‘What’s he been saying? I’ll kill him! I’ll kill the weaselly little bastard, I’ll—’ Baggly’s words were choked off as Monty pushed his bulbous face into the carpet.

De Vakey touched the knot of his tie and took a breath. ‘Now calm down, John. Let’s be rational about this.’ He moved to help the shaken Justin from the floor and guided him back to the sofa.

Monty released some of the pressure from Baggly’s head. It was like opening a steam vent. ‘Rational? How do you expect me to be bloody rational with this gorilla sitting on top of me!’

Monty spoke through clenched teeth. ‘If you behave I’ll let you up and you can have a drink and talk. If you don’t, I’ll call for back-up and have you dragged out of here so fast you’ll have carpet burns on your arse.’

Baggly struggled for a breath. ‘You’re enjoying this, aren’t you, McGuire? You always did have your eye on my job. Reckon you’ve got it now, do you?’

His words sounded as if they were being pushed through a bicycle pump. Monty knew how he felt, having been in a similar position himself the previous night. His other knee joined the one already on Baggly’s back and he adjusted his weight.

‘Okay, okay! Just get the hell off me and I’ll cooperate,’ Baggly gasped.

Monty pulled him to his feet and shoved him into one of the armchairs.

De Vakey looked from Baggly to Monty as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. The profiler’s skin was pale, his lips parted. It dawned on Monty that the analysis of violent acts must be quite different from witnessing them live.

He pointed to Baggly’s cheap whisky on the plastic drinks trolley. ‘Top yourself up, De Vakey, them too.’

Despite his more comfortable position in the chair, Baggly’s face was still an unhealthy puce. He pointed an accusing finger at his son. ‘You’ve ruined me, haven’t you? How does it feel to ruin your father? Are you satisfied now?’

Justin shrank back into the sofa, his fingers gripping his refilled glass as if he might break it.

‘Don’t take it out on the kid, Baggly, you’ve ruined yourself. Justin’s only confirmed what I already suspected, that you were being blackmailed.’ Monty paced the floor. ‘They threatened to reveal your penchant for boys and forced you into helping them cover up the KP murders. And now two more women have been murdered, and you were involved in those, too, as well as my frame-up. It was you who took the watch from my desk, wasn’t it? And were Keyes and Thrummel acting on your orders when they stole the files from my flat or are you all taking orders from someone else?’

‘I didn’t murder anyone.’

‘No, you didn’t, but you were an accessory after the fact. I want you to go to Central and make a statement.’

Baggly drained his glass in one swallow then fixed Monty with gimlet eyes. ‘And if I refuse?’

‘Depends if you want this news let out officially or through the tabloids. It’s your choice. You and I both know the tabloids will make this even worse than it already is. You’ll have boys’ bodies in your cellar by the time they’ve finished with you. True or not, the other inmates won’t care. In prison you’ll be dubbed the murdering cop paedophile. Could be interesting.’

Baggly nervously smoothed down his moustache. The light caught the shimmer of sweat on his forehead as he looked desperately from Monty to De Vakey. ‘I’m no paedophile. They were never under age.’

‘The rags won’t give a shit: fifteen, sixteen, not much in it, is there?’

De Vakey stepped over to refill Baggly’s glass. Monty allowed Baggly to toss down another gulp before going to the phone on the side table. He lifted the receiver and started punching in the numbers.

‘Wait,’ Baggly said in panic. ‘You’ve no evidence! This is all conjecture!’

Monty put his hand over the receiver. ‘The press don’t need evidence, it’s just another juicy scandal for them. I’m ringing one of Michelle’s old journalist friends, telling her my suspicions. She can do what she likes with them.’

‘No!’ Baggly cried, putting his head in his hands and rocking from side to side in his chair.

‘Is that you, Sherrie?’ Monty said into the phone.

‘Wait, put it down, I’ll tell you what I know. Please, no press,’ Baggly begged.

‘Sorry, Sherrie, something’s come up, I can’t talk now.’ He put down the receiver and turned to Baggly. ‘Are you ready to talk? You’ll need to go to Central, I’ll get someone over to escort you.’

Baggly blew out a shuddering breath. ‘You’ve been plying me with booze. Nothing I say will be admissible.’

Monty found himself filled with a sudden, uncontrollable rage. He grabbed one of the bottles from the drinks trolley and hurled it at the wall. Baggly almost fell off his chair as the glass shattered behind him. Monty grabbed him by the shirt and yelled into his face, buttons popping under his fists. ‘You don’t get it, do you, you quivering lump of lard! Right at this moment I don’t give a shit what’s admissible and what’s not. I just want some fucking answers and I want them now!’

Monty felt De Vakey’s hand on his arm. He let go of Baggly and stepped back, breathing heavily, but calm again.

When Baggly found his voice he touched his gaping shirtfront. ‘I need to change.’

Monty reluctantly agreed; he didn’t want the roughing up of a suspect added to the other somewhat dodgy circumstances surrounding Baggly’s arrest. He watched Baggly haul himself unsteadily to his feet and said to De Vakey, ‘Go with him, keep a close eye on him. I have to make a phone call.’

De Vakey nodded and followed Baggly into his bedroom.

Monty used Baggly’s lounge-room phone to call Wayne. He gave him a summary of events and asked him to collect Baggly and arrange the interview at Central.

‘By the way, Mont,’ Wayne said. ‘I suppose it’s not important now, but for the record, I followed up on Justin’s hospital visit to Martin Sparrow.’

‘Shoot.’

‘It seems he has a thing going for Sparrow’s nurse—used Sparrow as an excuse for going to see her. That was the sole reason for his visit to the hospital.’

Monty glanced at Justin sitting on the sofa with his head in his hands.

‘Poor kid. It’s not been his day has it?’ Wayne added.

‘How did the re-enactment go?’

‘The dero said he recognised Baggly’s car. I thought it all seemed a bit far-fetched until now.’

‘How’s Stevie? Is she okay?’

‘I haven’t been able to reach her and I need to tell her something important. I had someone double-check Tye’s alibi and it turns out the mine supervisor was lying through his arse. Tye—’

A shot cracked out from Baggly’s room. ‘Oh God, no!’ Justin sprang from the sofa in a panic.

Monty’s stomach flipped. ‘I’ll ring you back.’ He slammed down the phone, grabbed Justin by the shoulders and pushed him towards the door. ‘Get the hell out of here. Go to the neighbour’s and wait there.’

The urgency of his tone had the desired effect; the boy bolted.

Monty found De Vakey standing in the doorway of Baggly’s bedroom, mouth open, hands outstretched as if he might still be able to stop what had already happened.

Baggly’s body lay sprawled on its back near an open chest of drawers, a pistol on the floor near his outstretched arm. It looked as if he’d already started his own autopsy, the single shot through the mouth having lifted the top of his skull like the lid of a hard-boiled egg. The frozen look of surprise on his face suggested that even he had not expected to make such a good clean job of it.

De Vakey stayed where he was, shaking his head from side to side like a man coming out of a trance. ‘The gun was in his top drawer, it happened so quickly...’

Monty felt for Baggly’s carotid pulse out of instinct and shook his head. He rocked back on his heels. The wound looked surgically neat, but the mess must have landed somewhere.

A shuddering sigh drew his attention back to De Vakey who was slowly sinking down the wall into a sitting position.