‘We’ll sort out who does what as we go. In no particular order, here are some ideas. One, we see if there’s been any usage of Hellyer’s mobile phone and credit cards. Neither were found at the scene. If Ogden, assuming the perpetrator is of that name, has them then there’s nothing to prevent him using that stuff. It’s unlikely he’s stupid enough to keep the phone turned on as that would allow us to locate him, but he may have used it, so we get the service provider to release that information. Alan Wagin is always good for that sort of job. Credit cards. At most places the contactless limit is a hundred dollars. He can feasibly use them without being required to show any identification or know the pin number. As with the phone, we don’t put a stop on that, but we can put out an alert so any usage of the cards is highlighted. Dobosz for that one. Gary Oates’s licence. It was returned a while ago, but it did its job in getting the PO box for our perp. The visual identification there is too sketchy to rely on, but it’s still a very useful link. As we learned yesterday, a cash buyer for vehicles only needs a licence at point of sale. Ogden, with a beard in place, could have bought another vehicle around that weekend in January. Not a huge task to bluff his way through.’

  Kendal looked up from her pad. ‘Sir, did you sleep at all last night?’

  He smiled in return. ‘Some. This is mostly from a bit of thinking earlier this morning. I felt we were short-stepping a bit and we need to be striding. Okay, next is to comb through the list of public service redundancies from the middle of last year. This, I admit, is fishing in the lake but the profile does lead this way. See if there’s a Gerard Ogden anywhere. If there isn’t, see if there’s a male getting out after a long, steady career. Our guy’s got financial resources, time, patience and a long-held grievance. Cortese’s suggestion is that the murderer has functioned as a normal social being for a significant period of time, his whole life really. A fairly anonymous figure, probably single or divorced. He hadn’t scaled the heights, but went about life without causing any notable upheaval. Mostly kept himself to himself. All the while harbouring a massive grudge. Any queries?’

  Kendall did. ‘Remember in the Sproule case, you cornered him by detailing the mobile records to show where he’d been? If Ogden has used Hellyer’s phone in the past few days, we could work out some locations and specifically show the image around there. If he’s shrewd enough, he won’t have activated it wherever he’s holing up, but it could assist us.’

  ‘Yes, yes, good. David?’

  ‘Do we know for sure that the image we have and the name of Gerard Ogden is our guy?’

  ‘Short answer is no. It’s still circumstantial. Ogden could even be an assumed name for all we know. The van purchase at Vroom Motors is pretty concrete, though. What I’m outlining now is a lot of work, but we’ve got the personnel for it. Our aim is to transition from chasing the guy to encircling him. I had a few other ideas spitballing around, but this is the short list. We do this and our weight of intelligence increases.’

  Kendall drove back to Letitia Street for the second time in as many days. She passed the funeral home on her right and parked around the corner in Ryde Street. She was here because, amid the flood of information coming in from the public appeal, a couple of gems had surfaced. Gibson was off chasing one out at Glenorchy, and she was here.

  It was warming up so she left her jacket in the car. As she entered the corner shop, the smell of fried food hit her. Why did crap food have to smell so good? To the side of the bain-marie was a woman who looked to be about her own age. She had pale skin and the roots of her hair could do with some attention, but she wasn’t unattractive. Her fat-splattered blue garment hid whatever figure there was to display.

  Kate approached the counter. ‘Are you Jenny Stevenson?’

  ‘Yep. And you’re either the estate agent or a copper.’

  ‘Police. Is it going on the market?’

  ‘Sort of. Some wog’s got the freehold. I’m hoping to get out of the lease. No-one wants the business, but they might want to take the lease on.’ She looked around the space. ‘God knows why. Anyway, that’s not your worry. This bloke is.’ She pointed at a copy of that day’s paper.

  ‘That’s right. We appreciate you calling.’

  ‘It’s what you do. He was here around this time yesterday. Odd bugger.’

  Kate glanced at the paper. ‘You’re pretty sure it was this man?’

  ‘Oh, yeah, that’s him alright. He had a strange way about him. He ordered a coffee and a toastie, then got a bottle of water to bring it over ten dollars.’

