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chance.
    She heard her mother's voice speaking to her out of the past. "You've got to let people in Madie. You shouldn't be so solitary."
    "I know mum - no man is an island and all that." Madie's voice carried her impatience but there was a tiny wobble in it too.
    Her mother continued in gentle tones. "The family's all well and good, but a teenager needs friends her own age." Madie turned from her mother's concern but her mother, persistent, grasped her by the shoulders, turned her and drew her into an embrace. "Just try honey... for me. I can't be your best friend forever baby girl." She would do anything for one of her mother's hugs right now.
    Should have paid more attention to her. Can't confide in someone if you don't know them and trust them. I can't talk to any of the doctors. They'd be sure to think I'm suffering from some sort of mental illness. Then that would be something else altogether. I already feel a bit unhinged. Oh God, why do I feel so... guilty?
    Madie tried switching on the television as a distraction, but everything continued to conspire to remind her either of Calvin or Max, 2 Tone or Curtis. Time seemed frozen in an ice age of her own making. Pacing the living-room and then the corridor between the living-room and her bedroom; she gripped her arms tightly over her chest then placed her fist in her mouth and bit down hard on her knuckles to stop the scream sitting at the top of her throat.
    How had Inspector Deed known she knew all these men? And he had known. There was something so solid about him. She remembered how the hairs on the back of her neck had stood on end when he walked into the interview room. And how she'd thought at the time that he wouldn't let you get away with things. But she also had the feeling he was tough but fair. And then there was the way he had looked at her when he pushed that list in front of her. Detective Chief Inspector Deed... He has a nice name, like good deeds or something. The right name for someone who solves crimes. And he has kind eyes. He’s possibly the only one I can really talk to about this. He seems to think I’m guilty anyway. How could he think that though? He doesn’t even know me. Is there something about the way I look that makes him think I have criminal tendencies — God I sound like one of those crime shows on TV. I didn’t think the police believed in that sort of thing any more, what did my sociology teacher say — a dead science, using people’s physiognomy to determine their criminal tendencies.
    Entering her room, she went to the bedside table where her rucksack slumped against a leg and rummaged through it until she found the contact card Detective Inspector Deed had given her. It weighed heavy in her hand. Madie paused, waiting for the slim rectangle to give her the advice she felt she so badly needed. The card stared up at her blankly. She scrunched it up violently and hurled it at the bin beside her bed. Her sliced thumb began to bleed afresh and throb anew. She slumped onto the bed so heavily the ancient springs squeaked. Madie turned her back on the bin and Curled up in a foetal position.
    *****
    Madie woke with a start out of a strange heavy sleep filled with eerie dreams and knew with absolute certainty how the men had died. How was she going to explain it to anyone? It was just too insane to even contemplate. She was guilty. There was no doubt in her mind. She had to turn herself in. Madie knew who she should call. Her head turned towards the bin where a small corner of Deed's contact card peeked out at her provocatively.
    *****
    It was Deed's voice mail. She had scripted her lines and rehearsed the speech to say to him. The slightly distorted voice of his message service caught her off guard and her carefully prepared script was hopelessly lost in a sense of panic. She stuttered as she left her message. With the phone back in its cradle she stared at it with a heavy sense of resignation. It's done. She realised she had no concrete