ONE

WINTER

THERE WERE ELEVEN OF THEM SQUASHED into the red Ford Transit van.

All were in high spirits-except, that was, for the driver, Tommy Clarke. He wasn’t happy.

Tommy had thought long and hard about offering his services locally as a driver and wouldn’t have if it hadn’t been for Anne, his wife. She had heard that people were looking for transport into the city for a protest march and saw it as the perfect opportunity for them to earn some money-even though it was scheduled for Saturday, which would mean Tommy missing the big match: the Swans versus the Eagles.

He had tried to argue, but it was a waste of time. Anne Clarke was an unstoppable force of nature and opposing her was an exercise in futility. Still, it was that same determination and persistence that had attracted him in the first place-that and a body that could stop traffic.

Before meeting his wife, Tommy had drifted like a ship without an anchor. But Anne had plans-lots of them-and the principal one was to buy a house. Of course, properties cost money, and Tommy had no idea where they would get that. Luckily, Anne did.

She stuck a big whiteboard up in the kitchen, taping it to the wall. Using a black marker, she split the board vertically into three columns: incomings, outgoings, and savings. Then, she crossed the lines with dates. Every week, she filled the boxes with numbers-money they earned, spent, and saved together. The savings column had gotten larger and larger, but they still needed every cent they could get, which was why Saturday’s driving job had to go ahead.

Tommy picked the passengers up outside Absolute Muffin, Church Point’s only bakery. He stashed their banners and signs in the back of the Transit and then set off to Sydney Town Hall, where they would join the others for the Future Is in Your Hands march. After they returned, Tommy would

drive them back. He would get three hundred dollars cash for the job.

It was the first demonstration Tommy had attended. He thought protests and marches were a waste of time and was surprised at the eclectic mix of people he had picked up for the protest. There was old Mrs. Deans, who was almost eighty and could hardly walk; a farming family, the Marinas-father Antonio, mother Lucia, and their eight-year-old son, Sasha; Claire Nichol, who owned the local ladies’ fashion boutique, and her husband Noel, a teacher; a couple of hippies whom Tommy had never met before; and the Coopers, newlyweds who were older than Tommy and Anne but had gotten married at almost the same time and in the same church. Theresa Cooper worked as a dental hygienist and was bubbly and outgoing. Irwin was more intense, an academic who worked as a chemistry lecturer at the local college. “So, what’s this all about?” Tommy had asked Theresa Cooper after they’d

set off.

“It’s about justice and fair play;’ Irwin Cooper said before his wife could answer. “Unless we do something now, The Man will destroy the world. And by The Man, I mean those blood-sucking vampire developers and money-grubbing capitalists who’ll do anything and everything to line their own pockets:’

Tommy nodded, regretting that he had started the conversation. “This protest is all about drawing a line in the sand;’ Irwin added.

“What Irwin is trying to say is that this march is about protecting the environment and making sure that our views are taken as seriously as the developers:’ Theresa clarified.

“Exactly;’ Irwin said. He pointed behind him. “Take the Marinas back there. They used to own a small farm in Spain before they emigrated to Australia. They bought a plot of land here and began farming. Now, they have a son and what could be a thriving business. They’re well on their way, but some property group has bought everything around them. They want to buy out the Marinas, too, and build a hotel and golf course, but the family doesn’t want to sell:’

“They shouldn’t, then:’ Tommy gripped the wheel tight as the Transit hit a

pothole and bounced up and down.

“The problem is, if they don’t, those people will make their life hell;’ Theresa said. “They’ve already made threats. And they’ve bought their way into the local council:’

“Yep, see, it’s all about fighting The Man;’ Irwin added.

“Oh, right;’ Tommy said, switching on the wipers as rain started to fall.

Theresa held her husband’s hand. “Irwin, we should let Tommy concentrate on driving, don’t you think?”

And that was the end of that conversation.

ARRIVING IN SYDNEY’s CITY CENTER, TOMMY parked. “Come back here when you’re finished;’ he instructed the passengers before they disembarked to join the other protestors.

After everyone left, the reluctant driver ate the chicken and avocado sandwich his wife had made, lay across the back seat, and closed his eyes for a nap.

