For a moment she doesn’t register what a man is doing at her door—a plebeian looking man at that. I hold up the parcel. ‘Delivery for Mr Heath. I’m with Transit Couriers.’

  The smile covers her ignorance. ‘Oh, yes. Do you want me to sign for it?’

  ‘Yes please, madam.’

  I hand the clipboard over. She unclips the pen and props the plastic against her lower ribs for purchase. Perfect cover. I whip out a taser and next thing Trish is jolted back into the hallway. I’m no expert with these things, but it looks like I’ve got it right. The electric kick slams her on her back and her head thunks on the polished oak floor. She’s doubly stunned so it’s easy-peasy slipping the chloroformed rag under her nose.

  I gently push the heavy front door shut and do a quick reccy of the house. There’s nobody else around. Perfect. Plan A can continue unhindered. It’s time to run a bath in the ‘capacious en-suite leading off the plush master bedroom.’ That’s how it was described in a weekend supplement a few months ago. As I said, it is so accommodating of people to lay their personal lives open for the benefit of others.

  The roll-top bath takes about five minutes to fill sufficiently. I keep an eye on her and an ear out for any noise. Compared to Hellyer, this sacrifice is more perfunctory. It has to be. The release of that pic to the media has meant the schedule is being brought forward. I’ve still got time, but not as much as I’d hoped. Hey ho. At least I can still do some good today.

  Off with the taps and I lift Mrs Heath into the bath. Archimedes would be proud; the displacement is perfect. I leave her clothes in place. That will confuse the profiler who probably thinks I still have issues over my first wet dream. Then it’s just a matter of gripping her ankles and lifting her legs vertical. She’s deceptively light. I count to one hundred. One minute she’s unconscious, the next without consciousness. I hold her in place for a bit longer, just to make sure. Any air bubbles have dissipated. Life has left her body. My work here is done. Credit for my efforts may take a while. It depends how worried the girls are when she doesn’t front for lunch.

  Taser in one pocket and rag in the other, I collect the parcel and clipboard from the floor in the hall and take a peek out of the glass pane set in the door. There’s no-one about. I wipe the internal door knob and use my pen to pull the outer handle towards me, closing the door behind.

  Back into the Mazda and off. It takes till I’m on the Southern Outlet before I start breathing calmly. I’m not being followed. I got away with another one. And so I should. I’ve earned this.

  The woman sitting opposite Mahoney was beside herself. A potent cocktail of shock, grief and lingering fear were afflicting her. Kendall was with her on the couch, soothing her back between the shoulder blades, and a paramedic knelt in front and talked softly. It would be a while before Anna Vagianos could help them further.

  Mahoney exited the living room and joined Gibson in the kitchen. The DI noticed a uniformed officer sitting at the bench writing up some notes, her brow furrowed in concentration.

  ‘David, is this the attending officer?’ Mahoney gestured to the bench.

  ‘Yep. Constable Troncone. She was here first with her colleague. He’s outside directing traffic past all our vehicles. You wouldn’t believe it but the bloke opposite complained about the inconvenience of having us here. He wanted to know when we’d be gone as he was expecting guests for dinner and wanted the parking spaces.’

  Mahoney started for the door. ‘I’ll go and tell him what he can do with his parking spaces.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Sir. Gav Miller already has. That’s Constable Tron­cone’s offsider. He told him they could park their Audis up his arse.’

  ‘Excellent. That’s the brand of community policing some people need. I say we leave it about an hour and then venture over to interview everyone. Should put them off their hors d’oeuvres. I don’t know. Some people.’

  ‘I know what you mean. Katrina over here was telling me the same guy rang in last week because someone knocked over his rubbish bins and they weren’t all left standing straight after the weekly collection.’

  ‘He rang us?’

  ‘Apparently.’

  ‘What’s his name?’

  ‘Alistair Montgomery.’

  ‘Pity we can’t bring people in for being dickheads.’ Mahoney nodded towards the female constable. ‘What brought her up this time?’

