We both nodded. Jason Tarper was a two-year-old boy who'd been found dead in his mother's car in Shepparton, about six years before. It was a hot day and the boy had been left in the back seat. Word from detectives investigating the case was that the mother had left him in there deliberately because she was sick of his crying, a theory they were never able to prove. There were allegations of physical abuse, also unproven. As far as I knew, the parents were still alive and had had three more children in the years since the trial.

'I worked the autopsy on that case,' Wong said, nodding to the X-ray on the light box. 'And this spiral fracture is a dead ringer. Back then we had a team of radiologists examine it and they theorised on a twisting motion. Let me demonstrate.'

She took my arm and stretched it behind my back, twisting it until the pain registered and I pulled away.

'Imagine dragging a child down a hallway like that,' she said slowly. 'No wonder the boy wouldn't stop crying.'

She frowned and I knew she was thinking about the toddler in Shepparton as much as she was Dallas Boyd. I had my own demons, cases I'd never forget. Cases where evil had prevailed. Clearly it was the same for Wong.

'It's a similar story with your boy here,' she said, snapping out of the trance. 'The bone literally shatters. As you can imagine, an injury like that would have caused tremendous pain and taken months to heal.'

Ca.s.sie had turned away from the slides. I wanted to ask if she was all right but thought it might embarra.s.s her. Instead I studied the third slide of Boyd's leg.

'Have a look at this one,' Wong said, stepping in beside me. 'This is the femur, the largest bone in the body and the hardest to break.'

I stared at a blister-like lesion in the centre of the upper thigh. 'What would cause an injury like this?'

She shrugged. 'Something hard and blunt, probably a single blow.'

'Like a bat?'

'Again, I couldn't go up in court for it, but I'd say that's a good possibility.'

I turned to the outline of Boyd's body under the sheet. The GHB might've stopped his heart beating, but I knew his dying had started many years before.

'This is what I'm telling you,' Wong concluded. She stepped over to the autopsy table and held her hands over Dallas Boyd's body like a priest giving the last rites. 'This boy lived in constant pain for many of his early years. Most people break only one or two bones, if any, in their entire lifetime. I haven't finished yet, and already I've counted more than thirty-five separate fracture lesions.'

'Jesus,' Ca.s.sie said from behind me.

I thought of the pain I'd lived with since the shooting, and tried to imagine this boy living in pain every day of his life.

'Is this recent?' I asked, pointing at the femur bone. 'I mean, how long since these have all healed?'

'You're asking all the right questions, detective, but they're not easy to answer, not without appropriate time.'

'A guess?'

'I'd say well over six years since the last break, which may suggest the abuse ceased some time ago, but I'll be keeping the body for further a.n.a.lysis. I'll also bring in a radiologist for this.'

That fitted with Dallas Boyd having been in state care since he was ten. I wrote it all down. 'Anything else?'

Dr Wong walked back to the counter and went over her notes again. I stayed by the body, lifted the sheet and stared at the pale face of the boy I'd found dead against the bin. Dallas Boyd was at peace now and no longer in pain.

'That's all for now,' said Wong, closing her notebook. 'From a forensic point of view, I hope I've been able to help.'

'You have,' I said, 'and thank you for the trouble you went to. And please thank Matthew Briggs for us also.'

She nodded. 'I just hope you find whoever did this.'

'The abuse or the murder?' Ca.s.sie asked.

'Both,' Wong said. 'No one deserves any of this.'

I looked down again at the body beneath the sheet and thought about the LEAP reports I'd printed out on the stepfather. Though I was yet to study them, I knew there would be answers in there. I imagined breaking down the door and dishing up my own style of blunt-force trauma. If only it were that easy.

'One more thing,' Dr Wong called out as we walked to the door. 'Will you call the Homicide Squad or should I?'

10.

OUTSIDE THE WATCH-HOUSE, I left the car in gear while I waited for Ca.s.sie to get out.

'You're not coming in?' she asked.

'Nope. Eckles made his thoughts clear enough.'

'So did you.'

I wasn't going to argue. 'Look, I'm going home to read through the LEAP reports on the stepfather. Can you get a status on my CCR request on Boyd's mobile phone and see if the mug shots on Parks and Jardine have come through?'

'They the mates you mentioned?'

'Yeah, I need to talk to them, especially Parks. He left a message on Boyd's answering machine, said they were supposed to meet up the night he was killed. Sounded like he was hanging on to something for him. We need to know what that was all about.'

'You don't think the stepfather's good for it?' she said.

I was silent a moment, pondering if I was dismissing him too quickly. If I hadn't heard the message from Sparks, and if Boyd's beer hadn't been laced with GHB, I probably would've thought the same thing.

'Like the doc just said, this guy beat the c.r.a.p out of the kid for years,' Ca.s.sie prompted. 'The kid finally gets on his own two feet, then goes about trying to get his little sister removed from the family home. Sounds good to me.'

'You're probably right,' I said, just to keep her happy. 'But check on the mugs and the CCR anyway, will you?'

Heat flooded the interior as Ca.s.sie got out, then leant in through the door.

'No offence, Rubes, but what are you doing with this? Whether it turns out to be a domestic s.h.i.tfight or something else, this is officially a Homicide job now. All we have to do is type up a handover brief. That's it, we're done.'

'I'm not ready to put this to bed yet, Ca.s.s.' I hoped that would do it but she didn't move. 'Don't worry about me. Just tell Freckles I'm typing up my job application for the primary school liaison team.'

As she disappeared inside, I sped away with no intention of going home. There was something I needed to do, something somebody should have done many years ago.