When he awoke, the march was ending. The crowd was dispersing, and people were heading home.

Tommy picked up his camera. Anne had reminded him to take a picture,

which she would use to advertise the Transit van’s services. He attached it to a tripod and then joined the passengers lined up along the side of the truck for a group photo.

After that, Tommy set off at high speed, ignoring the rain that was now hurtling down. He was desperate to get back to see the end of the match, so it was only twenty minutes later that the van reached the top of Clifton Hill and began its descent.

The van picked up too much speed; Tommy tried to brake as the vehicle skidded on the wet, greasy bitumen. Passengers’ screams rent the air as the Transit spun around and out of control. It finally left the road, gliding across silky grass before plunging over the cliff into the angry, foaming ocean waters below.

TWO

T

20 YEARS LATER-FALL

HE SOUND OF A VEHICLE SKIDDING to a halt brought Detective Ramesh Ryan to his apartment window. Peering out, he saw a silver SUV and a small sedan facing each other like two boxers readying to rumble. The four-by-four was the skidder. It had sped around the corner and braked as the road narrowed to one lane, desperately trying to avoid crashing into the little

silver Kia Soul. Now, both vehicles sat nose-to-nose, neither moving.

This happened regularly, no matter that there were slow-down warning signs on both roads. Of course, the problem could easily be fixed. The council needed to make the street one-way, but that required making a decision, something bureaucrats were never very good at.

The Kia began to reverse slowly, pulling in close to the sidewalk. The big Jeep advanced, revving hard as it brushed past the smaller car. From his vantage point on the third floor, Detective Ryan couldn’t see inside the SUV but knew that by about now, the driver would be giving a cheery wave to the other motorist while mouthing a string of abuse that could have made a Marine blush.

Turning away, the detective moved to the kitchen countertop. Grabbing the handle of the coffee press, he poured the brew into a mug. The dark brown fluid lightened as it mixed with the milk at the bottom of the cup. Ryan took a sip. It was his first coffee, and he felt the hit immediately.

Detective Ryan had long ago accepted that he was a coffee addict, but an addict who cared what he drank. He ground his beans, choosing Ethiopian when available, and had recently weaned himself off sugar to enjoy the coffee taste even more. Unfortunately, he still needed to add milk, though today, for a change, he had put this into the cup first. It was a bold move that proved to be a mistake. Too much milk had diluted the coffee.

The detective went into the living room and was about to sit down when there was a knock at the door. He placed the mug on the side table next to a

small, rectangular, candy-striped wrapped package and then moved to look through the peephole, which gave him a narrow view of the corridor outside. Letting out a small sigh, he opened the door.

“Detective Ryan … Good. You’re in. Do you have a minute?” The question came from a middle-aged woman with a plump face and spiky, dyed orange hair. She wore Coke-bottle glasses and a floral maxi dress.

“Morning, Maude;’ Ryan said. “You’re up early:’ Maude Adams stiffened. “Is that a criticism?” she said. “No. It was just an observation;’ Ryan backpedaled.

Maude stared at him and then smiled. “Well, if you say so. We must trust our policemen are telling us the truth, right?”

Ryan forced himself to smile back. He liked to spend the few minutes before leaving for work drinking his coffee slowly and contemplating the world. Instead, this morning, his routine had been interrupted, first by those cars outside his window and now by the arrival of his neighbor and her notoriously prickly personality.

“How can I help you, Maude?” “H_e1_p.?”

“I assume you need something?” Detective Ryan said.

“Well, yes, in a way. It’s regarding something we all could do without:’ Maude paused for effect. ((Rats;’ she finally hissed.

The force of her utterance took Ryan by surprise. ((What?”

((Haven’t you noticed, Detective Ryan? We have an infestation of vermin around the garbage bins at the back of the property. I’ve only just seen one of the foul creatures scuttling around out there:’ The woman shuddered. ((It scared the living daylights out of me:’

((Rats? Really?” Ryan sounded surprised. ((Have to say I hadn’t noticed:’ Maude sniffed. (½.nd you call yourself a detective:’

(Tve been a bit busy recently;’ Detective Ryan said, barely managing to

hide the weary tone in his voice.

