‘I shall. Once I have helped you with our conundrum.’

  ‘Great. I’ll give you the contacts and set something up. It would be beneficial for the cadets to hear from a practitioner in the field. Textbooks are all well and good, but real experience is gold. I reckon you’d present a good lecture.’

  ‘I trust so. I’ve witnessed some of the best.’

  ‘Whereabouts? In the States?’

  ‘Precisely. I utilised an overseas study grant to spend six months at the FBI’s justifiably famous Behavioural Sciences Unit at Quantico. It was the most intense period of my life. My knowledge and method­ology improved immeasurably.’

  ‘I assume you have an established procedure. That isn’t a piss-take. I just want to know how best to mesh things together.’

  ‘No offence taken. Your willingness to involve me is commendable. It’s much better than being left on the periphery.’ He sat a little straighter in the bucket seat. ‘Some of these elements have been covered slightly out of order but at least they’re being implemented.’ He tapped the dashboard as he specified the stages. ‘First, I evaluate the criminal act and the specifics of the crime scene. Then, I evaluate the preliminary police reports and the autopsy protocol. And there is also analysis of the victim. We have, to a greater or lesser degree, been doing those first five stages. Naturally, I will need to revisit that material and keep up-to-date with developments in the investigation.’

  ‘Of course. Hang on a sec, this is a bugger of a roundabout.’ Mahoney took a gap in the Mornington traffic and shot through to the Tasman Highway. After he’d eased across the feeder lane, he was free to concentrate again. ‘Then comes?’

  ‘I develop a profile with an outline of the critical offender characteristics, and make some suggestions for the investigation on the basis of that profile.’

  ‘Which you’ve been doing already back at the house. Even your informal observations are an eye-opener.’

  ‘Thank you.’ The profiler’s eyes widened as the car crested Rosny Hill. The bridge was in the foreground with Government House standing regally on the hill behind. Mount Wellington loomed in the distance. ‘My word, that is an arresting sight. I arrived in the dark on Sunday night. I missed this spectacle.’

  ‘I suppose you’re right. You get used to it, I guess. Now, where would you like to work today? You’re welcome to use my office to write up your findings. You’ll have access to all the relevant material and I’ll sort out one of my officers as a liaison type.’

  ‘You won’t be needing the space?’

  ‘Not till much later this afternoon. If I spend too long in there, I atrophy. The leads we need aren’t in the incident room. I’ll be out talking and chasing things down.’

  ‘Then I accept your offer.’ Cortese glanced at his watch: a Breitling no less, the DI noted. ‘It is almost midday. I can have a preliminary document available for you at five o’clock.’

  ‘That will be perfect.’

  ‘Early lunch suit you?’ asked Mahoney. He had decided to catch up with Kendall in the central business district.

  ‘Sure. I rushed out the house this morning without even a coffee.’

  They walked half a block up Collins Street and into the Fullers Bookshop Café. Tables were at a premium but Kendall saw a couple of elderly ladies leaving one. She grabbed it while Mahoney ordered drinks and muffins.

  ‘How did things go at Tiger? Was the Jones woman in?’

  ‘She was, but it was pretty much as yesterday. No great insights, but I do have Hellyer’s desk diary. What about Cortese?’

  ‘Different story there. That is one switched-on guy. He’s a bit foppish, but his being in town is the best break we’ve had thus far.’ He related their profiler’s thoughts.

  Kendall pursed her lips. ‘That is insightful. The bit about Hellyer being a representative of something is interesting. It fits with the one useful thing Jennifer Jones told me.’

  ‘Which was?’

  ‘Hellyer has really tidied up his act in recent times. She’s worked pretty closely with him for six or seven years now. When he initially got the job she was expecting a bit of a smart aleck, bit of a sleaze, someone in the job for the benefits more than anything.’

  ‘I’m sensing a “but”?’

