'And we've evidence in the death of the fourth man, the one found yesterday,' said Jill.
'And you were going to tell me about this when?' A blotchy red flush suffused Andreessen's neck. Jill flinched.
'It's really only just come together this morning, boss. That's what we're doing here,' said Scotty.
'Well get your arses to Central at lunchtime. I'll talk to Beaumont over there and get you on this taskforce.'
'Great,' said Scotty, not even trying to sound like he meant it. He and Jill left the room. I wonder if they actually tried to make this place look depressing, thought Jill as she looked around the private conference room at Central police station. She tried to get comfortable in the fabric-covered chair, but when she touched the seat, her hand came up slightly wet and sticky.
She and Scotty were on one side of a pockmarked boardroom table. Elvis, Richard Harris and John Jardine were on the other. A couple of soggy sandwiches slowly curled in the centre of the table. Only Scotty was eating, but he still managed to scowl at the men they would have to work with for at least the next few weeks.
Inspector Beaumont had just left the room, leaving them now the official team investigating these cases. He'd told them they had access to uniformeds when they needed them, and he was also arranging to hook them up with some detectives from Adelaide who had experience in mass homicide.
Jardine got up and went to the electronic whiteboard that had been wheeled into the room when they arrived. He wrote the names of the deceased across the top of the board.
'Might as well get on with this, then,' he said, turning back to the group. 'Jackson, Hutchinson, could you tell us what you've got on each of these guys? I know you gave us a run-down on your connection theory last time you came out to see us, but we should hear everything you've got and collate it.'
'Why don't you tell us what you've found out about Rocla and Manzi first,' Scotty suggested. 'That way, Jill and I will have a complete picture and can tell you more about all of them.'
'Because he's the taskforce leader, fuck-stick,' interrupted Elvis, smiling coldly.
'How did you get your fat arse onto this case anyway, Calabrese?' Scotty's fists clenched under the table. 'There're no drugs to rip off. What do you want to work it for?'
'You think I want you on this squad, Hutchinson? At least I didn't have to suck the boss's dick to get myself over here.'
Jill could see Scotty poised to launch himself across the table. She spoke loudly.
'We're ready to go with what we've got, Jardine, if you want to start writing. I know none of us wants a pissing contest keeping us here any longer than we have to be.'
Over the next couple of hours, the small group put together all the information they had about the cases. They started with the body found in Leichhardt. When Jill brought the photo out of the folder, she felt the tension in the room ratchet up a notch.
'Where'd you get this, Jackson?' asked Harris.
She explained her run on the beach that morning – was it really only that morning? The group agreed that the photo was far fresher than the crime scene shots they had pinned to a murder wall next to the whiteboard, and Jardine asked whether Jill thought the killer had left her the photo, and if so, why.
'I've got no idea. None,' she said thoughtfully. 'It's not necessarily the killer who took the photo, though.' Jill didn't want to believe that the hooded figure on the beach with her had been responsible for the carnage in the photographs around her. 'We could have a witness out there.'
'If it was a witness, they must have shut the door and left Crabbe's body there to sweat, because he couldn't be seen from the street, and this photo wasn't taken through a window,' said Harris, looking with Scotty down at the mess in the photograph.
'One of the neighbours? Maybe the bloke who called it in?' Scotty took a bite of an egg-salad sandwich. The filling looked grey.
Jardine wrote this possibility up under Crabbe's name on the board.
'But why you, Jackson? How'd someone know to deliver this to you?' asked Jardine, turning around with the pen in his hand.
'Maybe it's someone we've talked to about Carter's case – maybe they know the deaths are connected, and wanted me to know too,' said Jill.
'So we should go through the people you've interviewed about Carter,' said Harris. 'Look at each one for possible links to the victims.'
Jardine listed this on the board.
'You can put Alejandro Sebastian up there as first port of call,' said Scotty.
'While we're on that, can you take us through everything you've got on him?' said Jardine.
Scotty filled the group in on what they knew, with Jill contributing a few key points. They outlined Sebastian's background, his demographics, and their belief that he ran a paedophile ring, with the hypothesis that each of the dead men was a former member.
'Why is he a suspect in the killings?' Harris asked. 'Why would this Sebastian want to kill his own group members?'
Jill frowned. She'd wondered the same thing. 'Could be that these guys weren't careful enough? Maybe they talked too much, were attracting too much attention? Maybe they owed him money?'
The group continued to pore through the evidence related to each death and when Jardine's tightly written script had used all the space, he pressed the print button on the white-board, wiped it clean and started again. A PA would type the notes up properly later. As they collated the evidence, Jill learned that a men's size-eight footprint had been found at the homicide sites of both Carter and Crabbe. One salvageable footprint was in the sand next to Carter's body, and in the blood just inside the doorway of Crabbe's house, a similar-sized footprint was clearly visible. There were no unidentified fingerprints at the first three murder sites. Smooth, uniform smears in the blood indicated that the killer had worn gloves, most likely disposable latex.
'There was a lot of blood at each crime scene,' said Jill. 'The killer had to clean that off themself somehow. We should get some uniformeds to go round to the servos and hotels in each area, see whether any of them found blood in their bathrooms, or noticed anyone coming in covered in blood.'
'Worth a shot,' said Jardine, writing it up, as Elvis snorted.
Elvis next suggested that they stake out Crabbe's funeral.
'We'll need to get a photo of everyone that attends,' he said, 'Then meet with one of Crabbe's relatives, and try to identify the people who showed up. Could be our killer will come to say goodbye.'
'Good thinking,' Jill liked the idea, 'and some other members of Sebastian's paedophile ring might show up as well.'
'We're working a homicide case here, Jackson,' Elvis's voice was caustic.
'Yeah, I've caught up with that, thanks, Calabrese,' her voice just as hard.
'Really? Seems to me you've spent a lot more time looking for this supposed rockspider group than you have on your own case. Maybe you'd have got somewhere by now if you weren't off trying to save the world again.'
'What's wrong, Elvis – you're not involved in this crime ring as well, are you?'
Jill knew she'd gone too far. Problem was, his words had cut deeply because she knew there was some truth to them – she hadn't been trying as hard as she could to catch Carter's killer. Calabrese rose to his feet on the other side of the table, and she quickly apologised.
'Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean that,' she said.
Opposite him, Scotty stood as well; the men leaning forward, eyeballing one another. She stayed seated, ignoring the venom radiating from the man across the desk.
'Look, I said I'm sorry. It was a stupid remark. There's not a lot left to do here today, so if we could just keep our shit together for a bit longer.'
'Sit down, Hutchinson, Eddie.' Jardine's voice was authoritative. 'We're nearly done here.'