((Well, I want you to clear your calendar for tomorrow night. And before you say it, I know it’s short notice, but rats wait for no man:’ Maude

chuckled. “See how I did that. Changing the word ‘time’ for ‘rats’?” The detective looked at her blankly. Maude barreled on.

”As you know, I am president of the strata and have called tomorrow’s

emergency meeting to deal with the rodent problem:’

“But .. :’ Ryan stopped. He was desperate to make an excuse, but having recently bought the apartment, he also knew that strata meetings were part of the deal, and he was not a man to shirk responsibility.

“Yes, of course;’ the detective said. “Where is the meeting?”

In my unit. Eight o’clock:’ Maude paused. “So, I can count on you being there?”

“I will do my best:’

”I’ll mark you down as a definite then, Detective Ryan;’ Maude said, ignoring his answer. “I will see you tomorrow evening:’

The detective slowly closed the door. Picking up his coffee, he sat back on the sofa and took a long gulp before pulling his cell from his suit pocket. Pressing the keypad, he waited. The call went through to voicemail. “If you need me, please leave a message:’ The woman’s voice was low and breathy, with just a hint of an Indian accent.

“Happy birthday, Mom. Have a great day. I’ll be around to give you your present this evening. Love you:’ Ryan ended the call.

After taking another slug of coffee, the detective clipped down the leather holster flap over his Glock 40 and buttoned up his suit jacket. Then he grabbed the wrapped birthday present, slipped it into his briefcase, and headed for the door.

RYAN HURRIED DOWN THE SMALL ART deco block’s narrow, winding stone stairs and crossed the courtyard to the main gates. Exiting to the street, he hurried across to his parked car. The large silver Hyundai Sonata allocated to him with his new position in the Homicide Squad was a step up from the small Ford Focus he previously drove.

Detective Ryan pressed the fob, opened the door, and got in, putting the briefcase on the passenger seat. Strangely, his mom still hadn’t rung back. He

had expected her to call, unsolicited, at daybreak, on the pretext that she wanted to wish him luck on the first day of his new job. He would, of course, have teased her by waiting as long as he could to wish her a happy birthday

-the real reason for her call. It was a game they’d played many times before. Before setting off, Ryan tried calling her once more but was again put through to voicemail. He didn’t leave a second message but instead pressed a

different number into the keypad.

“Hello;’ a woman said after a few moments.

“Hi, Agnes;’ Ryan said. Agnes Gray, his mom’s Irish cleaner. It had taken Ramesh an age to persuade his mother to get someone in to help with the cleaning, but she’d finally agreed. This, being a Monday, was Agnes’s cleaning day.

“Is that you, Mr. Ryan?” the woman said in her broad Irish brogue. “Yes. Is Mom there?”

“Don’t you think Mumta should chuck out this antiquated piece of junk? Who uses a landline now anyway?” Agnes said, ignoring the detective’s question.

Ryan frowned. From his few conversations with the cleaner, he knew

Agnes had a habit of talking in non sequiturs, but even for her, this was an odd way to steer the conversation.

“Well, when your mother isn’t answering her cell, I’d say a landline is a handy backup;’ Ryan suggested.

There was a sucking intake of breath on the other end of the line. “You

may have a point there, Mr. Ryan . . . an excellent point. Maybe I should rethink my stand on landlines:’

“Maybe, yes. So, can you get my mother, please?”

^{Silence. ”A}gnes … ^“

“I know. I heard you:’ There was a long pause. “It’s your mom’s birthday,

^you know.^“

“Yes, that’s why I’m calling-to wish her a happy birthday:’ Ryan waited, but Agnes was silent. ”Agnes, could you get her for me, please?”

“I could do that, I suppose:’ She paused. “Normally, that is:’ “Normally?” Ryan repeated.

Silence.

”Agnes, you still there?” the detective asked, becoming irritated.

“The problem is, she told me not to tell you;’ the cleaner said after a moment.

This was like getting blood from a stone. “Tell me what?” Ryan asked. “Okay, I’m just going to come out and say it, and damn the consequences,

if you’ll excuse my French…. Your mom’s at the hospital:’

“She’s where?” Ryan asked.

