‘You just never know, do you? I doubt the good people on the Shetland Islands ever realised how turbulent their private lives could be.’

  ‘Quite so. Anywhere two or more are gathered, chaos is a distinct possibility.’ He rose from his seat. ‘Are you going back across?’

  ‘Yep. I’ve got just one call to make first. I’ll be hearing from you?’

  ‘Certainly.’

  The first thing Mahoney noticed as he entered the incident room was Gibson securing an image to the caseboard. As Mahoney traversed the floor, the young blood nut turned around as Kendall slapped Dunstan’s shoulder.

  ‘Let me guess. Another window’s opened.’

  Kendall swivelled in her chair. ‘No, a few have. Show him, Andrew.’ Her voice brimmed with enthusiasm.

  Dunstan nodded, clicked the mouse, and a full head shot filled the screen. ‘There you go.’

  Mahoney stared at the portrait: a nondescript male with dark hair greying at the temples. If tasked, he was unsure he could discern anything unusual about the face. Clean-shaven, regular sized nose, blue eyes … ordinary looking, bland even. This is a man who could walk the streets and be seen but never really noticed by anybody.

  ‘I’m assuming we think this is a photo of Michael Fowler?’

  Dunstan’s reply was to move the image up the screen, revealing the name next to the words ‘Tasmanian Government’. Next to the name was the Tasmanian tiger logo of all government documents. Mahoney had always thought that using an extinct carnivore for this purpose was slightly defeatist—mind you, the chances were the other endemic mammal of the state, the Tasmanian Devil, wasn’t far off the same status.

  ‘Where is this from?’ Mahoney asked.

  ‘The personnel department at DPIPWE,’ Kendall replied. ‘Since the start of the millennium employees have had to wear ID tags. Part security measure, part administrative measure. Each worker has a photo taken then that image is transferred to a plastic card with relevant work data including their name. All the photos are on file and Andrew was given access, after explaining the gravity of our request.’ Before Mahoney could interrupt, she continued. ‘Naturally, we asked for all the pictures so no alarm bells went off at their end. I kept the reason for the request as general as possible. Andrew scrolled through all the images of employees who’ve departed in the past few years. No-one else leaped out, and we do now have the ID photo of this Fowler guy.’

  If I go, thought Mahoney, she’s ready. Had he specifically taught her to cover all bases? She’d worked it out anyway. ‘Good. Has Paul Henderson seen this?’

  Kendall shook her head. ‘I thought it best for objectivity if Eather takes him through a photofit construction. Am I crossing the t’s too emphatically?’

  It was Mahoney’s turn to shake his head. ‘It’s consistent with what we’ve done with the other witnesses, so that closes any loophole that could materialise in court. Once they’re done, we can show him the earlier images and this one. He should confirm that this is the Michael Fowler he’s referred to.’ Mahoney peered closely again at the face. ‘Everyone else with recent sightings mentioned the man they dealt with was quite gaunt around the face, but this fella looks a bit more jowly.’

  Gibson flexed his upper torso in a pose. ‘He’s been training, hasn’t he? Both murders, particularly the first, required a fair bit of hefting. Hellyer was a fair weight to manoeuvre, and at the Heath house there were no signs of drag marks on the carpet. He lifted both bodies to their final positions. So, he’s been doing strength training and his fat percentage has dropped right off.’

  ‘Of course, that’s right.’ Mahoney gave his constable a mental tick. ‘That would account for it. Right, next step. Upload these images and get them to all our officers. What else have you got here?’

  Dunstan clicked again and an image of a small vehicle came up. The friendly giant spoke. ‘I couldn’t find any useful contact information for this Fowler guy. His last known address was the one he gave to Vroom Motors and that, as we know, is a dwelling that no longer exists. The money from that sale and the lump sum he took from his superannuation account both went to his ANZ bank account.’

  ‘Now terminated?’

  ‘Yes, Sir. About twelve months ago he visited the Liverpool Street branch and withdrew the whole lot as a bank cheque. I spoke to the business manager about it. They thought it odd and, from their viewpoint, imprudent.’

  Kendall chipped in. ‘They would rather have their hands on the dosh.’

