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newspaper as having received the questionnaire. His refusal to fill in the form was accompanied by a gruff admonishment that the whole tactic was 'ridiculous'. Weygers had warned Steven Ross not to insert his name into the investigation by telling police Spiers had been in his cab. Both would come to rue the day Ross ignored that advice.
    Commissioner Bob Falconer, driven by media perceptions, keeps a hawk eye on the Macro taskforce. Any adverse media comments require an immediate explanation. The media, too, become an integral part of the 'think-tank' sessions. Police ask their advice on the best way to get the message out to the public. They need all the help they can get. And they need to manage the media, before the media start managing them.
    The media are relentless, acting like starving hordes foraging for news scraps. Ferguson is cognisant of what police call the 'Three Cs' when dealing with the press. First, Cooperation, when there is enough in the news stories to ensure fresh headlines every day. Second, Competition, the cut-throat jungle journalists inhabit in the desperate rush for exclusive news angles. Third – and most dangerous – Controversy, when the pickings are lean and the media start feeding on each other and investigators, criticising management and pecking at the case like vultures.
    In his easy way of dealing with the press, Ferguson earns their respect. 'They could have chopped me up,' he admits. 'There was so much going on, I didn't have time for the pompous tone some officers take, telling journalists that "this is an operational matter".' Instead, Ferguson chooses a more relaxed style. 'If a reporter came close to something that I couldn't release, I'd tell them, "I can't let that out of the bloody bag and you know I can't. I can confirm that it's correct but I'm asking you, please don't release this detail." ' Most didn't. 'Occasionally a reporter would overstep the mark,' he recalls. 'The suburban Post newspaper was one that sometimes ran with assumptions. My appeals to them not to do this were met with the response that they were journalists with an obligation to give their readers the truth. It wasn't always helpful.'

8
    Three days after Jane's disappearance, her parents front a press conference. Looking drawn and gaunt but still hopeful that Jane will return home, their confidence is shattered by the first carelessly constructed question. 'Trevor, can you tell us what sort of girl Jane was?' from a young reporter. The question, phrased in the past tense, sends Jenny into a paroxysm of tears.
    The madness begins. The Rimmers endure the same end-less procession of people as the Spiers family. Police. Friends ferrying food. Clairvoyants. Psychics. They have little patience for the seers and rarely return their calls. One psychic with a divining rock stands on the pavement outside the hotel at Claremont before moving to the beach, 15 minutes away, and pointing to a nondescript house. 'Jane is here,' she tells Trevor with authority. 'Or she has been here.' It is useless information, all so obscure. But the Rimmers pass the information on to police, anyway. Who knows? But Jane isn't there.
    The family put hundreds of flyers on lamp posts, beseeching help. Have you seen Jane Rimmer? Phone Crime Stoppers. Jane's face is at every corner. A person calls Jenny's relative with news that they know what has happened to Jane and who has abducted her. It is an anonymous call; always anonymous. The second last sighting of Jane, outside the Continental Hotel, is captured on the hotel's security camera. She is grinning as she swings around the pole outside the pub. The final poignant sighting of her is standing alone on the pavement for a few minutes, on the corner of Bayview Terrace and Gugeri Street. The camera moves to another area of the hotel. When it pans back, Jane is gone.
    Paul Coombes, who started as an investigator and was later promoted to Detective-Sergeant on the Macro taskforce, recalls,