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going well, I’ll see you in a few days. Talk soon, love you.’
    The beep sounded again and she instantly regretted leaving the message. Martin had always been frustrated by the unpredictable nature of Anya’s work. He saw it as being unreliable where family was concerned. She could hardly reveal that instead of just attending a conference, she’d attended the scene of a dead child in a toy box. Things with Martin were complicated enough right now.
    He had to assume the ‘love you’ was for Ben.
    A tap on the hood of the car interrupted her thoughts. She wound down the window.
    Steve Schiller stepped off the kerb. ‘I know we were going to take your formal statement, but Jenny Quaid’s natural healer has turned up with his lawyer. He wants to talk.’
    Anya grabbed her bag and left the car with a sense of foreboding. They may have the break they were hoping for. If he’d killed Emily, he most likely knew where Mia and Jenny were. That was, if they were still alive.
    Schiller showed her to an adjacent interview room with a small monitor, then excused himself. The junior detective then joined Bowden next door. Opposite them at the table sat a man in his mid-thirties with wavy dark hair and a few days’ growth of stubble. To his side was an older man dressed in an open-necked shirt and grey suit jacket. The lawyer.
    ‘We appreciate you coming in, Mr Heyes.’ Schiller flipped to a blank page on his notepad.
    Bowden cleared his throat. ‘Do you want to make a formal statement?’
    ‘Hold on,’ the grey jacket interrupted. ‘There’s been a misunderstanding. I’m here as an observer. The Quaids belong to a small, close community. Every one of our members is suffering the loss. Dylan is here of his own volition, to minimise trauma to everyone concerned.’
    Bowden was unmoved. ‘Most people would think about the suffering a ten-year-old child went through, and care more about the welfare of a missing mother and child.’
    ‘It’s why we’re here.’ Heyes interlocked his fingers in front of his mouth. ‘Jenny is one of the kindest and most giving souls I’ve ever met, and those girls are a gift.’
    ‘I didn’t know you people had a religious bent,’ Bowden said without looking up from his notes.
    ‘You don’t have to be religious to be spiritual, detective. That’s all I meant. Jenny is a wonderful human being. I wanted to help you in any way possible catch whoever, or whatever, did this to Emmy.’
    Anya wasn’t sure if Bowden’s silence meant he was taken aback by the comment.
    The lawyer broke the tension. ‘Dylan here is the community’s mayoral equivalent. He speaks for everyone who lives within the boundaries of Bellamy.’
    Schiller and Bowden exchanged glances.
    The younger detective asked, ‘How long have the Quaids been your patients?’
    ‘Actually,’ Heyes rubbed his hands along the thighs of his jeans, ‘I don’t have patients.’
    Bowden interrupted, ‘I have it here that you’re a natural healer, practitioner of holistic kines . . .’ He faltered.
    ‘That’s correct.’ Dylan straightened.
    ‘So what should we call people who come to you for treatment?’
    The lawyer was quick to make the distinction. ‘For the record, Dylan sees “clients”.’
    The word jarred for Anya. Traditionally, the medical profession used the word ‘patient’, which implied a duty of care to relieve suffering. The word ‘client’ was used more by lawyers, as someone for whom they provided a service. Customers.
    Bowden frowned. ‘Prostitutes have clients too.’
    Dylan unlinked his fingers and swept a piece of hair from his forehead. ‘Medicine is about control, and money. Doctors assume they have all the knowledge and make unilateral decisions about what is best for patients. My clients enter into an equal relationship with me and together we choose the best holistic program for their wellbeing. People who come to me are equal in the relationship.’
    Schiller referred to Heyes’s