’ve got a real cocktail going there.’

Con’s hands clamped over the edges of the sink. ‘You were in my room.’

‘I wasn’t in your room,’ said Doble. ‘But one of the cleaners is a client of mine, if you know what I mean. I had him have a look, once you started investigating my little enterprise, just to get a little insurance. Nice job with the curtains: does it help with the nightmares?’

Con turned on him, his hands balled into fists.

‘The funny thing is, PTS isn’t listed in your personnel file. I wonder what the commissioner would say about the lead detective on the most important kidnapping cases of the decade being mentally unstable. I mean, it wouldn’t just be bad for you, but also your commanding officer.’

Con stepped forward. Doble didn’t sense the danger.

‘Here’s what you’re gonna do, Badenhorst. You’re gonna tell whoever you need to that I am clean, or I’ll tell the media and you and Normandy will never work in law enforcement again.’

‘The first thing I’m going to do is find the missing girls,’ said Con. ‘Then, after that, I’m going to bring you down. And, if you’re lucky, I won’t let Murphy have a piece of you.’

Doble swung his fist at Con’s face, but Con was ready, dropping Doble to the ground with an Aikido throw. Doble landed on his back, groaning.

He staggered to his feet, cheeks red. ‘You just assaulted me, detective,’ he growled.

‘You’re the reason people hate cops,’ he said. ‘You’re worse than a grub.’ He walked out of the room.

He didn’t need the commander. He had at least three allies to help him get to the bottom of this: Gabriella, Eliza and Murphy.

CHAPTER 42

MURPHY

This time, Murphy knew what the dream was trying to tell him. Sara stood below, looking up at him. Her ginger hair caught the wind, her lavender dress billowing.

We’re going to find you, Jasmine. I know it.

Sara smiled as he crashed down on top of her.

Murphy jerked awake. He was fully clothed, tangled in the blankets on the floor of Con’s hotel room. Someone was pounding on the door. The clock read 9.04 am and the detective was nowhere to be seen.

Before he stood up, he checked the Glock was still in his belt.

He opened the door, and Gabriella walked in. ‘Where’s Con?’

‘Dunno,’ said Murphy.

‘What time did he leave?’

He shrugged again. ‘I only just woke up. Where’s Eliza?’