'Got three old ladies with food poisoning too. Note to self: never eat pork rolls from cheap bakeries. Then to top it all off, some poor kid knocks a pot off the stove and spills boiling water all over his face.'

I wondered how she'd gone getting the information on Rachel Boyd, but didn't want to ask. 'I got Johnno's present,' I said instead. 'A bargain too. Shirt, tie and cufflinks for under one-fifty. Like you suggested: the Windsor end of Chapel.'

'Nice one!' She removed a package wrapped in silver paper from her handbag. 'As it happens, I bought you a present too.'

'Me? It's not my birthday.'

'Just open it.'

I recognised the familiar blue and white striped cloth before I'd finished unwrapping it. 'A new ap.r.o.n,' I said. 'Good one!'

'I figure if you're going to cook for me, you can at least look good while you do it,' she said, nudging me, a huge smile on her face.

'I don't know what to say, El. Thank you.'

'Don't say anything. Just make sure you throw the old one out. And keep the dinner invites coming.'

'I will. Matter of fact, I'm thinking of starting my own cooking show. See if I can teach some of the slobs of the male species how to lift their game. Call it something like Cop These Apples Cop These Apples. Maybe improve the image for male cops across the country. We get a bad rep, you know?'

She laughed. 'You deserve a bad rep.'

We clinked gla.s.ses and went back to watching the beach. The north wind blew sand about in swirly gusts. It wasn't very pleasant and I decided to watch my ex-wife instead. I liked the way her sungla.s.ses perched atop her nose, the way she smoked her cigarette almost thoughtfully. I liked the way her lips delicately sipped the champagne, the sun reflecting off the gla.s.s.

'So how was your day?' she asked, breaking the silence. 'Shoot any s.c.r.o.t.es?'

'Any what what?'

's.c.r.o.t.es. That's what you call them, isn't it?'

I chuckled. 'Only the nice ones. And no, I didn't shoot any today. We don't do that any more. They've all been shooting each other lately.'

She smiled, waiting, but I didn't know whether to go on about my afternoon. Ella was a tough woman, used to seeing the ugly side of life. Accidents. Illness. Trauma. Things most people ran from. But a cop's world was different. There were things even emergency department nurses weren't meant to know about. Things only police should see. Then again, I reminded myself, it was keeping these things from her that had driven us apart in the first place.

'I had a blue with the boss today,' I finally said. 'I called him a bureaucrat.'

'Bet he liked that.'

'Yeah, not as much as he liked it when one of my colleagues st.i.tched me with ESD and had me kicked off the squad.'

Ella set her gla.s.s down on the table, then blew out cigarette smoke in an angry puff. 'Whoa, hold up a second. You lost your job?'

'Well, not as such.'

I spent the next ten minutes telling her about my work that morning on LEAP, the fight with Eckles and my visit to the morgue, leaving out graphic details of the abuse. I outlined my meeting with Boyd's stepfather at the commission flats and how Eckles had pressured Finetti into making the false allegation. I ended by saying I intended to keep an eye on the case, but didn't tell her about my side deal with Finetti because I still didn't know how it would work out.

'So as of now, I'm officially on carer's leave,' I said in conclusion. 'Eckles is in the clear and the Homicide Squad have got the case, even though they're chasing the wrong bloke.'

'G.o.d, I thought I'd had a big day.'

I nodded and looked out at the bay, towards the sunset. I could see the windsurfer now heading in the opposite direction.

'What are you going to do?' she asked me.

'Well, I'm not going to take it lying down.'

'So you're still working the case?'

'You bet I am.'

She squeezed my hand and removed a folded page from her handbag. 'In that case, I suppose you'll still need this.'

I unfolded the page and saw that it was a printed list of Rachel Boyd's attendances at the Alfred Hospital.

'Thank you,' I said. 'Don't thank me yet. Read it first.'

Rachel Boyd had had three attendances in total, the most recent in October the previous year. Less than six months prior. When Ella shuffled forward to explain it all, her knee rested against mine. I made no attempt to move and nor did she.

'The first two are a couple of years old,' she said. 'The initial one was for an operation to remove her tonsils. I read the file notes and the op was due to a referral.'