I drove on autopilot, the Sat.u.r.day morning congestion on Punt Road pa.s.sing in a blur as I crossed the Yarra River and headed north towards Collingwood. When the square blocks of commission flats appeared on the horizon, my heart rate quickened. I wondered which unit the man I wanted to see lived in. Up high in the building a woman stepped through a sliding door and I watched her drape towels over the walkway rail. Distracted, I almost ran into a car in front. I hit the brakes and skidded to a halt centimetres from the rear of an Audi. A horn sounded from behind and the driver of the Audi shook his head in the rear-view mirror. I let out my breath, loosened my tie and reminded myself to stay focused. An older colleague had once told me to always play the ball, not the man. It was a rule I tried to follow in life and work. I repeated it to myself until I was calm and back on track.

The traffic moved forward and soon I pulled into the car park at the front of the towers, parking in one of the allocated police bays. From under the seat I retrieved a can of capsic.u.m spray I'd stolen from the academy and always kept in the car, just in case. After sliding the can into my hip pocket, I walked to the entrance. An overweight man with a ruddy complexion sat behind the security counter. A bottle of c.o.ke and a half-eaten sausage roll covered his copy of the day's Herald Sun Herald Sun, which was open at the sports section. Funny how unfit people always loved sports. A name tag on his white shirt read 'George Pappa'.

'Morning, George,' I said, sliding my ID under the security grille. 'Police.'

'Guessed that,' he said. 'What can I do you for?'

'I need to talk to a resident here, Vincent Rowe. I think he lives up on '

'Level ten, apartment four,' Pappa said. 'Don't think he'll be awake now though. p.r.i.c.k doesn't usually get up till two or three.'

As he pa.s.sed the ID back, I detected a familiar smell. A closer look at his eyes confirmed my suspicions. Seemed hayfever was doing the rounds.

'What's he like, this bloke?' I asked.

'Typical s.h.i.thead who likes to beat up on the missus. Cute little girl though. Rachel, I think her name is.'

'Does he smack the girl around?'

'Wouldn't surprise me. Tell you what does surprise me: we don't have a car s.p.a.ce out there especially for his visitors.'

'Is he a dealer?'

'You should know more than me.' Pappa shrugged. 'Cops are always here to see him. Speaking of which, where's your partner? You blokes normally come in pairs.'

'Only on TV.'

Pappa stuffed the last of the sausage roll in his mouth. 'Not just on TV. Been here ten years, never seen a copper go up there alone.'

I looked up at the enormous tower and realised he was right. You could probably die in there and they'd only call for someone to collect your body when it started to stink.

'That's why you're going to come with me, George.'

'Huh? Not me, boss. I don't go up there. Just stay here and patrol the grounds. I don't visit the tenants.'

'You do today. Come on, up you get.'

Pappa crossed his meaty arms and leant back in his chair. 'Tell you what, I can call him up and tell him to come down or you can go up there on your own. Either way, I'm not going up.'

'Not good enough, George. I need your help.'

'Hey, you get to go home after this. I have to work with these people.'

'Is that marijuana I smell on you, George?'

'Huh? Not me, boss.'

I pressed my face close to the gla.s.s.

'Sure? What about those bloodshot eyes? Maybe you want some chips with your munchies.'

'Eyes aren't bloodshot. Just hayfever.'

'What about that car out there, the old Mazda I saw in the security bay? Looks like a blind man tried to park it.' I held up my mobile phone. 'Might get the boys from the station to come down, run a drug test on you. Sure your supervisor would be happy to know you're stoned on the job?'

'All I have to do is come up, right?' he said.

'And stay with me while I talk to this guy,' I replied, holding his stare.

A heavy sheen of sweat lacquered the fat man's forehead and he gulped. 'Okay.'

We rode a lift scarred with cigarette burns and graffiti to the tenth floor. Somebody had altered a 'No Smoking' sign to read 'No Smacking'. I wondered if it referred to heroin or the discipline of children. The elevator crawled up slowly and groaned to a stop. When we stepped out, the acrid smell of curry and spices stung my sinuses but Pappa didn't seem to notice. Maybe it was one of those things you got used to. Overhead a fluorescent light flickered as Pappa led me towards the end of the hall. Along the way he picked up a syringe with his bare hands and dropped it in a yellow canister he carried in his pocket. Another thing you probably got used to in the commission flats.

'Filthy things are everywhere,' he said. 'Reckon I collect two hundred of them every week.'

I said nothing, thinking of Dallas Boyd's apartment in St Kilda and how luxurious it must have seemed in comparison to this s.h.i.thole. At the end of the hall we stopped at an orange door covered by a mesh security grille.

'This is it,' Pappa said. 'Do your thing, boss.'

I knocked on the grille and the tw.a.n.g of metal echoed down the hall. No answer. I leant closer to the door, heard a TV inside, knocked again. This time there were footsteps and a little girl's voice called, 'Who is it?'

I nudged Pappa. 'You work here. She'll know you. Tell her to open the door.'

'Ah, hi Rachel,' he said. 'It's George from downstairs. Is your daddy home?'

'He's asleep.'

I nudged him again.

'Can I talk to you for a second, please?'

There was silence and I thought she might've been scared off. I was about to ask Pappa to try again when the door opened and the girl stood on the threshold, security mesh shading her in darkness. The sound of cartoons and the blue glow of a television came from behind her.

'Hi, George,' she said. 'Are you here to watch The Lion King The Lion King?'

'No, sweetie. We're here to see your daddy.'

'Okay. Who's that with you?'

The kid was smart, I quickly realised. And cautious. A natural survival instinct in the flats. I squatted and talked to her at eye level.

'h.e.l.lo, Rachel, my name's Rubens. Can I speak to you for a second?'

'Mummy says I'm not supposed to talk to strangers.'

'That's right, you're not.'