  ‘So he could pay-wave the purchase?’

  ‘Yep, happens a lot these days. People buy something extra for the convenience of using their plastic without a fee.’

  ‘How long was he here for?’

  ‘Three-quarters of an hour. He pretended to read the paper, but he was just flicking through. Most of the time he was staring out the window at the big funeral that was on. That was the Hellyer bloke, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, it was.’

  ‘And this is to do with his murder, isn’t it? This could be the bloke who done it.’

  ‘Possibly. We don’t know anywhere near enough yet to identify suspects.’ It was best to be circumspect.

  ‘Yeah, right,’ she said with an obvious tinge of sarcasm. ‘You can’t say much. I get it. So, he was there for a fair while, keeping tabs on things. I knew there was something off about him.’

  ‘How was he dressed? How did he appear?’

  ‘That’s what was a bit odd. He had work gear on, King Gee overalls, but they were clean. His hands were grimy and he had a splash of grease on his cheek, but that was it. I reckon he was dressed up to look like a tradie. He wasn’t though.’

  ‘How could you tell?’

  ‘What sort of tradie drives around in a pissy little Mazda? Joker. It was parked across the way, faded blue with those stupid black stripes down the side.’

  ‘Thank you. We may need to call on you again. You’ve been a real help.’

  ‘It’s no hassle. Good to have a smidgen of excitement in here.’

  ‘Anything else you can recall?’

  ‘Not really. He weren’t real friendly. Bit of an attitude.’

  Kendall reiterated her thanks and left. It looked as if Ogden did have alternative transport. She pulled out her phone to call Gibson.

  

  Gibson listened to Kendall’s news, catching the enthusiasm and agreeing it sounded good. His search among the car yards was a bit trickier, but having a possible make to propose to people could help. The PSSR was designed to give the full history of a vehicle, not the owner, and Dunstan had drawn a blank with the Motor Registry Office; no vehicles were registered under the name of Gerard Ogden, but—as Kendall had just discovered—that didn’t mean he wasn’t using one.

  While Herrick was trawling the showrooms in North Hobart, Gibson was out on Main Road Glenorchy where the rest of the city’s car yards were located. Both had tablets with them so they could show the photofit image around. The first couple of businesses couldn’t help. No-one had seen the guy, and there were no sales to anybody by the name of Ogden or Oates. Gibson was wondering if Herrick was having more luck as he walked across the bitumen to the office of Elwick Motors. He tapped a knuckle on the sliding glass door and a stocky figure waved him inside.

  As soon as Gibson showed his ID, the man started swearing. ‘About fucking time. I rang those bozo pricks down the road yesterday morning. Busy, my arse. They’re doing school visits instead of catching crims and protecting local business. We show bit of discipline and where’s the help? Useless.’

  The dark-haired man ranting from behind the desk was slobby. When he stood, a doughy pillow of lard hid the buckle of his trousers. His shirt collar was undone—it had to be, to accommodate the wad of flesh beneath his chin, Gibson supposed.

  ‘I didn’t catch your name, Sir.’

  ‘Figures. Those dumbfucks round the corner are useless. Tits on a bull. Can’t even pass on a complaint. And they want extra numbers. Fuck me.’

  Gibson couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to.

  ‘I’m here now. How can I help you?’ Hide the doughnuts maybe?

  ‘Jeez. You don’t even know who I am.’

  ‘I presume you’re Geoff Toohey.’ The name was stencilled on the business cards near the phone.

  ‘Yeah, that’s right.’ He sat down and the chair wheezed. ‘Well, now you’re here you can sort out this speeding fine.’

  Gibson wasn’t sure what the expectations were of the local police around here. If this was typical, there was little wonder they’d ignored Toohey.

  ‘I’m not sure …’

  ‘That fucking Oates prick. Got a motor off me, dirt cheap. I practically gave it away. Not only does he not bother to switch the rego over, but he goes and gets a speeding ticket. And he’s got the hide to reckon it wasn’t him. Fucking disgrace.’