I recognised Ella's handwritten notations under the computer records and waited for her to go on.

'The second record was in late 2006 for a car accident,' she said, running her finger along the middle row. Again she had scribbled some coded notations underneath. 'Nothing serious. Just whiplash and minor bruises.'

'Who was driving?'

'Don't know. I thought about that. There's a date and time here if you want to cross check with police records.'

I doubted it would lead anywhere. DHS weren't interested in car accidents.

'The third one is interesting,' she continued. 'Less than a year later she came back for an infection.'

'Infection?'

'Yeah, that's all it said on the preliminary diagnostic chart, so I looked further into the record and it looks like she was treated for a urinary tract infection. Now at first there's nothing unusual about that. UTIs are very common in kids, especially young girls.'

I swigged the last of my beer and looked around for Logan, hoping to get his attention. 'So what was so unusual?' I asked, unable to spot him.

'Well, that she was brought to us for one thing. A urinary tract infection isn't normally the type of thing you come to a hospital ER for. You go to a chemist or a GP. That's not to say we turn you down, especially when the little girl has no parent present.'

'So who brought her in?'

'Her brother, Dallas.'

'Right, that figures. So did you treat her for it?'

'That's the thing. See, she was diagnosed with a urinary tract infection and prescribed antibiotics. I checked on the type of antibiotic and found this.' She ran her finger down the page and pointed to a highlighted word: Zithromax Zithromax.

'It's a very strong antibiotic,' she explained. 'I remembered what you said at the hospital this morning, so my alarm bells went off when I saw the name of the medication.'

Now I understood where she was headed. 'What's it normally used for?'

'Well, lots of things, but it's often used to treat s.e.xually transmitted diseases. I tried to track down the doctor but she's moved on. Gone overseas, I think.'

'Great. I thought you said you guys are trained to identify this sort of thing.'

'We are.'

'So let me get this right: the doctor prescribed a strong antibiotic for a urinary tract infection that was probably something more serious but didn't tell anyone or try to investigate further. Why didn't she at least order some tests?'

Ella just shrugged, which annoyed me. Couldn't she see where this was leading?

'Well, it seems pretty obvious what's happened here,' I said. 'Dallas Boyd brings his sister in for a check-up, probably not knowing what's wrong with her except that it hurts her to pee. The little girl's probably too embarra.s.sed to say anything about the stepfather, so n.o.body knows the truth. Sure, she gets treatment and the sore peeing goes away, but n.o.body reports it, even though the doctor must've smelt a rat. So the little girl goes home, takes her medication and it all goes away. Until the next time Daddy gets into bed with her and the chlamydia comes back.'

'You don't know that, Rubens. It might've been a bad urinary tract infection that hadn't been treated and the Zithromax could've been prescribed to flush it out. We could be completely wrong about all this.'

I knew that was unlikely and so did Ella. I'd seen it too many times before and so had she. People unsure of a difficult path and instead taking an easier one. A path with many cracks in it. How many other cases were there like this, I wondered. How many other kids had fallen through those cracks? How many villains were hiding in them?

'This isn't my fault, Rubens.'

'I know. It's n.o.body's fault. It's the system.' She went to reply but I cut her off. 'But you know what: the system is made up of people, El. People like you and me and that doctor. The system should've stopped it the first time. Instead, we ignored the warning signs and allowed it to happen again.'

I got up and walked to the bar for another beer. I was annoyed that the night had started out like this and wished I hadn't got Ella involved in the first place.

'Everything all right out there, bro?' Logan asked as he poured the beer. 'Want me to send out some oysters or something? You guys look like you need it.'

'No, thanks. Rough day, that's all.'

'Well, that's why they call it happy hour, you know?' he said, handing the beer over and pouring Ella another gla.s.s of champagne. 'Everyone's supposed to be happy happy.'

I sipped the beer and decided to forget about the case while Ella was around. Back at the table, she'd folded the paper away and lit another cigarette out of my packet.

I put a hand on her shoulder as I sat back down. 'I'm sorry about all this. Let's just try and enjoy ourselves. I'll deal with this later. I just get frustrated by it all. I shouldn't have got you involved.'

