Was he done? Jill waited.
'Some people eat it with yoghurt,' he said.
He sat silently. Seemed satisfied.
'Right.' she said. 'Um, thanks.'
There were trees on both sides of the road now, large houses thrown around the hills surrounding them. The scrub grew more dense as the car ahead indicated right. Within a kilometre they were on a wide road, sealed, but without curbs and gutters. Jill was amazed at the rural outlook – they were so close to built-up suburbs, but around her were bushland, orchards, grazing cattle and sheep. On the horizon, the Blue Mountains shimmered, opalescent; the sky beyond stretched away forever.
Delahunt was taking everything in, head moving from side to side; at one point, hands on the dash and face pressed against the windscreen, he seemed to stare at something directly above the car. He wound the window down, sniffing the air outside. Jill watched him from the corner of her eye.
She braked with the sudden red lights of the car ahead. They were turning right into a gated roadway. A sign ahead indicated their arrival in Capitol Hill, also announcing that there were acre lots still available for sale.
Jill stared when the first house came into view. It looked like it had been dropped there from Vaucluse, or Hollywood or something. Despite one of the worst droughts in the state's history, manicured emerald lawns and verdant foliage surrounded the gated property. There must be two hundred rose bushes lining the drive, she thought. As they rolled though the suburb, she swivelled her head from side to side. Each home competed with the next for opulence, size, lushness of the gardens.
'Can you believe this?' she asked as they passed a walled two-storey mansion with single-storey wings either side, each annexe as big as a large home in its own right.
Gabriel murmured something, totally absorbed.
'What do you reckon these people do for a living?' she wondered aloud.
'Tradies, a lot of them,' said Gabriel. 'We've passed electrician vans, building trucks…'
'Mercedes, Ferraris. We're in the wrong job.'
'So, that neighbour who noticed the white van at the victim's house last night wouldn't have thought it out of place at all,' he said. 'Most of these people would contract out their cleaning and gardening.'
'Looks like most of them would have live-in help.'
They heard the circus before they saw it. As they rounded a wide bend, the Superintendent's vehicle came to a sudden stop, and Jill hit the brakes hard. Cars and media vans lined the road. Clutches of people stood talking and smoking. A television crew filmed a suited woman gesturing gravely behind her as she spoke. A news chopper droned in the sky up ahead.
The lead car began rolling again, gestured forward by a uniformed officer. Jill buzzed down her window to speak to show him her ID, but he waved her through. The film crew turned cameras in their direction and Jill gave them the back of her head as she motored past the uniformed cop.
A hundred metres in front, unmarked and regular police vehicles indicated the victim's home. Jill pulled up in front of the next-door neighbour's house; behind a wide circular driveway, a curtain moved back into place when she glanced in its direction. She stared at the window a moment longer, then followed her colleagues towards the crime scene.
Nobody bothered to speak; a descending chopper thumping overhead drowned all other sound. The morning was heating up already. Record temperatures were predicted for Sydney this spring and summer. Global warming. It made Jill feel guilty; she loved the heat.
An elaborate intercom system stood beside the open motorised gate and around fifty full-sized palms lined the sandstone drive. A circular fountain the size of Jill's bathroom fluted jets of water into the air. When they reached the open doors, twice as wide and tall as doors on any house Jill had ever entered, she noticed that Delahunt was no longer by her side. She looked back and saw him at the gates, squatting by the fence line, rifling through the dirt with his hands. She followed the others into a marble foyer two levels high.
The cacophony from outside was instantly muted. Jill felt her edginess dissipate slightly. What would it be like to actually live here, she wondered idly, looking around at the opulent furnishings. Given the horror that had unfolded here, she wondered how it could feel so serene.
The superintendent herded them into a room off the foyer, a library. They gathered around him, waiting. David Tran leaned on his walking stick, his face pale. He seemed to be in some pain. Derek Reid, in contrast, almost vibrated with fitness. He brushed unnecessarily close to Jill and she thought she caught the sweet steroid smell body builders often emitted. He gave her a smug smile when he caught her looking.
'The murder took place in the media room.' Last spoke in his usual hushed tone. 'Of course, the body is no longer here. Video footage and photos will be available by the time we get back to the House,' he said, referring to the police station back in Liverpool. He glanced at his watch. 'The autopsy is in progress right now. I wanted you to be here, rather than there.'
Last looked around the group, and finally seemed to notice Gabriel's absence. He did not comment.
'I have no set objective for any of you this morning. Forensics are still collecting prints and trace. Just do what you do. Get a feel for what happened. Take notes.'
From a manila folder, the superintendent handed each of them a three-page photocopied floor plan of the home. He pointed out the murder room.
'We'll meet back here at 1200 hours. If anyone questions your presence, please refer them to me. Good luck.'
Last moved away from their group and Jill was left staring at Reid and Tran. David Tran seemed about to say something. Reid grinned at them and left the library before he could speak.
'Jill,' said Tran, 'you may be best off without me this morning.' He seemed to be still out of breath. 'I'm afraid that walk has already taken a lot out of me. I'll be moving at a slower pace.'
'Sure,' said Jill. She wanted to ask if he was okay, but wasn't sure of the words to use, didn't want to offend.
He seemed to sense her unease. 'I'm supposed to still be at home,' he said. 'Sick report. HOD.'
Hmm. Hurt on duty. She wondered what had happened. Well, this would be the time to ask, Jill, she told herself. But the moment passed while she was thinking of something to say. She nodded at Tran and left the room.
Jill figured Reid would go straight to the crime scene, so she made her way to the garage. She didn't want to see the murder room with Derek Reid.
The MO in three of the home invasions had been access through the garage. Donna Moser, the victim's daughter, had been asleep when her father arrived home. She'd awoken to a black balaclava. So far, she hadn't been able to give the police anything about how the offenders had gained entry. Jill figured if the offenders were onto a good thing, they'd probably stick to it.
Orienting herself using the map in her hand, she walked across marble, granite and thick carpet until she reached the internal entry to the garage, in a room next to the kitchen. The room held a plush couch and large television, and Jill glimpsed a bright, gleaming expanse where a door opened out to a backyard entertainment area and pool.
The door ahead of her stood open; beyond was the darkness of the garage. Jill realised that her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth. Maybe she should get some water before going in there.
She was halfway back to the brightness of the kitchen when she forced herself to turn around. It's not the basement, stupid, she told herself. This place is crawling with cops. You're okay. Dark rooms always reminded her of the place she'd been held captive as a twelve-year-old, and it was only six months or so ago that she'd been locked in the same basement, this time fighting for her life.