  ‘Anna Vagianos made a distress call. Patricia Heath was meant to have been with her and some other friends down at the yacht club for a fund-raising lunch. Mrs Heath didn’t make it, which was unusual for her. There was no response to Anna’s voicemail messages and texts, and the landline wasn’t being picked up.’

  ‘So she popped by to check?’

  ‘Yep. She knew the rest of the family was away and was worried that her friend had slipped over or something. They’re a pretty tight group. There was no answer at the front door so she walked round the balcony. That’s when saw the body in the bath, still in her dress. She rapped on the window, but she knew something was badly wrong. She got straight on the phone. Troncone and Miller headed up here immediately. Miller broke in through a lounge room window, surveyed the scene and made the next call. The cavalry arrived, but too late as it turns out. The rest you know.’

  Vagianos had gabbled her story to Troncone as the initial symptoms of shock hit her. In the interest of discretion, Kendall and Gibson had then taken Vagianos into the lounge when they arrived at the scene—they couldn’t leave her stunned in the front garden. She was hardly a suspect and her prints could be eliminated from whatever Forensics found. The worker bees were already at their tasks in the hallway.

  Doc Johnson stuck his head through the doorway. ‘John, do you want to come in now?’

  He certainly did. He followed the pathologist down the hall, through the bedroom and into the ensuite. Outside, the light was fading but the bathroom was lit up. The lip of the roll-top bath was at the same height as the lower edge of the window, designed so you could gaze at the river while soaking in comfort. Not that Patricia Heath would ever enjoy that luxury again.

  Johnson padded over to the bath while the DI remained at the entrance.

  ‘As you can see, the body is clothed. That suggests a suspicious death right there, regardless of whatever else is discovered.’

  Mahoney agreed. He quickly went back to the lounge room and togged up in the pale blue overalls and plastic booties prescribed for the immediate crime scene. Back in the bathroom, he ventured over to where Johnson was kneeling. The doctor pointed to the victim’s nose as he spoke into a small recording device. This was for the dual purpose of recording initial observations and as a prompt for further forensic pathology checks.

  ‘The upper lip and nostrils smell as if chloroform has been administered. It’s faint but discernible. In the right nostril are cloth fibres that I won’t disturb now.’

  He edged back so that Mahoney could get a clear view of the chest. ‘The stitching around the third button down has some slight scorching. My early guess is that something like a taser gun was used.’

  ‘Sufficient to kill her? Or just to stun her so the chloroform cloth could be forced on her?’

  ‘Unless she had a weak heart, it would probably only stun her. There’s a slight bump to the rear of her skull. She was knocked over and then the chloroform rag was applied.’

  ‘Then carried in here and placed in the bath. The rest of the bathroom looks pretty dry. What do you think happened then?’

  ‘My guess is that she was drowned. There are slight marks at the ankles. The perpetrator gripped her there and raised her legs, thereby submerging the upper torso and head. As you said, there’s no evidence of water being thrashed about, so she was out cold as this was done. Water entered the lungs, breathing became impossible and death occured quite quickly.’

  ‘Could she have regained consciousness?’

  ‘Unlikely, I’d say. There are no obvious signs of a struggle. Her hands are unmarked. She was drowned whilst still unconscious. The body’s reaction capability was overridden by the fact she was artificially incapacitated.’

  ‘Could she have been already dead?’

  ‘That is a distinct possibility. Have you heard of diatoms?’

  Mahoney shrugged. ‘I think so. Best refresh me.’

  ‘They’re microscopic algae found in almost all forms of everyday water. If they’re not present in the lungs and the blood, then she was already dead. If detected, we know she was still alive when the water started entering her system. That can’t be determined here of course. If I had to say now, my appraisal would be death by drowning, but the autopsy will be the clincher.’

  Mahoney looked out of the window for a few moments. Lights were coming on as dusk moved into night. It was almost serene. The body below him triggered a forgotten memory of a painting he’d seen in a gallery somewhere. London?

  Johnson interrupted his reverie. ‘It’s not exactly Millais’s Ophelia. Hardly poetic.’

  That was it. Mahoney hadn’t known Johnson to be an art lover. ‘As in the famous painting?’