  Dunstan smiled. ‘For sure. Anyway, as they admitted, it was his money after all. He closed the savings account and credit card facility that day. So, he would have walked out with a thumping great wad of money on a slip of embossed paper.’

  ‘And then dematerialised,’ said Mahoney.

  ‘Pretty much.’ Dunstan held up his wallet. ‘If you think about it, you can travel through life pretty lightly if you decline all the offers made to join things and you own no property. The driver’s licence in Fowler’s name expired six months ago. No bank cards. There is a Medicare card in his name, but that’s fairly anonymous and no help in tracking him. He has no identifiable online presence. All the accounts a household would usually have are defunct. He’s transformed himself into a cleanskin.’

  ‘I sense a “but” Andrew?’ Mahoney knew there had to be a kicker.

  ‘Two as it turns out. First, the money. He walked out of ANZ with a cheque for thousands of dollars, a couple of hundred thousand actually. He couldn’t do much with that unless he cashed it somewhere, which was unlikely given the questions that would be asked, or opened another account. David helped with a ring-round. The week after closing at ANZ, Michael Fowler opened an account at the Bank of Queensland branch in Murray Street. A chap called Don Cook confirmed it all. He was glad of a new customer but thought it a bit odd.’

  ‘Money laundering?’ asked Gibson.

  ‘Sort of. More the amount and why Fowler was changing accounts. Fowler said he wanted better service from a boutique enterprise. Cook thought that was fair enough as that’s what they advertise. He offered him all the bells and whistles, but all Fowler wanted was a savings account with easy access and a linked debit card.’

  Mahoney nodded. ‘How soon can we get hold of a transactions record?’

  ‘Not immediately. That requires a warrant processed to their Internal Criminal Division who then send it back through to the branch. I’ve set that in motion and we should get it all by the end of the day.’

  ‘Perfect. Mind you, all we’ll probably see is a series of ATM cash withdrawals that he then used for purchases. Why did he use his own name and not an alibi?’

  ‘Cook inadvertently answered that. They’d had an instance where a young woman had tried to open an account with a cheque for a million bucks. Alarm bells rang a bit and, after a few discreet checks, they discovered it was fraudulently obtained.’

  ‘Fowler would have needed to be very discreet, so he used the same identity he had with ANZ,’ said Kendall. ‘Besides, he didn’t fabricate the Ogden licence until weeks later.’ She looked at Mahoney. ‘Sorry, I forgot to tell you that we’ve made progress there too.’

  ‘No problem. We’ll get to that. So, the money has been followed. What’s the second thing you mentioned?’

  Dunstan tapped the computer glass. ‘A car similar in appearance to this was previously registered in the name of a Mrs Maureen Fowler of Launceston. She passed away a decade or so ago and, according to the Perpetual Trustees office in Launceston, the car was inherited by her son, Michael Fowler.’

  Dunstan looked chuffed and he had every right to be. The momentum of the contest was swinging their way. ‘Superb. I presume one of DI Briggs’s people got through to you?’

  ‘As soon as we had that name, I called them. David made the call to the trustees, and the link’s done.’

  Mahoney felt a team hug was in order, but held off—and not just because he wouldn’t get his arm around Dunstan’s shoulders. A favourite saying of his former Superintendent in the London Met chimed: ‘Careful John. A bit previous.’ Meaning always beware of getting ahead of yourself. Don’t be the hare; the tortoise wins.

  ‘And the licence?’

  Kendall replied. ‘Transport Tasmania have a record of a driver’s licence being reissued to a Mr Gerard Ogden in July last year. It looks like Fowler did exactly what we thought: accumulated the necessary docs and fudged it.’

  Mahoney pulled up a chair and motioned for Gibson to follow suit. The quartet made for a tight huddle.

  ‘Let’s establish a chronology. I’ll jot a few words down for my benefit. Andrew, be secretary.’

  ‘Sure.’ Dunstan clicked a blank page open on his screen.

  ‘Michael Fowler grew up in Launceston, which is also the birthplace of Scott Hellyer and Patricia Whittey. He played tennis in his early teens but dropped away by sixteen or so.’ He looked up from his jottings to Gibson. ‘Ever heard of him up there?’

