Clive’s phone call had broken the pleasure of the morning, the respite with her family before she started work. ‘There’s a dead woman waiting for you. Jacqueline Ryan.’ A sentence spoken as if it were a blunt instrument. He’d sent a team to the Royal Hotel to pick Ryan up but they’d arrived too late. She was already dead from a gunshot wound. ‘Why do I need to go?’ she’d asked him. ‘Presumably the team can give you all the information you want. What can I add to it?’ ‘I want your judgement on the scene. Borghini’s there. He’s waiting for you. He wants to talk to you about your meeting with her. You’d better get going.’ You want me to see it. You want to shock me. Because you think I’m emotionally involved? Is that it? She crossed the white concrete arc of the Gladesville Bridge over the Parramatta River, the water glistening in the sun, going over the same ground as the night before. Boats in the nearby marina were moored in rows like white, lozenge-shaped seeds in a pod; the green of surrounding suburbs edged the water.
What do You think about The Labyrinth Of Drowning?
