Back at the office, I handed Wozza his coffee and pastries. He looked at them with as much fondness as I’d seen him look at members of his own family. I told him what I’d found out on my visit up the street, leading with my run-in with the mayor and finishing with the door latch.

‘I’ve got a copy of the Millard file in the car,’ I told him. ‘If we have time later, want to take a look at it?’

‘Sure,’ he said. ‘And I’ve got a present for you too. Did a search on your knife-wielding shed friend, Matthew Bunting.’

‘Oh?’

‘Lives in Melbourne. Works as a bouncer. Gun Alley Nightclub. Ring any bells?’

Wozza must’ve noticed the blood drain from my face. He went to stand up but I held up my hand. ‘I’m okay.’ I turned away from him and sat down at my desk, then busied myself at my computer while he stared at me, eyebrows raised in a question.

‘So you know the Gun Alley Nightclub then?’ Wozza wasn’t going to let it go.

Finally, I nodded. The Gun Alley Nightclub, the club frequented by Noah Shepherd, the scene of the attack on Gemma.

He looked at his watch. It was nearly time for Merv’s postmortem examination. ‘Ring the hospital,’ he said. ‘See if we’re cleared to interview Matthew Bunting.’

‘Wozza—’

‘We can visit him as soon as we’ve seen what Merv looks like on the inside.’

CHAPTER 23: THE INSIDES OF MERV

CHAPTER 23

THE INSIDES OF MERV

Doc Caldicott was right in her prediction that she’d do Merv’s post-mortem examination. By the time we arrived at the Deception Bay Hospital mortuary, she was gowned up and ready. This was my first visit. It was different from the city. There was no viewing room, so Wozza and I joined the doc at the autopsy table. Surround-sound. Surround-smell.

Lying on a stainless-steel table, Merv was covered with a sheet. The room was cold and I saw Wozza shiver. I pulled my jacket tighter around me. A mortuary assistant—a young man in his thirties with pale hands and long fingers which looked perfectly suited to working with the dead—pushed a trolley on which sat a tray of instruments and parked it next to the body.

Doc Caldicott slipped on a pair of rubber gloves then picked up a small digital handheld recorder and clicked the record button. She began by identifying Merv and listing his height, weight and age. As she spoke, the morgue assistant peeled back the sheet. Merv’s body had been stripped and hosed down. His skin was mottled and grey. His mouth was half open; so were his eyes. There was no dignity in death, particularly not if you ended up here.