Cavalier glanced at Castro. His formerly huge nose was no more. A bullet had destroyed it and passed through the centre of his skull.

‘They’re finished,’ Cavalier said. ‘Turn the light off and stay there. I want to check if they have a driver.’

Cavalier put on the night glasses and moved to the broken laundry door. He bounded up the stairs at the side of the house and into the street. He could see a Holden Commodore parked fifty metres down the road. He eased to it. No one was in it. Cavalier hurried back to the house. Once inside, he raised the glasses to his forehead again and called, ‘All clear. Switch on the light.’

Haut took a few steps down towards the bodies.

‘God!’ he mumbled.

‘Cover your nose and mouth,’ Cavalier said, ‘don’t take in the smell. There is nothing worse. Sweet and sickly.’

‘You know it well?’

Cavalier didn’t reply. He examined each victim.

‘Funny that,’ he said. ‘This bloke at the bottom took just one bullet, right in the heart. Blood everywhere but not on his suit.’

‘We need to dispose of the bodies,’ Haut said.

‘Do you have a mate, one you can trust? One who has a van?’

‘Yes,’ Haut said, stepping past the bodies.

‘Tell him to bring rubbish bags,’ Cavalier said, ‘big ones and plenty of them.’

Haut made a call.

‘You can really trust him?’ Cavalier asked when Haut got off the phone.

‘He’s like a brother. Ex-SAS.’

‘Name?’

‘Ken Pringle.’

‘Pringle, Pringle … I know that name. He competed for a place in the SAS when I did, decades ago.’ He paused. ‘When you introduce us, remember I’m Mr Waugh.’

Cavalier moved to the bodies and took all items from their clothes, including wallets, cards, pens and hire-car keys. He placed everything in a plastic bag, except the keys, which he pocketed. He picked up two of the guns. Castro still gripped his. Cavalier loosened his fingers and released the weapon.

‘Three bright shiny new Glocks,’ he said. ‘Very nice shooters, just like mine.’

Haut helped Cavalier ease Leni’s body from under the others.

‘Notice something?’ Cavalier asked. ‘They’re all wearing the same suits.’

‘What’s that about?’

‘I’d guess some sort of killing club, an insignia for assassins. They wore the same jeans suits every day in Laos, except Hollos. He couldn’t fit into it.’

Cavalier struggled to remove the light brown suit from Leni.

‘What are you doing?’ Haut asked.

‘Quality suit, this,’ Cavalier said. ‘Silk-lined. Look, no bullet holes; no blood.’

He handed the jacket and pants to Haut.

‘I reckon you should wear it,’ Cavalier said, ‘it’s about your size.’

‘Why?’

‘I don’t know. A warning perhaps to any other would-be killers.’

Haut smiled nervously as he accepted the suit.