  Bingo. This was how it had felt when football was going well for him.

  ‘Just to check. You sold a used car to a Mr Gary Oates back in January?’

  ‘Yep. Bit of a shit box. Mazda 323. The duco was rooted, but the engine was alright. Good little buy.’

  Gibson nodded as if acknowledging the charity of the man.

  ‘Oates showed me his driver’s licence, paid cash and drove away.’

  Gibson flipped the cover off the tablet and brought up the Post Office lady’s image. ‘Did he look something like this?’

  Toohey leaned across the desk and peered at the screen. ‘Pretty close. He kept scratching at his beard. I felt like telling him to shave the bloody thing off if it was that annoying.’

  ‘Did you chat much?’

  ‘Nup. All done in twenty minutes, from him walking in to driving out.’

  ‘Did you study the licence closely?’

  ‘Doubt it. It was cash for a small car on its last legs.’

  So much for the alright engine. Gibson bit his lip.

  ‘So, he was meant to do the paperwork for the transfer? But he didn’t do it, so any traffic infringement caught on camera comes back to you?’

  ‘It came to me, yeah. But I matched the car to the buyer and rang the sod. And you know what?’ His face was reddening again. ‘He reckons he wasn’t speeding in any Mazda 323 because he never bought one and he’s never driven one. Lying prick.’

  ‘Actually, he may be telling the truth. It’s odd but we think the man who bought that car was impersonating Mr Oates. I’ll get this sorted with the Justice Department, so you needn’t worry.’

  Gibson reached for the notice of the fine and read the details: a fortnight before, a Mazda 323, registration OYE 415, had exceeded the speed limit by more than ten kilometres per hour on Sandfly Road. So, down past Kingston. Traffic would know exactly where the trap was set.

  ‘I know this has been an inconvenience to you, but it’s going to help us a great deal in a major enquiry we’ve got on.’

  ‘Oh, well. Okay then.’

  Gibson could almost have hugged him. If he wasn’t such a whining slob.

  

  Back at headquarters there was a renewed sense of energy in the room, almost a hum. Gibson went straight to the DI’s office. When he’d rung Mahoney with the good news, he’d been told to come straight back in and deliver it in person. Kendall was already in the sanctum when he knocked and entered.

  Both his superiors looked up as he strode in with a pep in his step. A drone task had turned out to be pretty satisfying.

  ‘What news from beyond the flannelette curtain?’

  Gibson skipped over the expletive-ridden rant and delivered a straight summary of the situation. Every so often Kendall would nod as if he was confirming her findings.

  ‘As you predicted, the Oates licence was put to further use.’

  Mahoney headed over to his white board, but before he got there his desk phone rang. He’d barely said his name before he held the receiver away from his ear and put the speaker on. His colleagues could hear a man shouting, ‘… and whatever else this man has done.’

  Mahoney interrupted. ‘Mr Oates, please stop. I hear you. We’ve sorted it. Now listen. We know the Mazda and the fine have nothing to do with the real you. The fine will disappear. The Justice Department is aware of this travesty.’ Mahoney pointed his finger at Gibson who nodded in recognition that this had better be done. ‘Your help is appreciated. The person who stole your card and used it for illegal purposes is being chased for even more serious reasons. I don’t wish to alarm you but, believe me, we truly want to get this guy. Bizarrely enough, this identity theft is helping us.’

  The voice on the line was more subdued. ‘Alright then, fair enough. And can you do me a favour?’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘If you ever need a character witness against that moron from Elwick Motors, let me know. The man’s a menace.’

  ‘I’ll see what I can do. Thanks again for letting us know. We appreciate it.’ Mahoney put down the receiver. ‘We should recruit him. He’s motivated to close the case.’

  Mahoney went back to the board and looked at the diagram with a circle in the middle containing the word ‘PERP’. There were a series of short spokes coming out from the middle like spider legs and, at the end of about half, there were snippets of information the team had gathered. Mahoney inked in a few words to summarise the fresh material from Elwick Motors. On the next spoke he wrote, ‘Mazda/funeral/Ogden?’