  A shake of the head. ‘No, Sir. Whittey, yes. She was big news, swimming for Australia and that. Not him.’

  ‘Okay, that makes sense. Well, Hellyer certainly knew of him.’ Mahoney paused as the others took that in. ‘Going back through those newspaper clippings was pretty interesting. Backstories emerge. In junior high school, Fowler was beating Hellyer. Not by much but he was getting over the line. A few years later and Hellyer was wiping the court with him. By the under sixteens Hellyer was kingpin for his age group. In one match, which looks like Fowler’s last tournament, Hellyer handed him the doughnuts.’

  ‘Wow,’ said Gibson. ‘6-0, 6-0. That stings.’

  ‘I bet it did. I’m not arguing that this was his sole long-term motivation for revenge, but it clearly establishes a link. After that, nothing. As Andrew has found there’s no other archival material for Fowler. While you’ve been beavering away to great effect, I’ve been chatting to Cortese. Anyway, I’ll get back to his ideas later.’ Mahoney turned to Dunstan. ‘Did you find anything about his family, another Fowler?’

  Dunstan nodded. ‘Yeah, I did. Adrian Fowler was a gun cricketer. He could have been the next David Boon, but died prematurely in a tragic accident.’

  ‘Michael Fowler’s brother,’ Mahoney confirmed. ‘I also got that from Briggs. Very helpful crew up there. We owe them. Anyway, the Fowler family lived in Prospect. Two sons: one the golden child, the other not so much. No prizes for guessing which one Michael was. All he inherited after his mother’s death was a pink Nissan Pulsar. Correct?’

  ‘Yes, Sir,’ Dunstan confirmed.

  ‘We’ll get back to Transport Tasmania and establish that for sure.’ Mahoney gestured to Kendall. ‘Michael Fowler moved to Hobart as a young adult, landed a job in the public service and lived a quiet unblemished life. A solid employee who got on pretty well with his colleagues. Was a stout ally of Ogden, especially when his mate became grievously ill. Then he took a redundancy package.’ He paused to invite any contribution.

  Gibson leaned in. ‘Ogden’s death made him think about life and start the mother of all retributions. He must have been really hurting over that match.’

  Mahoney went on. ‘It is darkly funny, but I believe the grudge did start building there. Hellyer had all the gear, weekly coaching and parental support. Fowler had zip. He started to see that some folk have a smoothly crafted path to success, while others have to crawl through a muddy bog to get anywhere. I’m sure the following decades will supply countless examples of how successful individuals become more successful.’

  ‘It’s easier to make a great first impression if your reputation precedes you.’

  ‘Yes, Kate. It does seem so. And his world view fits with the profile Cortese has been assembling. Very early on he said family is at the heart of this. Fowler appears to have long believed that his family let him down. The slings and arrows of his lack of fortune perennially underscore his philosophical contention that, for some people, life truly is a bag of horseshit. To put it bluntly.’

  The crew seemed to be pondering their own fortunes, but Mahoney pressed on. ‘Fowler has succumbed to that age old flaw. He assesses the quality of his life in comparison to others, which is not always a good way to evaluate your worth. Perhaps this is now his time to make his mark. Regardless of the motivation, his magnum opus is reprehensible. Simple as that. We now have really good leads. It’s been a bit arse about, but we’ve assembled a lot of circumstantial proof as to identity. But we also have the trace evidence in waiting.’ Mahoney banged his fists together. ‘Now we couple them.’ He pointed to Dunstan’s screen. ‘Put out an alert with the images of Fowler to all officers. Kate, come with me. We need to see the Commissioner.’

  

  The Commissioner’s first query of the two detectives was mildly surprising. ‘How are you both sleeping?’

  Kendall replied to the effect that all was fine, and Mahoney proffered a similar answer. ‘The exhaustion of last week has gone. The renewed momentum of the past few days has pepped me up if anything.’

  A subtle nod from Baker. ‘Good. No-one minds you being tired at day’s end. Stressed … well, that’s another thing altogether.’ There was no mention of her supply of pills to Mahoney as she gestured to her computer screen. ‘I see significant steps have been taken. Am I correct to assume we now have a prime suspect?’