'No,' she said. 'I'm glad you did. You're right. We did fail this kid. Makes me wonder how many other times it's happened.'

'What, at the hospital?'

'No, just in general.'

'Well, that's why I want to take this one to the end. We can't change the system, Ella. All we can do is play our part. That's what I want to do.'

She stubbed out the cigarette and raised her gla.s.s again.

'Then let's do it.'

16.

ANTHONY AND HIS FAMILY lived almost directly opposite the Caulfield Racetrack. Thankfully we weren't tourists, because the taxi driver was about as familiar with Melbourne's leafy eastern suburbs as a desert camel. Finally we arrived at the house, which was almost a hundred years old and midway through a complete renovation. lived almost directly opposite the Caulfield Racetrack. Thankfully we weren't tourists, because the taxi driver was about as familiar with Melbourne's leafy eastern suburbs as a desert camel. Finally we arrived at the house, which was almost a hundred years old and midway through a complete renovation.

Music thudded from behind the garage door and an arrow pointed to a side gate where a bunch of balloons had been tied. First mistake, I thought. Eighteenth birthday bashes were notorious for attracting gatecrashers, especially in the suburbs. Inviting guests to simply enter via the side pathway was asking for trouble.

The path led to a paved courtyard over which a pergola had been constructed. Dozens of red and black balloons and streamers hung from the rafters and a sign over the rear of the garage read 'Happy Birthday Johnno!'

About fifty guests were already there, the majority looking barely eighteen in frayed jeans, bright T-shirts and sungla.s.ses. There was a brief lull as they stopped to see who'd arrived. Not recognising us, they quickly went back to talking, laughing and drinking. I looked around for my nephew but couldn't find him. After a few minutes Anthony's wife, Gabrielle, came through the back door with what looked like a tray of potatoes wrapped in foil. She carried them over to a spit roast by the fence, the delicious-smelling smoke reminding me that I hadn't eaten since lunch with Edgar Burns.

Gabrielle set the tray on a table beside the spit machine, then made her way over and said h.e.l.lo. She was a tall woman, with jet black hair and pale skin. Ella says she's beautiful but I reckon she looks unhealthy.

'I'm so glad you could make it,' she said, smiling at the two of us. 'Come inside and let me get you a drink.'

I followed the two women through the door, watching Ella's hips move freely beneath her summer dress. No doubt about it for me: she had the jump on Gabrielle any day. At the kitchen bench I wanted to put my arm around her, but instead slid the wine out of the carry bag and handed it to Gabrielle.

'No need for this,' she said, opening the fridge. 'We bought plenty of wine. Plus there's beer in the laundry fridge real beer and champagne in here. Rubens, if you want red, speak to Anthony; he's got some special ones put aside.'

What she really meant, I knew, was that my chosen bottle wasn't good enough. She was probably worried one of her social club friends would see it and a.s.sume she was only a few steps off drinking cleanskin labels.

'I'll leave you girls to it then,' I said, and went into the laundry where Anthony was packing beers into a tub full of ice. I shook his hand and accepted a Corona. It was ice cold and tasted sweet as ever, even without the lime.

'Place looks good,' I said, nodding to the backyard. 'Where's Johnno and Chloe?'

'Ah, they should be out there somewhere. Last I saw they were in the garage talking to the DJ. Chloe's new boyfriend.'

'Boyfriend, huh?'

'Yeah, been together a few months now.' Anthony lowered his voice. 'I reckon he's the one selling her the drugs.'

I frowned, not wanting to talk about it here. 'You don't know that.'

'Maybe, but just after she hooked up with him, all of a sudden she started listening to that bulls.h.i.t music. A month later I found the pills in her room.'

'What have you done with them?' I asked.

He looked away. 'Nothing yet. I'm waiting.'

'Waiting for what?'

'Never mind.'

He opened the back door and the sound of a repet.i.tive ba.s.s line filled the room, throbbing from inside the garage. I watched as he went over and told the DJ to turn the sound down. The DJ did as instructed and a number of the kids inside the garage made a face at Anthony as he walked out.

I was about to follow him onto the patio when I heard a familiar cough from along the hall. I walked down to the guest bedroom and saw my father by the bed, apparently looking at something on the dressing table.