“Now, no need to worry, Mr. Ryan. She’s at the hospital having a small procedure. At least that’s what she told me. But she didn’t want to tell you because she doesn’t want you to worrY:’

“It’s a bit late for that, Agnes;’ Ryan said, concerned. “What kind of small procedure?”

“It’s a woman’s problem…. That’s it. A woman’s problem. But she said it was nothing to worry about and that she’ll be out and about by the end of the morning right as rain:’

Ryan jabbed the push-button ignition and started the engine. He knew his mother was stoic to a fault and might have given the same prediction had she gone in for an amputation. “Which hospital, Agnes?”

^{“St. Vincent’s on Darlinghurst Road:’ “Th}an^ks.^“

Ryan hung up, pressed the cell screen again, and waited. A woman answered. “Yes;’ she said.

“Hi. This is Detective Ryan. Please message homicide that I have been

delayed and will be in later:’

“Will do, Detective Ryan;’ the woman said.

Ryan put down the cell and jammed his foot hard on the accelerator pedal.

THREE

D ETECTIVE RYAN SPED DOWN MANNING STREET before pulling up at the junction to Macleay Street, the main thoroughfare that dissected the

suburb of Potts Point.Ramesh was not a man given to panic, nor was his mother a hypochondriac. If she was in hospital having tests, there would have been a good reason; this was precisely why he was worried. Mumta Ryan avoided doctors like the plague. The detective’s mind started to race. What if she had been ignoring symptoms? What if she had left things too late?

Ryan’s car accelerated, turning right and heading north. He drove past the El Alamein Fountain and the police station, praying that some overzealous cop wouldn’t pull him over for speeding. Continuing, he braked at the light next to the giant illuminated Coca-Cola sign-a well-known landmark.

After a few moments, the signal changed, and Ryan’s Hyundai shot across the highway onto Darlinghurst Road. Like Potts Point, Darlinghurst, once a haven for the down and out, had become gentrified and was now crisscrossed with coffee shops, restaurants, and upmarket bars. St. Vincent’s was less than a quarter of a mile away, and the detective could make out the hospital’s tall gray roof that jutted out above the smaller two- and three-story Victorian properties.

Detective Ryan was a history buff and had researched the Darlinghurst area, so he knew a little about St. Vincent’s. The facility was started over a hundred and fifty years ago by the Sisters of Charity as a free hospital for all, but especially for the poor. The founding nurses had come from Ireland, with a number having been trained in France, and they brought their knowledge to the new colony. Since then, it had been massively expanded and was now one of the city’s principal medical facilities.

“Shit;’ Ryan shouted and slammed his foot down on the brake. A skinny, disheveled, toothless man, his hair wrapped in a dirty red and yellow bandana, had just stepped out in front of the Hyundai.

The man peered at the detective and raised his finger in the sign of the bird. “Fuck you, mate, watch where you’re going;’ the man spat before continuing across the street.

Ryan shook his head. People like him were everywhere in Darlinghurst. Mentally ill, drunk, or drugged out of their minds-take your pick. Darlinghurst may have had a makeover, but some things would never change. They were part of the scene and a constant traffic hazard.

The detective drove off and looked for somewhere to park. Being a cop, he could have driven straight onto the hospital grounds, but his car was unmarked, and he had no sign to put out to announce who he was.

Ahead, the detective saw a white Audi drive out of a space. He pulled in quickly and jumped out of his vehicle. Hurrying through the gates and passing the parked ambulances, the cop reached the glass-fronted main entrance and hesitated. He hated hospitals. As a kid, Ryan had spent almost a year in London’s Middlesex Hospital, where medics fought to keep him alive by pumping him full of drugs and antibiotics, killing off the tuberculosis that was racking his body. Since then, there had been no sign of a reoccurrence of the disease, but the events had scarred him for life.

The doors slid open. Detective Ryan took a deep breath and stepped inside. The building was a monument to seventies architecture-high ceilings and an overabundance of concrete and glass. A bank of elevators stood to the right. A long reception desk ran along the other side. He headed over.