  Kate smiled. ‘But he turned out to be a big asset. Tiger Brewing were new to Hobart eight years ago. They’re well established up north, and they decided to set up an office here to boost market share. Jones was here from the start and the first eighteen months were tough. Then Head Office got Hellyer in as a marketing manager. He worked hard and implemented clever campaigns. He didn’t hit on colleagues and didn’t seem to have any kind of negative reputation.’

  Mahoney dabbed at some crumbs on his plate. ‘Model employee. Doesn’t quite tally with what Sophie Hellyer told you.’

  ‘No, it doesn’t. Gibson visited her while I went to the Tiger office. He told her it was a courtesy call to check how she was getting on.’

  ‘Nice move.’

  ‘It was. Mind you, he did sanction it with me first.’ She paused for a second or two. ‘By the way, have you had words with him recently?’

  ‘I may have. Was his manner rather formal this morning?’

  ‘Pretty much. Straight down the line.’

  ‘He’s still finding his way. He’ll settle. It doesn’t seem to have dampened his initiative.’

  ‘Not at all. He called me while I was waiting for you and told me a few things about his visit. Mrs Hellyer is coping. The funeral is scheduled for tomorrow, unless we object.’

  ‘That should be fine. Pitney is dealing with the coroner. We’ll attend. There may be something of interest and it’s nice to show some support.’

  ‘It’s to be held at Turnbull’s in Letitia Street at ten o’clock tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Lock it in. And the other things?’

  ‘About Hellyer’s family. His parents died in an automobile accident seven years ago. The coroner’s verdict was that the father nodded off at the wheel and their Lexus veered across the Midland Highway into an oncoming semitrailer. Both the driver and his wife were confirmed dead at the scene.’

  ‘Christ, that’s horrible. I think I remember the Automobile Club lobbying for protective barriers in the aftermath.’ Mahoney massaged his temples. ‘And that was when their son decided to start taking his career seriously?’

  ‘The prodigal son grew up.’

  ‘And what about this elder sister Susan told me about?’

  ‘This is interesting. According to Sophie Hellyer, she barely knew her husband’s sister existed. Her husband never mentioned her and she wasn’t at their wedding twenty-five odd years ago. But she was at the parents’ funeral, and that’s when the estrangement ceased. She never became a visitor at Christmas, but she and Scott did maintain regular contact, Sophie thought. She is that Gail Ogle.’

  ‘So Hellyer, influenced by a sudden jolt as to our mortality, initiated a new phase in his life. He worked harder, then success in other areas of his professional life followed. Fronting the golf course for instance.’ A few stray crumbs brushed off the table and he dropped them on his plate. ‘Did Mrs Hellyer happen to say if his recreational activities altered?’

  ‘Funnily enough, yes. One of the first things she did was to apologise to Gibson for giving us too strong an impression that her husband played around. Apparently after the death of his parents he knuckled down at home as well. Drove the children to their sports activities at all hours. Came home straight after work on a Friday.’

  ‘Wow. He was reformed. And they still split?’

  ‘Ah, well. She explained it was mutual. They had grown tired of each other and, once the children left the nest, there wasn’t much to keep them together. All quite placid.’

  Mahoney swirled the remains of his cup and sipped some cold coffee. ‘It is rare for anybody to deserve to die. It appears more and more certain that Scott Hellyer certainly didn’t call for his fate. Thinking aloud here, and borrowing heavily from Cortese, but it looks like our victim is dead because he fits the strange schema for our killer.’

  ‘Granted, but what do we do to catch him?’

  Mahoney stood. ‘Find that bloody van.’

  

  As they were leaving the café Mahoney’s mobile phone rang. He tapped his sergeant on the arm in a gesture to wait, then bit the side of his lower lip as he listened intently.

  ‘That was Dunstan. Someone needs to bottle his research skills. He’s a gun.’

  ‘What’s he found this time?’

  ‘Only a lead on that ruddy van. We’ll get my car and shoot up there.’

  ‘Where? And where’s your car?’

  ‘Just round the corner. After I dropped Cortese off at the office, I couldn’t be stuffed walking so I drove.’