  ‘Yes, one of the pre-Raphaelite paintings. Possibly the best artistic depiction of the paradox of death. One minute you’re living a life of hope, all the while unaware of the close proximity of death.’ He looked down at the body. ‘In reality, there is precious little art in what we see. Rather more blunt, unfortunately. I’ll alert Madeleine Pitney so the autopsy can be done as early as possible.’

  Mahoney patted the medic on the shoulder. ‘Thank you, Sam. In a way, the manner of death isn’t quite so important as the fact that it is very obviously a murder.’

  Back in the kitchen, Kendall had joined Gibson; when Mahoney came in, they stopped their conversation and looked at him expectantly. Troncone was no longer there. The DI shut the door behind him before speaking. ‘It is homicide, to confirm what we already knew. And I think it’s our guy. For no other reason than it’s so bizarre.’

  ‘Perhaps not just that,’ added Kendall. ‘When Mrs Vagianos had calmed a little, she said it was a sick ending for someone who was once a water baby. Mrs Heath’s maiden name was Whittey. Patricia Whittey swam for the country at the 1998 Commonwealth Games. Made the final for the butterfly and was in the gold medal relay team. Quite an achievement for a Launceston girl. Retired soon after and studied up north. Moved down here for her first teaching job, married and stayed.’

  ‘Ignore what I said. It is definitely our guy.’ Mahoney was suddenly more intense. ‘Right, this is a stream of consciousness. First, the deceased will have a sibling who didn’t garner anywhere as much attention. This sibling has led a happy life but the focus in the family was always on the champion daughter and her swimming.’

  ‘Like Hellyer and the tennis,’ Gibson said.

  ‘Exactly. Cortese strongly suggested that families were at the heart of this. Our murderer was one of those siblings whose needs are met while growing up but who knows they’re not the favoured one. The attention and affection of the parents rests squarely on the golden child. At least that’s how it is perceived.’

  ‘Our perpetrator is enacting a revenge fantasy where he dispatches the once young high-flyers.’

  ‘Yes, Kate. That could well be it. Our problem is that motive is not a great way to identify suspects. No, strike that. Our major problem is that our killer is accelerating. This execution is nowhere near as elaborate as Hellyer’s. It was planned and carried out with a degree of expertise, but it was quicker and there isn’t the same sense of theatre.’

  Kendall voiced what they were all thinking. ‘The release of the image precipitated this action. He planned to kill this victim, but not quite so soon and more elaborately. However, now he knows we’re onto him he pressed the fast-forward button.’

  ‘Seems that way. More than ever we have to go into overdrive. I hope you two didn’t have plans for tonight.’

  

  Mahoney didn’t have to go far to complete his first call. Constable Miller was still outside the house helping to monitor comings and goings to the crime scene.

  ‘Constable, is it safe to make a house call over yonder? I hear you dumped oil on troubled waters. Can’t say I blame you, but best tell me what exactly was said.’

  ‘His nibs came over waving his arms about and complaining about the extra vehicles in the street. Told me to fix it up or he’d be on the phone to the big boss.’

  ‘And you said he could shove it up his rear end.’

  The laughter transformed his face. ‘Nah, I was just winding Gibson up. Now he’s in a suit he’s lost his sense of humour. What I told Mr High-and-mighty was that it was a serious crime scene and that took precedence over his entertainment plans. The way he reacted you’d think I said a lot worse.’

  ‘Right, okay. It seems he has issues with the messenger. Some people don’t want to be placated, especially pushy people. I’ll see how I go. If I’m not out in fifteen minutes, send in reinforcements.’ Mahoney smiled to make the levity clear.

  As Mahoney crossed the street, he took in the array of late model imported cars that now filled the kerbside: well-heeled guests. He climbed the steps and rang the bell. The front door was opened by a portly man in a dinner suit.

  Before Mahoney could ask for a cocktail, the ugly face above the bow tie launched into a volley of abuse. ‘It’s the militia, is it? Jack booting in to harass peaceable citizens. What right do you have to impinge on our liberties? Disgusting plebs. Especially that stupid fool directing traffic. I’ve a mind to call the Commissioner right now.’

