His phone rang again. It was the St John of God accountant he’d left messages for. Despite Pete’s news that he couldn’t find any financial connection between the girls’ home and this mob, Jake knew he couldn’t trust the order as far as he could spit. His misgivings must have been apparent.

‘Detective Hunter.’ The bean counter sounded defen­sive. ‘The order does not now, nor has it ever, supported a home in Dunton. And …’

‘Yes?’

‘Look. I’m just an auditor sent in to clean up this organisation’s records. I’m not a member. I know what these people did, and it sickens me. Please understand I’m not hiding anything—to the best of my knowledge, this place wasn’t involved in whatever’s gone on down there. Not financially, at least.’

That checked out.

So where had the O’Briens’ pecuniary backing come from? Ava O’Brien had no income, her brother had merely scraped by. Yet somehow they paid rent to Mason Campbell for twenty years.

Or had they? There were no records to support that.

Even so, they had found the money for food, clothing and essentials for at least fourteen girls over the years.

Could they have been selling sufficient unwanted Dunton babies each year to cover their costs?

Kelly’s words, annoying as they were, were true. Jake had no evidence to support the idea, only gossip.

Time to search O’Brien’s place inch by inch, preferably while holding his breath.

*

Over an hour later, after sorting through boxes and makeshift shelving of bizarre religious texts and ancient medical tomes, Jake finally saw the blue spine of a volume similar to Ava’s diaries.

He shifted the books on top of it to one side, causing a small avalanche of papers. Pulling it from the pile he opened the front cover. It was from one of the missing years.

Collecting all the diaries that had belonged to Ava—and some journals that appeared to be the corresponding records belonging to O’Brien—Jake headed outside for blessed fresh air.

His phone rang again as he was opening his car door.

‘Meena?’

‘The answer is no, there’s no way Liam O’Brien could have carried his sister across a paddock. His spine and knees are so compromised he would have had trouble carrying a cup of tea from the kitchen.’

More likely to have been a middie of beer across a pub, Jake thought. So if O’Brien couldn’t have dumped Ava in the vineyard … ‘He had to have an accomplice. Or possibly …’

‘Or he’s a victim of the same person who killed her,’ Meena said with certainty. ‘He has injuries to his neck similar to Ava’s and again consistent with having been strangled. I can’t get him into an MRI until later today, but you may be looking at another murder.’