‘You think I’d tell you, you of all people? I repulse you—I’ve seen how you look at me—but at least I don’t sleep with the devil!’

Stevie and Angus exchanged mystified glances

‘Would you like Sergeant Hooper to leave the room?’ Angus said.

‘I don’t trust you, either. I don’t trust any of you!’ Sparrow’s voice rose as he neared hysteria, one hand reached to his face and began to pick at the stitches near his eye.

Stevie moved to pull it away.

‘Don’t touch me, filth!’

Any moment Stevie expected a nurse to come bursting through the door and demand their immediate departure.

Angus made placating gestures with his hands. ‘All right, Martin, please calm down. Now, tell us who you want to talk to—a lawyer perhaps?’

‘I don’t trust lawyers.’

The detectives let out a collective sigh of exasperation.

‘You have to tell someone what you know, before another girl gets killed.’

Sparrow mulled over the logic of Stevie’s words. After what seemed to be a long battle with his conscience, he said, ‘Okay, I’ll tell Inspector McGuire. Bring him here and I’ll tell him what I know.’

***

‘Damn, damn, damn! Just where the hell is Monty?’ Stevie slammed her mobile phone onto the canteen table.

Angus shook his head and joined her next to De Vakey. He ran his hand over his shiny black hair and rubbed his eyes, the burden of command showing through the new lines on his gaunt face. He looked on with disgust as Barry speared an egg yolk with a chip, stuffing it into his mouth as if he hadn’t eaten for a week.

‘Funny that Sparrow won’t speak to anyone else,’ Barry mused as he ate. His neglected scalp was fuzzed with dark stubble, giving him the appearance of a battle-weary marine.

Stevie shrugged. ‘I guess he trusts him. I know Mont often went out of his way to talk to the guy, thanked him for cleaning his office and the like.’

‘Maybe we should all be brushing up on our manners,’ Barry said through another mouthful of chips.

Stevie was too preoccupied with her own frustrations to rise to the bait. After swallowing his mouthful Barry took a loud slurp of tea. ‘Did Sparrow say how he got into the apartment?’

Angus said, ‘It’s like the woman next door said earlier, he stole her security wand. He also mentioned that he used to work in a locksmith’s, that picking Michelle’s lock was a piece of cake.’

‘So he went there to retrieve the documents that he and Michelle had been working on.’ Barry turned to De Vakey. ‘Is there still a chance that Sparrow’s the man we’re after, that he’s bullshitting about the book?’

De Vakey shook his head, glancing at Stevie as he spoke. ‘He’s not our man. True, he has a disturbing history. His albinism and poor eyesight resulted in relentless bullying at school. His father was an abusive drunk, his mother an ineffective protector. Those are all problems that could lead to a maladjusted adult with a grudge against the world, but a man with those problems would commit a different kind of crime, not so hands on, if you will. Hit and runs, arson or industrial sabotage would be more common for Sparrow’s type. Our killer and this man are at opposite ends of the personality spectrum. Because of his appearance, Sparrow would stick out like...’ he searched for the words.

‘A snowflake down a coal mine?’ Barry supplied.

De Vakey gave him a tired smile. ‘I wouldn’t have said it quite like that, but yes, that’s the gist of it. Our serial killer will probably blend into the scenery as an average, seemingly respectable guy. And that’s what makes it all the more frightening.’

Barry said, ‘The hobby shop guy, Monty’s neighbour, the waiter. These people all saw him but weren’t able to give us one distinguishing feature to make him stand out from the crowd—our composite sketch has been next to useless.’

‘My point,’ De Vakey said.

‘So our killer’s still out there?’ Barry asked.

‘Most definitely.’

‘Sparrow seems to think the killer’s using your books to cause confusion,’ Stevie said.

De Vakey cleared his throat and adjusted his position on his chair. ‘And if so, that does undermine my profile of him somewhat, but the bottom line is that we’re still looking for a murdering sociopath. Whether he is using my books or not is irrelevant. Whether he’s a textbook serial killer or not is also irrelevant, the end results are the same.’

‘Is Sparrow still under police guard?’ Barry asked Angus.

‘Stringent.’

Wayne appeared as if from nowhere with a glass of milk. He pulled up a chair with a jarring scrape.

If the strain of the case showed in Angus and Barry’s faces, it had all but eaten away at Wayne’s. His skin had turned malarial yellow and his feathery hair was sticking up in tufts.

‘I’ve just heard word. Earlier this evening an APB was put out on Monty,’ he said.

Stevie froze.

‘What the hell they want an all points bulletin on Monty for?’ Barry voiced the question she was too shocked to ask.

‘Seems he’s been doing some unauthorised police work while on suspension. He resisted arrest and injured two dees. Baggly’s farting sparks over it.’

‘Where’s he now?’ Stevie managed.

Wayne shrugged. ‘Who knows?’

‘Has anyone heard from him?’ Angus asked the gathered team.

They all shook their heads. Angus let out a string of obscenities. Stevie sank her head into her hands and said nothing.

‘Well, I for one am going back to my hotel to sleep on this.’ De Vakey pushed himself to his feet. ‘Maybe in the morning, with clearer heads, we’ll be able to work something out. Perhaps Monty will have turned up by then.’

Stevie didn’t look up from the coffee in front of her. ‘Do you want a lift?’ she asked, her voice slurred with fatigue.

‘I’ll catch a cab.’ He frowned his concern at her. ‘And I suggest you do too. You can hardly keep your eyes open.’

‘Yeah, maybe,’ she said, knowing sleep would be an impossibility until she’d heard from Monty.

When De Vakey had gone, the group lapsed into a troubled silence. At other tables, cutlery clanked and chairs scraped, people bitched, gossiped and laughed, snatching their breaks when they could on this particularly busy Saturday night.

Finally Angus said to Wayne. ‘He just can’t help himself can he?’

Wayne looked as puzzled as Stevie. ‘Who?’ he asked. ‘De Vakey?’

‘Monty. I mean why couldn’t he just leave well enough alone? He’s in enough trouble as it is.’

‘If we all played by the book, Angus, nothing would ever get done,’ Wayne replied with unmasked irritation.

The chirping of a mobile interrupted Angus’s retort. Everyone checked their phones, but the ringing continued from an unclaimed phone in the middle of the table.

‘Shit,’ Stevie said, reaching for it. ‘De Vakey’s left his mobile. I might still catch him at the front entrance.’ She pressed the answer button and headed for the canteen exit.

‘De Vakey’s phone,’ she said pushing her way through a cluster of uniforms on supper break. The swinging door closed behind them, cutting off the noise from the canteen. ‘Hello,’ a pleasant female voice replied. ‘May I speak to James, please?’

‘Hi, I’m a police officer colleague of James. I’m trying to catch him now, he’s left his phone behind.’

‘Well at least it wasn’t switched off this time,’ the voice answered.

Stevie hurried down the corridor towards the front entrance, conscious of the sound effects the woman on the other end of the phone must be hearing: thumping feet, heavy breathing, the sound of traffic as she stepped into the street. She could see the cab easing away from the curb.

‘Sorry,’ she panted into the phone. ‘Looks like I’ve lost him.’

‘Oh, that’s all right, would you mind giving him a message then?’

Stevie scrabbled in her jacket pocket for her pen and notepad as she headed back through the double doors of Central. Damn, she must have left them in the canteen. She saw Wayne standing near the lifts and beckoned him over.