‘Davey?’ he called again, voice echoing off the gleaming kitchenware. ‘It’s Ahab. Twice in one day. You’d think the sirens’ curse had come early.’ He laughed humourlessly, voice echoing. The place smelled like scented Huon Pine candles and coffee. ‘We need to talk.’

The kitchen faced a huge lounge area, all gleaming white and lush carpet, with a sunken square seat in its centre. Large windows overlooked the bay and the bushland.

He pressed his fingers into the abalone shell that was embedded in the kitchen bench. He knew that, if his mother hadn’t lost her mind to the drugs, he might’ve lived somewhere like this. He wasn’t bothered, preferring his attic suite to a place like this. But the irony of the same drugs taking everything from his mum and giving such power to his cousin was not a happy thought.

He’ll get his day. The curse will take him too.

But there was no happiness in that thought either. He hoped, desperately, that he was wrong.

He paused as he trailed his fingers along the counter. There was a half-drunk coffee on the bench. He wrapped his fingers around the mug: it was still warm, and it smelled of a dash of whisky.

He turned quickly, putting the bench at his back, looking over the space again. He slowed his breathing and listened.

Nothing.

Perhaps he wasn’t alone.

He slid a knife out of the knife block and padded off into the house. Kitchen knives were not good weapons, but back in the day, before Ahab had left the Business, he’d learned enough to make even a blunt blade dangerous.

He came to the timber stairs and headed down into a large rumpus room: fraying couches, a giant Tasmanian oak TV cabinet spilling out cables from various gaming consoles.

He walked back up the stairs and to the top floor. The first bedroom he entered was the master bedroom, again with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the breathtaking beauty of the bay. He flipped his hold on the knife, then looked around the room. Right away he saw that there was a note on the bedside table. A folded page. Someone had written ‘Shelby’ on the top.

Ahab hesitated. There was a difference between investigator and voyeur . . . but with the tip of the knife, he turned the page over.

‘Tell Jesse I’m sorry.’

Blood rushed to Ahab’s head.

I knew it . . .

He picked up the note. He read it again. He turned it over, looking for anything else.

I knew it . . .

He couldn’t remember walking back down the stairs, but his whole body felt on fire.

I damn well knew it!

Davey had been involved in the disappearance of Jesse, Alexandra and Forest.

Ahab would find him. Of that much he was sure.

Now his steps were deliberate again. Never before had he been so aware of the cursed Dempsey blood boiling in his veins.