“Good morning;’ said the receptionist. ((How can I help you?”

((This is going to seem like a strange question. I’m looking for my mother, but I have no idea where she would be;’ Ryan said.

((What’s your mother’s name?” the receptionist began as the detective felt a tap on his shoulder. ((Your mom’s over there;’ he heard a voice say.

Ryan turned to face a gray-bearded man. He was pointing toward the cafe, where a familiar figure could be seen frantically waving.

(Tm Harry King;’ the man said as they set off to meet the detective’s mother. (�nd you must be Mumta’s son, Ramesh:’

“Yes;’ Ryan agreed, looking a little confused. He had no idea who this man was to his mother. He’d never seen him before.

“Mom, are you all right?” the detective said as they arrived.

Mumta Ryan looked up at her anxious son. ”All right? Of course, I’m all right. But what are you doing here?”

“You weren’t answering your phone. Agnes told me where you were:’

Mumta sighed and signaled at an empty chair. “Take a seat, Ramesh:’ As the detective sat down, Harry lightly touched Mumta’s shoulder.

“I think I had best be going. It was lovely meeting you:’ As he said it, he

reached into his pocket and pulled out a card, handing it to her. “This is my number. Perhaps I could take you out to dinner sometime?”

Mumta hesitated before accepting the card. Glancing down, she read the inscription out loud.

“Chief executive officer. That’s impressive:’

“It’s only a small construction company;’ Harry said in an attempt at modesty.

“Still impressive. Size has never been important to me, Harry;’ Mumta said, trying to disguise a smile.

Ryan rocked back in his chair. His mother was flirting with the man and using double entendres. If Harry had picked up on it, he wasn’t giving anything away.

”As I said, it was lovely meeting you, and hopefully, we can make dinner work:’

”I’ll let you know;’ Mumta replied, smiling.

“Right. .. Nice to meet you too, Ramesh;’ Harry said before leaving. The pair watched him go.

“Mom .. :’ Ryan began as Mumta turned back.

“Before you ask, Harry King’s a lovely man I just met here. His moon boot was taken off this morning:’

“Moon boot?”

“Those big plastic things they stick on people’s legs when they fall. It happens constantly … falling, that is … and then you have to have one of

those things strapped on for a few months:’

“Oh;’ said Detective Ryan. “Mom, what are you doing here?” “Didn’t Agnes tell you?”

“She said something about a woman’s problem. But why didn’t you tell me you were coming here today? You knew I’d be calling …. Oh, and happy birthday, by the waY:’ He frowned. “Damn:’

“What’s wrong?”

“I left your present in the car:’

Mumta smiled. “That’s nice. I appreciate presents. When you get to my age, you are grateful for anything:’

“Your age. You’re fifty-nine. Sorry, sixty today, and hardly .. :’ Detective Ryan began.

^“Shh:’ Mumta put her finger to her lips. “Don’t go around telling everyone my age.^“

“Oh … okaY:’ Ramesh peered at his mother. Her black hair framed an

attractive, symmetrical face and bright, shining brown eyes. “You know you look good for your age:’

“Must you, Ramesh. I’m not too fond of that expression. It makes me feel

like a horse about to be put down:’

Ryan shook his head. This always happened with his mother. She had a habit of taking the conversation completely off-base. It was time to return to the slopes.

“So, Mom, my question was, what are you doing here?”

Mumta leaned forward and whispered. “I came for a biopsy on my br-” She hesitated. “I don’t like talking about this with you. That’s why I never mentioned it:’

“Your breast? You just had a breast biopsy?” The detective’s face registered his concern.

Mumta picked up a cup from the table and sipped tea. “Yes. But it’s

nothing to worry about. I’ll get my results in a few days, and I’m sure everything will be fine:’

Ryan studied his mother. He was trained to spot deceit, and what his mom

had just said was a blatant lie. She was worried. If she was concerned, so too should he be.

“What exactly did they say?” Ryan asked.

“If you had become what I wanted you to become, a doctor, you would know:’ Mumta waved her hands around. “They’re all here:’

“Who?” asked Ryan, confused.