  Mahoney looked sideways to Kendall, who acknowledged the signal to be the messenger. ‘Yes, we do. The team has identified an individual by the name of Michael Fowler as the probable perpetrator. He seems to have had the means and motivation to commit the two murders.’

  Baker cut in. ‘Sergeant Kendall, “seems” and “probable” are not terms I wish to hear. You’ve come here, I presume, with a specific request. If I require an update of your suppositions, I can view the progress log.’

  She’s testing her, thought Mahoney; she wants to see the steel beneath the skin. Kendall blinked once, then continued in a barely altered tone. ‘Of course. Michael Fowler is definitely our chief suspect. He had the opportunity to commit the two murders, and the case that’s been built conclusively establishes his motivation.’

  Both senior officers appeared to wait for more. Mahoney appreciated that Kendall was employing the dictum ‘less is more’. She had given the Commissioner what had been asked for: certainty. It was the Commissioner’s turn.

  ‘Better. What do you require of me?’

  ‘A significant diversion of resources to this case, particularly manpower. Inspector Mahoney and I believe Fowler intends to keep striking until he is caught. He knows we will eventually apprehend him so he wants to make as grand a statement as he can. Public concerns should be put aside and we should institute a manhunt.’

  Baker’s eyes were fixed on Kendall as seconds crawled by. ‘I agree. In fact, a degree of public apprehension may cause people to be more wary of lone strangers. It won’t reach fever pitch and it could flush out this man. You’ll be going to the media again.’

  Mahoney sensed his sergeant had passed the test, so he leaned slightly forward in his chair. ‘Yes. Print, television, radio and our social media alerts. We have a very good likeness to put out. It could send him underground, but balanced against that is the likelihood of recent sightings emerging. It could stall his scheme.’

  ‘Granted. If he does bunker down somewhere, this is the state for it. An island of nooks and crannies.’ Baker swivelled in her chair to view the computer screen. ‘You’re fortunate. It’s a quiet week so I can give you the extra troops. I’ll call the Academy. The cadets will also be at your disposal. The latter come free of charge. Try not to send the overtime requisition to kingdom come.’

  ‘It shouldn’t be necessary. Extra bodies on regular shifts will help immensely. That’s us done, Commissioner. Thank you.’

  Baker stood. Neither tall nor physically intimidating, she still managed to appear imposing. Perhaps it was her uniform. ‘I know you’ll get this done. If it’s accomplished very soon, so much the better.’

  When Mahoney and Kendall departed to meet with the Commissioner, Gibson shuffled back to his desk. Dunstan didn’t need him to create the alert. He could review the collation of physical evidence: purchases of tennis balls, rope, and all the sundry items, but with Geason, Mr Methodical, on top of all that, there was little point of duplication. Dobosz was trawling through the online histories of the victims so best leave him to it.

  Just as Gibson began to feel like a shag on a rock, Herrick appeared at the edge of his desk. ‘Hey, Gibbo. Need anything done?’

  ‘Not sure, Hezza. Everything and nothing. It just feels like there’s too much on, know what I mean?’

  ‘Yeah sure, but you do what you can.’ Herrick turned to go and then stopped. ‘Where did this guy train? He could do weights at home but where did he practise that serve?’

  ‘You’re right. Did he join a club? Unlikely. So where can he practise?’

  ‘A hitting wall.’ Herrick’s tone suggested it was blindingly obvious. ‘There’s a few about the ‘burbs, big walls where you go and belt a ball. There’s a good one near where I live.’

  ‘Where’s that?’

  ‘The oval at Lenah Valley near the RSL. Think it’s called John Turnbull Park nowadays.’

  Gibson bit his lip then shook his head. ‘I don’t know that area.’

  ‘Nah, you wouldn’t unless you lived out that way. It shoots off from New Town into the foothills of the mountain. One of the few suburbs in Hobart without its own pub.’

  ‘Full of Methodists?’

  ‘Don’t get you. Anyway, at the top of Creek Road is this huge park. It’s got a fitness trail, doggie section, footy oval, hall, kids’ playground, all that sort of stuff.’