Lunch would be kind of nice, I supposed, and I was dying for a report on Paul’s little visit, but how would I fit it in with the parents? I’d have to chance it at the hospital and hope Mum was still up at the house, so I could get some decent time alone with Dad. It must have been driving him spare to have her hovering around like a blowfly, fussing and annoying the crap out of everyone. I grabbed my bag and headed for the stairs. My dad had endless patience, which was fortunate, considering who he chose to marry. He was Mr Steady Eddie, while she blustered her way through life. I didn’t know how he put up with her, let alone be so besotted with her, which he was. And it was mutual, even after all these years. Very sweet, but completely baffling as far as I was concerned.

If I got a moment alone, I planned to tell Dad about Cassie. I needed some fatherly reassurance, a pat on the back and a ‘you did alright, kid’. I might even mention my little problem with Mister Ron Ellis. The way the name rolled around in my mind, caught my attention; it sounded somehow familiar. I stopped and stood, hands on hips while I ran it through my mental contacts list. Ron Ellis? I was pretty sure that was no one I knew or had been around in recent history. Dad had a hunting buddy Ron Allison, but he’d be at least sixty-five, and last I knew lived in the back blocks of Tapanui, which was a little bit further out than the middle of nowhere. The only things he stalked were deer and beer. A wave of chill washed from my scalp downwards as a name foremost in this morning’s briefing played over several times in my mind. Ron Ellis. Cameron Ellis. Cameron Ellison? Had I misheard Paul? Between the wind distortion and traffic noise had he been trying to say ‘Cameron Ellison’? Surely not. I turned around and sprinted back up the stairs.

When I rang Paul’s number, it went straight to voicemail. Of course, he’d have turned it off for court. Damn it.

I felt the restless itch I got when I knew there was something seriously wrong, something I should think of. Had Paul been trying to say a Cameron Ellison was my stalker? And coincidentally, a Cameron Ellison happened to be identified as this morning’s victim of an assault and robbery?

No, that couldn’t be right. That was too creepy. The room had taken on a slightly distorted feel as my mind grappled with what was happening here.

‘I don’t believe in coincidences,’ I said out loud to myself, repeatedly, like some mantra, while my brain chugged through this.