“Doctors, of course. And you could have been one of them if you hadn’t decided to become a policeman:’ Mumta spat the word out like a piece of dirt from her mouth.

Ryan began to say something, but his mother raised her hand. “I know you love your job;’ she said. ”And apparently, you are very good at it, and it’s why you got this new position. Head of the New South Wales Homicide Squad:’

‘Tm a detective in the New South Wales Homicide Squad, Mom, not head

of anything:’

“Well, you will be soon. But being a doctor is a better career, Ramesh. And there are lots of Indian doctors here:’ She pointed at a man entering an elevator. “See, there’s one there:’

“Mom, I’ve told you a thousand times. I’m not Indian. You know I’ve only been to India once, and that was years ago and only for a few weeks. I’m Australian:’

“Well, I’m Indian;’ Mumta said, sounding a little hurt.

“I know that;’ Ryan pleaded. “This isn’t Delhi. If you’d wanted an Indian son, maybe you should have agreed to that arranged marriage like your parents wanted you to instead of marrying a Brit and coming here. Like it or not, Mom, this is my home. And it’s your home now, as well:’

Mumta screwed up her face as Ryan put his hand on her arm. “Let’s not fight about this. It’s your birthday, after all;’ he said gently. “Now tell me why they asked you to come in for a biopsy:’

“Well;’ she proceeded slowly. “I had my regular mammogram ...:’ Mumta

stopped as he saw her son’s expression. “I didn’t tell you about that, but why would I? I have one every year:’

”And … ?” the detective pressed.

“Well, this time, they found a lump:’ She took in his look of dismay. ”A small one … nothing serious, I’m sure. Nothing that they won’t find an innocent explanation for:’ She watched her son as he let her words sink in. It broke her heart to see him so worried. She stood up. ”Anyway, enough about me. Shouldn’t you be at work, Ramesh?”

The detective glanced at his watch. He was going to be late. “Yes, maybe.

^But … ^“

“Well, you should love me and leave me;’ Mumta said, signaling for him to stand.

“I can’t just abandon you now;’ the detective said as he followed his mother across the hospital lobby.

”Abandon me? What am I? Some incapable child?” She stopped and stared

at him. ‘Tm not that old. Not yet:’

“No, of course not:’

”I’ll get a taxi, and you must go to work. They’ll need you to fight the crime wave that is apparently sweeping SydneY:’

^”Are you sure, ^Mom⁽.^“

“Of course. I tell you what, why don’t you come to see me tonight?” She waited.

Detective Ryan took a deep breath. His mom did seem all right, and he really should get going. “Okay;’ the detective said, leaning across to kiss her on the cheek. ”And happy birthday once more:’

“Thank you. Now, off you go…. And don’t forget that present, will you?”

Mumta shouted as her son headed out.

FOUR

D ETECTIVE RYAN CHECKED HIS WATCH AS the elevator juddered to a halt. He was forty minutes late-hardly a glowing endorsement for his

first day with the Homicide Squad-but he’d had to see his mother, so

consequences be damned.

Ryan knew little about a breast biopsy-Dr. Google, whom he’d consulted quickly after parking the car, said it was a routine procedure carried out to determine whether a lump in the breast was cancerous or not. Apparently, the vast majority of biopsy results came back negative, so Ryan reassured himself there was nothing to be concerned about. He repeated this mantra in his head as, clutching his briefcase tightly, he stepped out of the lift and headed down the corridor.

Reaching the Homicide Squad office, the detective opened the door and entered. There was little reaction to his appearance-just a few nods and grunts as the detective walked to his allocated desk. Wanting to be ahead of the game, he had moved his stuff up from the Organized Crime Department over the weekend. He lowered himself into his seat, but before he could settle, a voice yelled out: “Ryan. Here. Now!”

Detective Ryan turned to see the imposing figure of Detective Superintendent Dan Dudley standing by his office door in the far corner of the room. Six feet four and weighing in at around two hundred pounds with cauliflower ears, a pug nose, squinty eyes, and a large head, Dan Dudley looked more like a prizefighter than a man chosen to run one of the most powerful police units in Australia.

“Hurry up. I haven’t got all day;’ Dudley yelled as the detective hurried to join his boss.