  From the parking meter in Victoria Street Mahoney drove his still newish Toyota out of the CBD and up to South Hobart. En route he instructed Kendall on the personnel she should call. If this was the van, immediate scrutiny was required. Just short of the soccer stadium he turned right and took the car down a side street that became a bridge over the Hobart Rivulet. On the other side of the stream in the lea of the wooded hill was a large corrugated iron warehouse. They stopped right in front of a portable office. As they got out, a woman in blue King Gee clothing and a green high-vis jacket walked across to them with a clipboard in her left hand—the art of always looking busy.

  ‘I’m Jill Hansen. Are you the police? You’re pretty quick.’

  Mahoney did the introductions. ‘I hear you’ve got a vehicle that’s unaccounted for?’

  ‘Yep. And it’s a bit suspicious.’ She walked them briskly into the warehouse: concrete floor, steel girders and a few skylights in the high ceiling. Even with the mild autumn weather, the temperature inside wasn’t all that welcoming. Mahoney supposed the eclectic collection of vehicles didn’t mind the cold; he guessed there must be almost a hundred automobiles of varying types parked in front of them.

  They walked down a transit lane and Kendall asked, ‘Whose are all these? They don’t look like work vehicles.’

  ‘Because they’re not.’ Hansen’s tone was curt. She made it sound as if she was being distracted from important work in her cabin—more like she didn’t like having to leave the radiator that was no doubt by her desk. ‘Private ownership. Whole lot of reasons they’re here. Cars confiscated from the anti-hooning legislations, some impounded ‘cause the owner’s run foul of you lot, and a few that were in the wrong place.’ She halted at a white van. ‘Like this one.’

  ‘Are you state government?’ asked Mahoney.

  ‘Nah, private contractor. Some Greek guy with a big shed and nothing to use it for owns it. The three city councils and the State government pay to store motors like this here. How’s that for a piss-easy way to make money.’

  The detectives agreed.

  ‘How did this van get here?

  Hansen checked her clipboard. ‘Hobart City Council responsibility. Collected from Salamanca Place at five forty-six on Saturday morning. No attempt to contact owner.’

  ‘Because there aren’t any rego plates?’

  ‘Yep. Reckon so. Brought up here by Ferguson Towing and dropped off at ten past six. Been here since then.’

  Mahoney nodded to her notes. ‘Any parking tickets on the windscreen or a voucher on the dashboard?

  ‘Nup. You know all I do. That it?’

  Obviously the heater beckoned. ‘That’s fine. Ta. Can you direct our colleagues down here when they arrive, please. And make a photocopy of your paperwork.’

  ‘All right. Good luck with it.’ She set off back to her own compact little headquarters.

  Kendall circled the van; it looked to be the make they were after. ‘No plate on the rear either.’

  ‘Clever way of doing it.’

  ‘Why not torch it?’

  ‘He wants it to be found, I reckon. To let us know he’s a step or two ahead.’

  ‘Why Salamanca? It’s a busy strip.’

  ‘Not for cars on a Saturday. From half past five in the morning any car still there gets towed away. The whole roadway becomes the market. Plenty of warning signs, but a few still get caught out. Park there on a Friday evening, go out to the bars, have a few too many and cab it home. Come back too late the next day to collect the car and the council has had them dragged away.’

  ‘Presumably he banked on that. Did the deed at Opossum Bay and dropped the van off minus the plates in the wee hours. No-one is contactable so it ends up here indefinitely.’ She nodded to herself. ‘Good plan.’

  ‘It is. A beauty. And this place has served its purpose. He couldn’t keep it where he’d been storing it before as it’s now a liability. Needed to distance himself from it. If he’d lost it too far from the city, he would have had to get a taxi which is traceable. If an accomplice had collected him, then he would have had another person who could become a weak link. Dropping it at Salamanca meant someone else did the disposal for him. Rather neat.’

  ‘It would still turn up but he got some distance from it. He could saunter off without attracting undue attention. What about his gear?’

  ‘The gear he used at Hellyer’s?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘If it’s not inside the van, it’s been dumped somewhere within a fifty kilometre radius of Hobart.’

