‘Before you deploy Harvey and Pollard,’ he said, ‘I would like to talk to them.’

Wheels spluttered but deferred to Daniel. ‘Yes, of course, Detective Inspector.’

The troops dispersed and Daniel followed Wozza and me into the CIB office and closed the door.

I had no idea what Daniel had said to explain his presence. I let him take the lead once we were away from the others.

‘Lucky I was in the area when the magistrate’s call came through,’ he said, looking at me with those blue eyes.

‘Seat, sir?’ offered Wozza, with a schoolboy deference to Daniel’s rank. He pushed a visitor’s chair over.

Daniel sat and made himself comfortable, and I sat at my desk and fired up my computer. ‘They’ve got to take the girls somewhere,’ I said. ‘Can you call your real estate pal, Tully Webster, back and see if she’s found anything? Ask her if Jack, Lachie Murtog or Jimbo Tuffin have rented anything.’

Wozza busied himself on the phone and Daniel stood up and walked over to my desk.

‘You okay?’ Daniel’s voice was low.

I nodded. Met his gaze.

‘Bingo!’ Wozza yelled, making us both jump. ‘Lachie Murtog rents a garage behind the supermarket. He had a bunch of mates chip in for the rent. Tully reckons it’s a kind of workshop clubhouse.’

I grabbed my keys and Wozza grabbed his jacket. He paused for a second. ‘Sir, did you want to come along for the ride?’

‘It would be an honour to observe your work, Senior Detective,’ said Daniel in his most charming voice.

Wozza blushed.

The trip took three minutes. It took another minute for the three of us to cover the exits, firearms at the ready, along with the battering ram. I could hear voices inside. Laughter. Once we were in position and confirmed over the radio comms, I banged on what looked like the main door to the side of the garage.

‘Police! Open up.’

‘Oh shit!’ A man’s voice. Sounds of scrambling. A crash.

Time to use the big key. I picked up the battering ram and fuelled the swing with anger. It smashed into the door and left a big dent. I swung again and again until the door flew open with a splintering crash. I flung the battering ram aside, unholstered my weapon and entered the building.

The first thing that hit me was the stench. Stale weed mixed with sweat and engine oil—and other stuff I didn’t want to think about.

‘Police! Don’t move!’ I shouted.

Lachie Murtog was one of the men caught in the moment. He looked like he was going to take me on.

I held my gun straight out in front of me and pointed it right at him. ‘I wouldn’t if I was you,’ I said.

He didn’t listen. He charged like he was on the footy field.