Samuel Pulpitt gymnastics coach/Samuel Pulpitt Doctor Calm/Samuel Pulpitt suspect/Samuel Pulpitt 1996 convictions/Samuel Pulpitt sex crimes/Samuel Pulpitt Warrawood/Warrawood rapes 1990s/Warrawood Milltown crimes 1990s/Gym coach sex crimes/Pulpitt prison sentence release/ Pulpitt gymnastics/Pulpitt rapist court case/Serial criminal Warrawood Milltown…and on and on and on.

Somewhere along the line there’s a click in my brain and I return to the original article where they describe ‘Steve’ outside his Stockton home that has been searched dozens of times over the years and Stockton’s not so far from school, so then I google ‘Pulpitt Stockton’, and I find Samuel Pulpitt in the Australian Business Registry, located in Stockton, and then I click on the next search result which happens to be the plain old telephone directory and all of a sudden my heart is leaping out of my chest and I have this: Pulpitt, S. 316 Mewling Road, Stockton.

What the hell.

What the hell.

Could it really be him?

There’s a phone number, so I could just call and ask, but what if he has caller ID and then he has my mobile number?

I’m so pumped full of adrenaline that I might fly off the play equipment and shoot into the sky. I’m so sick of doing nothing. I’m so sick of sitting still.

‘Samuel,’ I boom, scaring a nearby pigeon. ‘I’m coming for you.’

I get a reply from Chloe while I’m on the train but I don’t read it because I am a laser now, every part of my being from my heart to my fingertips focussed to a pinpoint of energy that says: Samuel Pulpitt of Stockton, I’m coming to get you.

Chloe has been spending her holidays in productive ways and she would approve of my sleuthing and I don’t need a European trip to be exciting because I am finally doing something for Yin and all the other women and girls that have been hurt at the hands of men. I keep reading on the train. Pulpitt’s oldest victim was thirty-three and the youngest fifteen. It’s hard to believe you could do things that horrible to eight girls and women and only get eleven years in jail.

Eleven years versus always being scared, always looking behind you.

My fists itch to hit someone.

I get off at Stockton station and follow the blue line on the map towards Mewling Road. I am exactly like Senior Detective Hillary Burns from Devil Creek in that my outfit is terrible and also I can be an ice-cold bitch. I imagine I’m an assassin on the way to my target, a Wingdonian assassin with extra-sensory perception perhaps, who can fry man-brains to a crisp with one point of her finger.