Private Oz (Private 7)

Darlene gave her a skeptical look, stood and beckoned Mary over to a large stainless steel-topped counter, objects spread across it – a pile of blood-stained sheets, take-out cartons, cigarette stubs, pieces of paper, a TV remote – all collected from the deserted Triad apartment in Parramatta.

“The blood on the sheets matches Ho Chang’s of course. His prints are all over the bedding, on the food cartons, chairs in the kitchen.”

“What about other fingerprints? The guys who abducted him?”

Darlene paced back to her work station, Mary in tow. She tapped at a keyboard. The image on the monitor changed to show several sets of prints.

“I’ve found four distinct sets in the apartment, excluding Ho’s. I’ve also separated out three samples of DNA.”

“That’s great … yeah?”

“Not really, Mary. One set of prints and one DNA sample belongs to the plumber who’d worked in the apartment a few weeks back. He had a record – petty theft in 1990, meant he was on the database. Another set of prints belongs to the manager’s wife, Betty Griffin.”

“Could she or her husband be involved?”

“She died last month. Cancer.”

Mary snorted. “And the other two?”

“According to my analyzer the DNA comes from two different Asian males.”

“And?”

“That’s it … no matches on any databases. Same for the prints.”

“So we’ve narrowed it down to what?” Mary declared. “About a billion men?”

“Actually, nearer two billion.”

Chapter 59

“HERE’S TO GRETA!” Brett Thorogood said lifting his glass of vintage Verve. He clinked it with Greta and their two closest friends, Claudia and Marcus. The doorbell rang.

“I’ll get it,” Greta’s son, Serge, called as he ran from the playroom, his younger sister Nikki close behind.

“That should be Christine, the babysitter,” Greta said.

“You’re so lucky having a regular girl,” Claudia replied.

“Christine’s great – works at the local SupaMart during the day.”

They looked round as footsteps echoed along the hallway and Greta stood up. A strange woman appeared at the entrance to the lounge. Greta stared at her, confused.

The woman stepped forward a little nervous, a hand extended. “Hi, I’m Julie, Julie O’Connor.”

Greta noted the SupaMart uniform and badge.

“Christine went home sick from work. She did call you, yeah?”

“Er, no, Julie, she didn’t.” Greta forced a weak smile.

“Oh. Well I’ve a lot of experience. I sometimes babysit with Christine. We’re old friends …”

“It’s not that,” Greta said stonily. “It’s just, I don’t know you …”

Julie let out a gentle sigh. “Okay … I understand.” She turned to leave.

Brett stood up, touched Greta’s arm, whispered in her ear. “We’re stuck, darling. It’s your party, we have to go now, but we can’t leave the kids on their own.”