  ‘Or he took it home.’

  Footsteps echoed on the concrete behind them: Kitchener and Donna Givens from Forensic Services. ‘Seems we’re about to find out.’

  Mahoney waved at them and shouted. ‘Mike, drive your car in. Saves lugging all your stuff.’

  Kitchener acknowledged that and they turned back; a couple of minutes later they parked nose up to the van and got out.

  ‘John, Kate, how are you?’

  ‘Optimistic.’ Mahoney tilted his head to the Ford. ‘Turn her inside out. I reckon this is the vehicle our guy used.’

  Without any further chit-chat, the FSST officers suited up. Givens started on the exterior while her supervisor used a master key to open up the rear doors. The option of returning to base was open to the detectives but they remained—at least until some sign that this was a legitimate lead.

  It didn’t take long. Givens called them over to the side where she was tapping her gloved fingers on the upper rear panel. ‘It’s sticky to the touch. You can see how dust particles have attached to the residue.’ She traced her finger along the sides of a rectangle. ‘A latex film has recently been detached from the surface. Approximately a third of a metre high and one metre long. Probably a clear plastic background with the design stencilled on. It’s a quick and effective alternative to spray painting on the duco.’

  Kitchener clambered out of the rear and took a quick look. ‘Sounds like what we’re after. Look right to you?’

  Mahoney agreed it did. ‘Much inside?’

  ‘To the naked eye, it’s clean as a whistle. But don’t worry, I’ll find something.’

  ‘Good. This has to be it. Mike, go through it like the proverbial. As soon as practicable check the engine and stuff. Even without the plates we can establish the provenance, as they say on the Antiques Roadshow.’

  ‘No problem. We’ll sort it. Where will you be?’

  ‘Out and about. Ring anything through to HQ and ask for Constable Dunstan. He’ll be working on a trace at our end.’

  ‘Righto. Allow us a few hours. Talk later.’

  ‘Thanks, Mike. Cheers, Donna.’

  As they turned to leave, Mahoney held his head up and sniffed the cold air.

  ‘Is that a whiff of progress, Sir?’

  ‘It could well be.’

  Mahoney turned the car back into Macquarie Street. There were a few patrons basking in the afternoon sun outside Ginger Brown Café. He recognised one man in an olive-green suit.

  ‘Was that Rex Chambers over there?’

  ‘Possibly,’ replied Kendall. Her voice was dead flat and her eyes looked straight ahead.

  ‘Want to stop?’

  ‘No, thank you. I’d rather not see Rex-the-ex if that’s okay with you.’

  ‘Oh.’

  There wasn’t much he could say to that, so Mahoney remained quiet. It took till they were down to Molle Street for her to elaborate.

  ‘The short version is that Rex is exploring his options and they don’t necessarily include me.’

  He slipped the car into the near left lane, turned down the hill and pulled into a car park next to an impressive triple-storey brick building.

  ‘Is he leaving Internal Investigations? I thought he enjoyed scrutinising other police officers.’

  His colleague sniffed, pulled out a tissue and gently blew her nose and wiped her eyes. Mahoney waited.

  ‘I’m sorry, Sir. I thought I’d be fine.’

  ‘That’s okay. Take your time. I mean, we don’t have to discuss it.’

  ‘But I want to.’ She looked through the windscreen. ‘Can we walk on the rivulet trail for a bit?’

  ‘Sure. Bit of a saunter can’t hurt.’

  Within moments they were on a tended gravel path going upstream, shaded by a grove of trees turning colour with the season. It was Mahoney’s favourite time of year. Generally clear days with a crisp edge to the early mornings.

  Kendall wiped her nose with another tissue. ‘Do you remember the chat we had about relationships a while ago?’

  How could he forget? Kate had been incredibly supportive as Mahoney tried to deal with a serious fissure in his own relationship with Susan. ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘I might have been a bit assertive about my resilience that day. Rex has clearly indicated he’s leaving and it’s more upsetting than I thought it would be.’

  ‘You don’t have to be bulletproof. You have feelings. You can express them.’