  The penguin paused; he was awaiting a reaction, but when met with a deadpan look, started up again. ‘So they’ve sent a deaf mute. Just brilliant. I pay my taxes so a spastic can parade about in a suit.’ The man stepped over the doorstop and jabbed Mahoney in the chest. ‘What’s wrong? Too embarrassed to speak?’

  ‘That, Sir, is assault. Please desist.’

  ‘It knows a clever word.’ He poked his finger into the officer’s gut.

  Mahoney smacked the arm away and grabbed the man’s suit lapels. He jerked the abnoxious man towards him slightly, swivelled, then slammed his back into the brickwork. As he held the buffoon in place, Mahoney whispered, ‘And that’s self-defence.’

  When Mahoney loosened his grip, the suited man slid down the wall and held his right arm up as if to ward off a blow. His tone was now snivelling. ‘Don’t hit me. I’ve got guests.’

  ‘Then act like a host and be civil. My rank is Inspector and I expect to be made welcome. Now stand up.’

  He stood up, albeit gingerly. ‘I’m going to complain, you know. You can’t do that.’

  ‘As you wish. However, bear this in mind. In plain view of a commissioned officer of the law you jabbed me in the chest. Twice. That constitutes a threat. Naturally, I defended myself. With minimal force. I’m prepared to call it square. As for your earlier attempt to obstruct a police investigation, my next step depends on your next step.’ Mahoney held his hands open as if weighing up his options.

  ‘That’s ludicrous. I was simply telling the young chap what to do.’

  ‘Sir, you do not tell a police officer what to do. You have rights as a citizen, but bossing around the constabulary is not one of them, whatever their rank.’

  A voice called from the hallway. ‘Monty, what are you doing now? We’re about to be seated.’ A face appeared at the doorway. ‘Oh, are you police?’

  ‘Yes, madam. Monty was just assisting me with our investigation. Are you aware a serious incident occurred across from you today?’

  ‘No. I was busy inside most of the day preparing for this evening. We don’t know them very well. They’ve only been here for six months. They had that ghastly article published about their house. Very foolish. An open invitation to burglars that sort of thing.’

  ‘Did you notice anything at all today?’

  She smoothed her dress and lowered her voice. ‘Well, I did think “while the cat’s away …”’

  ‘As in?’

  ‘Well, you know …’ She came out onto the porch and whispered conspiratorially. ‘Her husband’s away so she gets a bit of rough in.’

  Neither had yet asked what the incident was; it didn’t seem to matter.

  ‘Did Mrs Heath have a visitor today?’

  ‘Some sort of dodgy looking character. He parked right in front of our house and went in there this morning.’

  ‘What time was this?’

  ‘A bit after nine, or thereabouts. She answered the door and in he went.’

  ‘How long was he there?’

  ‘How am I meant to know?’ She seemed genuinely affronted at the suggestion she was a nosey parker. ‘His little rust bucket was gone an hour or two later. That’s all I know.’

  ‘This is very important, so please try to remember. Can you describe the car or the visitor?’

  ‘The car was a little blue thing. Pockmarked. No clue as to the make, sorry, but it was certainly an eyesore.’ She stopped suddenly, as if struck by a crucial thought. ‘Inspector, do you mind if my husband goes back in? Our guests must be wondering what on earth’s going on.’

  He’d had enough of Monty’s company anyway. ‘Certainly. And I shan’t keep you much longer.’

  After Monty traipsed in, she smiled and offered her hand. ‘Cynthia Montgomery.’

  ‘Detective Inspector John Mahoney.’

  ‘Don’t mind my husband. He can be rather self-important. I appreciate you taking him down a few pegs. Don’t worry, it was self-defence. He is his own worst enemy. Now, where was I?’

  ‘The visitor today.’

  ‘Ah, yes. Six foot or so. Green cap, grey shirt with short sleeves, darker green shorts, fair skin, cheap sunglasses. He was carrying a parcel and clipboard, but my impression was that it was a front for some steamy suburban sex.’ A telling pause. ‘She invited him in.’