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it?’ Monty asked Wayne.
    ‘Waiting on it now. Meanwhile the developer of the site and the builder are on their way. They’re not going to be too happy when they hear that work will have to be halted for a few days.’
    ‘A darn sight happier than the kid’s mother, I’m sure,’ Monty muttered.
    There was an uncomfortable silence, some shuffling of feet. Barry cleared his throat. ‘So who gets the short straw?’
    Monty had no idea how Mrs Webster would react to the news that they had found her daughter’s body. All he knew was that he couldn’t face her alone. Angus Wong, his first choice, was briefing the local police and unavailable. That left bald Barry with the grin of Alfred from Mad magazine, or Wayne Pickering who looked like something freshly exhumed from a graveyard—on a good day.
    ‘Don’t worry, it won’t be either of you.’ He turned to Wayne. ‘As soon as we get a name for that car, haul the owner in.’ Then to Barry he said. ‘You stay here. No comment to the press yet. I’ll give a statement when I’ve informed the next of kin. Help with the search, tell SOCO everything in that skip needs to be sifted, the whole building site thoroughly scoured and secured. You’ll need to get more uniforms in and get some door knocking underway.’
    Monty reached for his phone and called Stevie.
     
     
     
     
     
     
     

6
    EXCERPT FROM CHAT ROOM TRANSCRIPT 071106
BETTYBO has entered the chat room
HARUM SCARUM: were u been?
BETTYBO: Sry. Things bad hear. He cam round agin.
HARUM SCARUM: wats rong? He hrt u?
BETTYBO: pir
BETTYBO has left chat room
    There wasn’t much traffic at ten o’clock at night and it didn’t take Stevie long to drive from Cottesloe to Shenton Park where the heady scent of frangipani replaced the briny tang of the sea. She parked her unmarked car between the other police Commodore and a white Ford Escort, outside a block of state housing flats. A beige rectangle with clunky concrete balconies, Shenton Rise wasn’t much to look at, but it did offer a pleasant view of the floodlit park on the other side of the road.
    Monty joined her on the footpath and briefly took her hand. ‘Was there any problem getting Mrs Nash to mind Izzy?’
    ‘She was watching the late movie, didn’t seem to mind switching venues to watch it at your place. I said I wouldn’t be long.’
    He filled her in on the details as they scuffed up the stairs. They climbed slowly, the caged lights on every level casting a crisscross of shadows across the graffiti-streaked walls. Had this been a prison or a place of refuge for little Bianca Webster? Stevie wondered.
    They heard a door slam from the floor above, then the sound of heavy footsteps echoing around the stairwell. Seconds later a man pushed passed them on the stairs, shoving Stevie against the handrail.
    ‘Hey, watch where you’re going, mate!’ Monty called out.
    Stevie glimpsed a stocky, denim-clad figure. ‘Go fuck yourself,’ the man said, leaving a trail of beer fumes behind him.
    Monty mumbled under his breath and moved quickly down a couple of steps as if to follow him. The feint worked, the footsteps sped up and the man made a hasty escape, slamming the door of the stairwell behind him.
    Stevie and Monty made their way along the verandah until they came to number 34.
    Monty took a breath and knocked. ‘Here goes nothing.’
    Stevie would never forget the first time she’d been the bearer of tragic news; a twenty-two year old PC telling a forty-five year old woman that her son had died in a car crash had seemed unnatural. She knew it was only the authority of her uniform that had let her get away with it. No uniform necessary these days, she mused, with age and parenthood the universal leveller.
    The thin woman who opened the door had one arm in a greying sling. The sudden movement of her free hand to her mouth sent a draught of cigarette smoke wafting at them through the flyscreen. Despite their civvies they radiated the unmistakable