Private Sydney (Private 12)

Detective Constable Massey spoke quietly to me as I passed her the phone with the baby’s image.

‘Mark was out of line but he’s damn good at his job. He’s …’ She glanced around to make sure no one else heard. ‘Just going through a rough time. I’m trying to cut him some slack.’

Today was no joy ride for any of us. Even so, nothing matched what Louise Simpson had been subjected to. ‘Are you making excuses for him?’

‘No. But he just found out the woman he was seeing was two-timing him. They were about to move in together.’

At least that explained the change in my cousin’s attitude. He’d never taken rejection or betrayal well. Seeing me now was like ripping the scab off a deep and painful wound.

‘Priority for all of us is finding the child and Louise’s killer,’ I stressed.

‘Let’s hope Zoe’s still alive,’ she added, out of the mother’s earshot.

We needed to get a break quickly. The more time that passed, the less chance we had of finding baby Zoe – alive or dead.

Chapter 24

I RANG TO let Mary and Johnny know about the missing baby.

Right now they needed to utilise every possible resource, anything that could give us a lead on the Finches, or the Ruffalo family.

Meanwhile, Darlene began photographing and swabbing the back fence.

Mark and I jumped to the neighbour’s side and tried to follow the trail. From what we could tell, the killer had Louise’s blood on his torso. In a hole, stuffed beneath some rocks, was a blood-stained grey hoodie. Generic Target brand. One of thousands sold around the country.

We followed the trampled grass until it stopped a few houses down. On the other side of the fence was a red smear. The killer had climbed over the fence here, somehow carrying the baby.

‘I’ll get the uniforms to canvass the street,’ Mark said, frustrated the trail was lost.

I rang Darlene and told her about the hoodie and the extra fence marks. She’d get on to them as soon as she’d finished in the Simpson yard.

An elderly woman peered through the back screen door.

‘Excuse me, ma’am,’ Mark was in full professional mode, ID in hand, ‘can we have a word with you?’

The slippered woman shuffled down the back path and stopped at a gate that opened onto the course.

Mark explained there’d been an incident a few houses down

and asked if she’d seen anyone in her yard or noticed any damage to windows or doors.

She gripped the top of her blouse and looked back at the house, explaining she’d been to bingo at the local club and only been home half an hour. Everything was as she left it.

‘My children complain about me living so close to the golf course but this has been my home for over forty years.’

Cutting short her conversation, Mark gave her his card and asked her to call him if she remembered seeing anyone or anything out of place.

She toddled back to the house, muttering something about what the world was coming to. We entered through the gate and examined the yard. On the concrete drive was a dark crescent-shaped mark. It could have been blood from the killer’s shoe.

Mark ordered one of the officers to cordon off the yard.

‘This could be how our killer escaped,’ he said. ‘We need to test the stain for blood.’

We walked along the street to the Simpson house. Crowds had now gathered outside the crime scene perimeter.

DC Massey had established that Louise’s parents were touring the Northern Territory in a Winnebago. Her brother lived two hours north, outside Newcastle. He was trying to call the parents, who could be out of phone range.

‘What about the children?’ I asked.