‘Hey, Antigone!’ she said brightly. We had met a bunch of times when she dropped into the station to exchange children with Wozza. I had liked her immediately, and since I was Wozza’s partner she instantly treated me like one of the family. ‘You’re just in time for cake.’ She peeled off her oven mitts and came around to give Waffles a hug. ‘Oh, you are a beautiful boy!’ she said.

His eyes rolled in ecstasy as she scratched him under the chin.

‘Why don’t you ever do that to me?’ Wozza protested.

‘You’re not this cute,’ said Jess.

‘Fair call.’ Wozza pointed to a chair. ‘Take a seat,’ he said, turning to the bench to put the kettle on.

When Jess turned her attention from Waffles to me, she must have noticed the look on my face. She said nothing and sat down at the table with me.

‘Sorry for barging in on you both, but I’ve had a hell of a day and I need to talk about it.’

Jess leaned forward on her elbows. Wozza finished making tea and brought the pot and cups and a jug of milk to the table.

I gave them the short version of my encounter with Jack and how I’d gone to the station to report it and found Wheels going through my desk.

Wozza’s eyes widened. ‘Bloody hell,’ he said. ‘Are you okay? I can see bruising on your neck.’

I nodded.

‘And you reckon Jack Barratt is okay?’

I shrugged. ‘I drove off as soon as I saw him approaching through the trees. He was upright and walking.’

Wozza asked if I’d made notes about the encounter.

‘I sent a report through to the DDI,’ I said.

He laughed. ‘Wheels’ll be sticking pins in an Antigone voodoo doll for going over his head.’

I sighed. Nothing new in that.

‘What do you reckon Wheels was looking for?’ asked Jess.

‘No idea. But that’s not what I want to talk to you about.’ I pulled out the blue spiral binder of crime scene photos from the Millard homicide box, remembering a close-up picture of the door. I hadn’t taken any notice because the photo had focused on the fingerprint dust around the handle. I’d seen so many dusted doors; they were featured in nearly every packet of crime scene photos I’d ever seen. Urgently, I flicked through them—past the front of the house, empty living room, food scattered on the floor, phone off the hook, Shayna dead in bed, Brett on the floor in the kitchen to the open kitchen door and, finally, the wire door. There it was.

Latched.

My heart thumped. Alert. Wired. I blew out a deep breath. I could see Wozza had made the connection. He used the photos like a storybook to bring Jess up to speed.