Talking to Lachie Murtog and Jimbo Tuffin became our top priority. Especially when, back at the station, we checked Jane’s parking log from the night Meg was taken and saw that Jimbo’s car had been there too.

CHAPTER 27: CHICKS CRY FOUL

CHAPTER 27

CHICKS CRY FOUL

We waited until we’d figured Lachie Murtog’s shift was over then went for the third time to his block of flats.

‘Third time lucky,’ said Wozza as he pulled up next to a red ute. I walked around it. Wozza was right—every panel was scratched. Gouged. Normally, I would shake my head at the wanton damage. But there was something about these scratches that felt … satisfying. If Lachie was targeting women, this hit back where it hurt.

Lachie Murtog held a stubby of beer when he opened the door. He was shorter than I’d imagined. Handsome, muscled arms, tanned, clean cut. He looked like a nice guy. But I knew more than most that looks could be deceiving.

He nodded at Wozza and seemed polite enough when Wozza introduced me. He invited us in. The house smelled like stale cigarette smoke. We settled at his kitchen table, after refusing tea and coffee.

Wozza took the lead. ‘We wanted to talk to you about the damage to your car,’ he said. ‘The more detail you can give us, the better. That way, if it happens again, we might be able to identify the culprit.’

Lachie looked uncomfortable. ‘Woz, I don’t want to do anything about it. Shit happens, you know?’

‘Mate,’ said Wozza, leaning forward earnestly. ‘Hard-working bloke like you. You don’t deserve shit like this. Fixing your ute’d cost a fucken fortune. Whatever bastard did this, we want to catch him—otherwise no one’s ute is safe, mate.’

Wozza deserved a standing ovation. The way he slipped into the vernacular was worthy of a gold star—or at the very least an elephant stamp for swearing.

‘Surely you want us to catch him?’ said Wozza.

‘Him?’ The look of confusion on Lachie’s face told me he’d assumed the ute scratcher was female. He tried to cover his confusion. ‘Well, sure—I mean, yeah—but how the hell can you?’ Lachie stood up to get another stubby from the fridge. As he cracked the top, he looked at me properly for the first time. ‘You the one who headbutted Jack Barratt?’

I dodged the question. ‘Do you know Jack?’

‘Me? Nah. Just heard about it, that’s all.’ Lachie looked away too quickly. He resumed his seat at the table.

I leaned back in my chair. Wozza shadowed my movement. Open. Nothing to hide. ‘So, Jack Barratt has never called you?’ My eyes flicked to his phone on the coffee table in front of him. ‘On your mobile?’

Lachie looked at his phone as if it might bite him. Finally, he said, ‘Nah.’ His discomfort was so intense it was comical. His fingers twitched like he wanted to grab his phone away from my reach. Resisting the urge, he crossed his arms in front of him and shoved his hands under his armpits.