In my experience, offenders’ crime kits spoke volumes about the proclivities of their owners. Jack’s contained gloves, condoms, rope. A big hunting knife. A sick bondage porn magazine that suggested he was definitely a good suspect. And then, as I flicked through the pages of the magazine to check if it concealed anything else, I found a handful of polaroids tucked inside. They were all of women, each of them lying on the same old mattress on a concrete floor. All were grotesquely posed. Faces were turned away from the camera, but it seemed like the women were either asleep or unconscious.

‘Oh jeez,’ said Wozza, flicking quickly through the pictures, then turning them face down.

As I reached into the space to check I hadn’t missed anything, I found one last item. Pulled it out. Tablets in an old bottle marked Chloral hydrate. It had Jack’s name on it.

‘Whatcha got there?’ Wozza said.

‘You won’t believe this.’ I held up the bottle. ‘Chloral hydrate has been found in the blood tests of a couple of the victims.’

‘Gotcha!’ said Wozza.

Wozza and I collected the items, bagged and tagged them, then headed back to the police station to log them into evidence. Jack would front court in a couple of hours, and if we had enough stuff on him, there’d be a chance he’d be refused bail. A slim chance.

The morning sky darkened on the drive back to the station. The weather had missed the memo about it being spring and still cast frosty tendrils around Deception Bay. Moody clouds blocked out the weak sun, and there was a chill in the air. Chimneys in cottages around town steamed as heat from burning hearths escaped into the wind.

In the warmth of the station, I prepared to speak to Jack again. This time, I led the interview. I hid what we had found inside an evidence box and left it sitting on the table in the interview room. Jack eyed it when he was led in by the watch-house keeper, then studiously ignored it as he resumed the same pose as the night before. Leaning back, arms crossed.

I went through the same ritual. Recording on, names of those present, time, date, location, then the caution. ‘We have found several items at your house that we’d like to ask you about,’ I began.

Jack said nothing. His expression hard. Bruising from my headbutt had developed like a sunset, red and crimson on top and dark under his eyes.

I reached into the box and drew out the plastic evidence bag with the bottle of chloral hydrate.

Jack’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second, then settled. ‘Never seen it before in my life.’

‘Your name’s on the bottle,’ I said dryly.

‘What? You’re framing people now.’ His voice had an edge to it.