“Come in;’ Dudley said, waving and lowering his considerable bulk into

the chair behind his oak desk.

Detective Ryan went to take a seat and did a double take. A pretty Asian woman in her midtwenties, conservatively dressed in black trousers, jacket,

and white shirt, sat opposite the superintendent.

“Ryan, I believe you know Detective Yang;’ Dudley said.

“Hi, Ryan. Good to see you again;’ Detective Yang said, swiveling around and smiling.

Ryan was surprised. “Detective?” he queried.

^“V1.es^“, ^the woman sa1^“d. ^“For over a year now.^“

Dudley cut in. “Okay, enough of the pleasantries. First things first. You’re late, Ryan:’

“Yes, sir. I called in that I would be late. I had to go .. :’

over at Detective Yang.

Superintendent Dudley stood up, strode across the office, and yanked open the door. “Burke, in here, now;’ he shouted.

Moments later, a rotund, scruffily dressed man in his midforties appeared at the office door-Detective Terry Burke, one of the leading lights in the Homicide Squad.

“Sir?” Detective Burke asked, entering.

“Burke, I want you to meet Detective Ryan;’ Dudley said. “Due to unforeseen circumstances, he missed this morning’s address and introductions:’

Detective Burke glanced over at Ryan. “We’ve already met;’ he said.

”At the weekend;’ Ryan concurred. The detective had bumped into Detective Burke when moving his belongings into the Homicide Squad office.

“Really;’ Dudley said. “That’s good. Consider this an official introduction:’

Detective Burke nodded but didn’t move. “That’s all, Detective. You can go;’ Dudley said. Burke turned and left.

“What do you think of Detective Burke, then, Ryan?” Dudley asked. “Think? I haven’t had enough time with him to form an opinion, sir:’

“Bull poo. Of course you have. And I think I know what you think. But here’s the thing. I know what the ‘private talk’ you want with me is about. I thought I’d short-circuit that conversation and let you meet the alternative:’

“Detective Burke?” Ryan asked, though he already knew the answer.

“Yes:’ the superintendent confirmed. “Do you still want to have that talk?” “No, sir;’ Ryan said quickly.

”And I take it you are now happy to partner with Detective Yang?”

^“‘T.ies, s^•ir.^“

”And you with Ryan, Yang?” “Yes, sir;’ Detective Yang replied.

“Wonderful. That’s all sorted, then. Chop, chop. Off you go:’ Dudley waved them off.

Rising, the two cops moved to the door. ”And Detectives;’ Dudley said.

Ryan stopped.

“I want a quick result on this one:’

”I’ll do my best, sir;’ Detective Ryan said, opening the door and stepping into the main office. Detective Yang followed.

THE TWO DETECTIVES HEADED DOWN THE corridor to the elevators. Detective Ryan pressed the button.

Silence. Then: “When did you know?” Ryan asked.

”About coming down to Sydney?” Detective Yang asked. Detective Ryan nodded.

”A few days ago:’

“Oh. So, it was sudden?”

^“”‘ v^T ery su^dden,^{“ V}.1^. ang ^began, ^“V.^.1ou see … ^“

Ryan waved his hands, brushing her off. “That’s okay. I don’t want to pry.

What I do want to know is what Dudley’s told you about the case:’ There was a beep as the elevator door slid open.

“We have to go to Ku-ring-gai Chase National Park;’ Yang began as she

entered the empty elevator. ”A man’s body was found in a holiday rental cabin. I have the location. That’s all the information he gave me;’ she said as the door dosed and the elevator descended.

^Detective Ryan snorted. “That’s Dudley for you. He gives you the bare m1^. n^.1mum.^”

The elevator came to a halt. The door opened, and the detectives entered the underground car park. “You coming with me or taking your car?” Ryan asked.

“I haven’t got a pool vehicle yet;’ Yang said. She looked at Ryan and smiled broadly. “I know this wasn’t what you expected, but I want you to know I’m very pleased to be working with you again:’

The detective shot her an awkward glance.

“It’s still early days. Let’s see how you feel by the end of the week;’ he said

grimly before pointing toward his Hyundai. “My car’s over there:’