Leah Giarratano - Vodka doesn't freeze

'Okay. Today's the day we round up our three best suspects. All of these people are linked to at least three of the dead men.'

Jardine stood at the whiteboard, addressing the assembled group; the taskforce had already met for an hour this morning, and Jill had told them about the cigarette butts at the park. The bosses had now come in for a run-down.

Jardine was average height, average build, with dark thinning hair. Wearing chainstore suit pants, white shirt and a blue tie, his vinyl shoes needed replacing and faint discolouration marked the neck of his shirt. Lunchroom gossip said he was in the process of a divorce and that his ex-wife had recently shown up at Central and accused one of the PAs of sleeping with him. Apparently, the females here considered him quite a catch. Jill couldn't figure it, but hell, how was she to know. Her gut instinct when she met most males was to walk the other way; half the time their smell alone made her want to run.

I'd do Jardine any day before him, though, she thought, as Elvis approached the board, pen in hand. The buttons of the shirt tucked into his low-slung jeans gaped, revealing a mound of hairy belly trying to push its way to freedom.

Probably thought you looked real good with your gut sucked in this morning, didn't you, Elvis, she asked him silently, giving him a cat-like grin.

Catching her sideways smile, Elvis seemed somewhat disconcerted for a moment, and then she watched him pull himself together. Suddenly Calabrese's smart-arse attitude was nowhere to be seen. The bosses were here now.

Oh my God, they've rehearsed this, she thought, as Elvis and Jardine took turns to run a presentation to the group. Inspector Andreessen and Inspector Beaumont sat together, both appearing tired and grey. A couple of uniformeds from Central also sat in on the meeting.

Elvis wrote the names of their three major suspects across the top of the board. Dr Mercy Merris Alejandro Sebastian Jamaal Mahmoud

Huh. Me and Scotty gave 'em all of them, Jill thought resentfully. She tuned out as the song-and-dance-act out the front continued, but copied the contents of the whiteboard into her murder book in order to look busy. It was nothing she didn't know already. She copied: Dr Mercy Merris Therapist: treated victims of Manzi, Carter and Rocla. To do: follow up any patients linked to Crabbe. Cigarette butts found at scene of Crabbe's murder. To do: Forensics Did she supply police with a photograph of the Crabbe crime scene? No trace found on photo. To do: Search car and home for camera and equipment. Jamaal Mahmoud Employed by Sebastian. Injured in the car when Manzi was murdered. Claims he accidentally hit his head, but not supported by evidence. Forensics does not implicate him in the death of Manzi, but? involvement in company of a third person. Suspected link to all victims in child pornography ring. Unconfirmed witnesses allege Mahmoud is part of the same ring. To do: follow up witness reports (Honey Delaney). Alejandro Sebastian Suspected link to all victims in child pornography ring. Unconfirmed witnesses allege Sebastian is head of this group. To do: follow up witness reports (Honey Delaney); investigate youth club in Kings X.

'Harris and I will take Sebastian,' said Jardine. 'His direct link to the men is least clear and we'll be tentative in the interview, keeping things general. We'll let him know that we've become aware that he knows the dead men, and that we're effectively just seeking his assistance. Apparently this guy knows his way around the legal system.

'Because Jackson has consulted Dr Merris on a professional basis,' Jardine continued, 'we're -'

'What did you say?' Jill was aware of the heat in her face and voice. All eyes were on her. She saw Elvis raise his hand to his face as though to push his hair back. His middle finger was extended; his eyes danced.

'No big deal, Jill,' Jardine played mildly surprised, placatory. 'You had some counselling with her a couple of years ago, didn't you? We just thought it'd be better for Eddie here to take her, given your history.'

Jill modulated her voice to match Jardine's. No way were these boys going to make her out to be some unhinged female.

'Just so we're all clear' – you arsehole – 'I attended a mandatory debrief following a discharge of firearm incident. Not sure whether you'd be aware or not, Jardine, but you get sent to these compulsory meetings when you have to use your gun.' She saw the uniformeds smile slightly. Most people knew she'd been promoted after she'd taken out a scumbag. 'It's an OH and S issue.

'Regardless,' she continued, everyone still watching her, most hoping for a car crash, 'Scott Hutchinson and I are happy to take Mahmoud. Scotty and I interviewed Merris once already when we first found the link between these suspects and the dead men. We've also already started on Mahmoud – we went out to his house in Lakemba on Wednesday. We were planning on following him up today.'

'Good work then.' Andreessen and Beaumont were standing; they'd addressed her. The meeting was over.

Jardine and Elvis stood stock still at the whiteboard.

'Eat shit,' she mouthed at them, smiling, while the bosses left the room. An important detail was maddeningly close to Jill's awareness, but she couldn't quite grasp it. She was distracted as Scotty unlatched the low metal gate that led up to Jamaal Mahmoud's front door. A van in the driveway indicated that Mahmoud was almost certainly at home. Jill took a look through the driver's window as they passed the van. A partition blocked the front seats from the rear of the vehicle. There was nothing to see in the front, and blackened glass obscured the contents of the rear.

Scotty's loud knock on the screen door raised muffled sounds from within the fibro home, but they waited for some time before anyone responded. The street was relatively quiet. The engine of a delivery van resembling the one in the driveway coughed to life a couple of houses down. A woman wearing a hijab crossed the street nearby after leaving a halal butcher shop on the corner. She used her remote to pop open the boot of her car, and put two heavy-looking plastic bags inside.

Scotty looked at Jill and had raised his fist to knock again when the interior door suddenly opened; Jill sensed a male presence behind the one-way mesh of the security screen.

'Good afternoon,' boomed Scotty, smiling broadly, 'Sergeants Hutchinson and Jackson. We dropped by the other day. Here to speak to Mr Jamaal Mahmoud.'

A malevolent silence followed. Finally, a dark-skinned man with hooded eyes and a coathanger of a nose opened the screen door.

'Ah, Mr Mahmoud, is it? Hope we aren't interrupting anything?'

The man wore a tracksuit and slippers. He stared flatly past them into the yard.

'Mr Mahmoud,' said Jill, 'I met you when you were hospitalised at Prince of Wales. You might remember? I believe your friend Mr Sebastian was visiting you at the time?'

Mahmoud hawked phlegm in the back of his throat.

A pigtailed girl aged around five poked her head around her father's legs and stared up at Scotty, eyes wide. Too late, she grabbed for a ginger cat that darted out through the gap in the door. Mahmoud uttered a curse under his breath, aiming a kick at the cat that would have sent it flying had it not launched itself from the step before the foot could connect. The cat sat in the sun near the white van and looked back at them, seemingly nonchalant, cleaning a paw, its tail sweeping the path. The girl was gone.

'What do you want here?' Jamaal addressed Scotty.

'Well, we need your help, Mr Mahmoud. We have some more questions to ask you about the night you were assaulted and George Manzi was killed. It would be easiest if you came back to the station with us so we can record your statement.'