  ‘Kate has a reliable identification of the man we think is Ogden observing yesterday’s funeral. He drove the Mazda 323 you’ve just traced. The next two tasks go without saying. Put out an alert for that Mazda to all officers. If he’s out and about, he’ll be seen. Approach with caution and all that jazz. Second, action that idea to locate exactly where that speed camera was. That could narrow it down to the vicinity he’s holed up in. Now, onto the other stuff from Ginger Brown. Wagin and Dobosz should have the respective phone and bank records by close of business today. Geason is dealing with the public service angle, but not having much luck. The State Service Commissioner’s office agreed but the union got wind of it and are kicking up a fuss. Right to privacy or some such nonsense. I sometimes think the main interest they’re trying to protect is that of their leader to get on television and moan about the government.’ Mahoney sighed his disgust. ‘Now, where was I before that little snippet of vilification? Ah, that’s right, the case. Forensics have cross-referenced their findings from the van and Hellyer’s shack. There are hair, fibre and DNA samples from the same organism found in both places, which is good, but …’

  ‘Only when we apprehend someone,’ Kendall finished. ‘I’m presuming it doesn’t match anybody in the system or this discussion wouldn’t be happening.’

  ‘Exactly. When we run this guy down, it will stick. I’ve got a feeling we’ll be dealing with him very soon.’

  If I gave a shit, I would say this is cute. Mummy dropping her teenage daughter off to school. Not your average school, mind you. St Hilda’s, a prestigious independent college set amidst leafy grounds in Dynnyrne. As close as you’ll get to a finishing school in little old Tassie.

  The daughter dear, Chloe, is unloading a humungous backpack from a silver Toyota Prado, still the preferred vehicle for yummy mummies to ferry their offspring around. She’s off to camp. Good weather for it, slightly crisp now but warm sunshine later. Away from Thursday till the following Friday. It’s part of the Grade nine course designed to produce ‘resourceful young women’ and it’s good of the school to put this material on their website for my research purposes. Very sporting of them.

  Chloe hoists the backpack onto her shoulders and, looking like a turtle on its hind legs, waves goodbye to her mother. Patricia Heath waves back and flashes her delightful smile; courtesy of the Bayside Dental Practice, it is bright and cheerful—like her whole demeanour. Life is good: mansion in Sandy Bay, apartment at Port Douglas, ski holidays in New Zealand. Son Jack is studying business at Melbourne University, aiming to evolve into a facsimile of his father.

  Daddy, Ian Heath, runs his own communications consultancy company: one of the success stories of the local economy, apparently. Whenever he receives some pissy award or other for his entrepreneurial acumen, he never mentions how the whole operation is feather-bedded by a series of long-term contracts with the State Government. Jobs for the boys. He’s away now in Utah or somewhere with his lad mates on a ski trip. Good of him to update Facebook to let me know his whereabouts and what a great time they’re having.

  This leaves pert Patricia to steer her grotesque SUV home for a cuppa and a little rest before popping out for lunch with the girls. Except there’ll be a place set that won’t be occupied today.

  Following her along Churchill Avenue is dead easy. She turns right and our two-car convoy winds its way into Beddome Street. She parks in the driveway of a substantial double-storey brick residence: tiled roof, white walls and lots of elegant foliage in the garden. I cruise past, turn into the cul-de-sac and pull up opposite. My little Mazda is pretty inconspicuous, so I won’t draw much attention.

  As I get out of the car I reach across for the clipboard and parcel—my excuse for calling. Grey short sleeved shirt, cap, sunnies and dark green shorts. Plenty of pockets, one of which holds my surprise buzzer. I’m good to go.

  I knock on the door and Patricia answers quickly. I feel I know her well enough, not that we’ve ever met. God, no, I don’t belong in her circle. She’s dressed in a sleeveless red dress with buttons all the way down the front. If I were a bull, that could get me going. Very convenient dress for access—but that’s the furthest thing from my mind. When the shrinks disassemble my scheme, they won’t discover a single sexual angle. This is a program that is all about social justice, but they won’t understand that.