With her blueish lips agape, eyes sunken and sightless, and strands of white hair plastered to the side of her face, no wonder the boy had been spooked. While there was no obvious cause of death, it was clear that the woman had endured significant trauma in the hours surrounding her death.

Jake lifted one of her hands, the fingertips globules of congealed blood. The fingernails of every digit including the thumb had been ripped from the bed.

It was the same on her other hand.

Chapter Two

Dunton, Tasmania

Friday, 10.15 a.m.

Clearing his throat and testing his voice first to ensure it was steady, Jake pulled his phone from his pocket and called in the scene.

Murphy arrived first. Attending the scene of a suspicious death superseded taking statements from the Taylors, so he had reversed course when he received the dispatch. ‘Boss is on his way,’ he said as he approached, stopping sharply as he spied the corpse.

‘You know her?’

‘Tha—that’s Ava O’Brien,’ he stammered. ‘She ran the bad girls’ home.’

‘The what?’

Murphy straightened up. ‘I mean, she was in charge of the home for girls without families.’

‘Where?’

‘Here …’

Jake scowled at the constable’s vagueness.

‘There’re some buildings on the other side of the manor,’ Murphy said as he pointed. ‘Behind that hedge.’

‘What do you know about Ms O’Brien?’

‘My parents said she moved here to run the home.’

‘Did she have any family in the area?’

‘A brother, I think.’

‘We’ll have to get hold of him as soon as possible. And why did your parents call it a “bad girls’ home”?’

‘Huh?’

‘Why were the girls’—Jake drew scare quotes in the air—‘“bad”?’

‘Dunno. I mean, I guess …’

‘Were any of them at your school?’

‘Only after the home closed.’ The constable’s voice trailed off. ‘One of Dad’s cousins adopted one of the girls.’ He fell silent.

Jake gazed into the distance, deep in thought. The sun had yet to straddle the ridge line on his sixth morning in Dunton and already there was a faint ringing in his ears: the heavy note of death tempered by a hum of anticipation of a new investigation.

As they waited for the arrival of the ambulance, Jake came to appreciate the readily available resources in his previous post. In Melbourne, the scene would already have been swarming with forensic staff recording every detail. By contrast, the Forensic Science Service Tasmania, or FSST, had only one forensic pathologist in his half of the state, based over an hour away at the same hospital Jamie Taylor had been taken to. And given Dunton’s remoteness, having CSI staff arrive on scene today was not an option.

Unfortunately, Dunton was apparently also lacking in constables who had paid attention during crime scene forensics at the academy. Jake had to remind his junior officer to glove up before approaching Ava’s body, even if it was only to space out rulers and markers to photograph her from every angle.