"Are there any leads? Had anyone threatened her?"

"That's the trouble. Over the last few years she's had a lot of threats. Ryder wasn't exactly popular with defense lawyers and crims alike."

Natasha had never seemed afraid for her safety and had not discussed death threats. Then again, Anya realized, she really didn't know the woman that well. They had never discussed anything personal. The closest they came was in the restaurant talking about Giverny Hart.

"Could it have been the Harbourns?"

Kate let out a deep sigh. "We're starting with them, as well as who's recently been released from prison and could harbor a grudge. Then there are ex-boyfriends. Some are pretty high-flyers so we've got to tread carefully."

"Is there anything I can do?"

"I'm trying to trace her steps in the last few days to see if anyone had been stalking her. If you've seen her, you could help fill in some blanks."

"Of course. I was with her until about five yesterday afternoon."

Saying those words made Natasha's death seem unbelievable. Only hours before, they had shared drinks and conversation.

"I'm just headed over to her house to interview an elderly neighbor. Crime scene's still working, so you could meet me there. Zimmer's leading the charge."

"Give me the address. I'm leaving now."

Anya hadn't realized that Natasha lived a few short blocks away. They could have run into each other at the delicatessen or fruit shop. Come to think of it, she always had fruit in her office. It could have been from a shared greengrocer. She wondered what else they had in common.

She parked down Natasha's street, which had been cordoned off. Once considered a working-class area, most of the terraces had been modernized internally while maintaining the original facades.

A tarpaulin had been erected outside number 82, to obscure media and allow privacy for the police officers.

John Zimmer ordered the uniformed constable to let her through.

The hip-height gate was open, and a short path led to a security door with blackened bars. Similar bars adorned the windows. Few other houses in the street had them. Natasha had obviously been safety conscious.

Anya pulled on paper shoe covers and twisted her hair into a knot.

What immediately struck her was the amount of blood between the doorstep and the first few feet of the corridor.

Milo Sharpe was examining the wooden black-wood architrave and doorway frame and didn't seem to notice her. Zimmer seemed to read her mind.

"It looks like she lived long enough to try to move, and lost a lot of blood." The rings around his eyes suggested he had been there since they got the call. Knowing Zimmer, he would have refused to leave for a break in case he contaminated the scene on his return.

In a mass shooting at a cafe he had stayed inside for thirty-six hours, refusing to let anyone else in or out, for fear of destroying evidence. He hadn't heard whether the shooter had been caught, he'd just got on with the job until it was done.

"Could be that the killer moved her, or whoever found her rolled her over and blood that had pooled without clotting spilled out." Anya tried to picture the scenario. "How was she found?"

"The briefcase was on the doorstep. The first witness says she was facedown just inside the door. The security screen was half-closed, blocked by her legs."

She knew the briefcase. The same one Natasha carried to court each day. "Handbag?"

"The strap was still around her elbow. It was open but the purse doesn't appear to have been disturbed, it still had cash and credit cards. And get this, she carried a can of Mace with her but it wasn't touched. She was still clutching the house keys. The only footprints inside are of the cat walking through the blood.

So Natasha had arrived home, opened the screen door outward, then the front door inward. Someone she trusted had to have been with her, or she was ambushed and had no time to defend herself. Anya turned to face the street. A small brick fence would barely have hidden a small child.

"No robbery, what about the actual wound?"

"It looks like she was shot in the back of the head. Emergency doctor said it exited right between the eyes."

"Got it," Milo announced.

With a pair of tweezers she carefully removed the remains of a bullet from the lower section of plaster on the right-hand wall.

Anya studied the location. "If the bullet entered the back of the head, exited the skull and embedded there," she bent down, "then the head has to have been reasonably low to the ground when the gun went off."

"If she were standing up, you'd expect her to have to have her chin tucked right to her chest for the projectile to end up where it did."

"The killer could have grabbed her and forced her head down."

"Either way, she didn't have time to react or grab what was in her handbag."

Anya wondered if Natasha knew she was about to die.

"There is something odd," Milo chimed in. "There is no kitchen in this house. There's a bathroom and bedroom, just no kitchen. A coffee machine and a bowl of fruit in the lounge room. No fridge. I'm thinking this woman had a serious calcium deficiency, or maybe an eating disorder."

Zimmer tried to explain. "This is a pretty small place and professionals who work in the city aren't home during most mealtimes, so they may decide against a kitchen and have a wide-screen TV instead." His voice became louder. "And maybe Ms. Ryder liked her coffee black and didn't need a fridge. Can we stick to our job description?"

Either the case, Milo or both were getting to him.

"She walked past a deli and greengrocer on the way to and from work, so she didn't starve if that's what you were worrying about." Anya could understand Zimmer's frustration.

It was difficult to concentrate, knowing this was where Natasha had been shot. Seeing her colleague's blood where it had hemorrhaged life from her brought a lump to Anya's throat. She could almost smell the floral perfume Natasha wore.

And six feet away they were violating her privacy. Suddenly Anya felt claustrophobic and excused herself.

Zimmer followed.

"You okay?" he asked, outside the gate, away from listening ears, but still inside the crime scene tape.

"It's hard to be here," she said, wiping her nose with a tissue. "Harder than I thought."

"I know." Zimmer bowed his head and spoke softly. "When it's someone you know, you think this job can't get any worse. But because we knew her, we care. For that reason we should be the ones here."

She nodded. "Who's doing the PM?"

"They're flying in a guy from interstate. None of our lot could face it, given how much time they spent with her preparing for trials."

Anya had a sick feeling. "Giverny Hart, Savannah Harbourn and Natasha Ryder, all dead within the space of a few weeks. I knew them all."

Giverny could have been written off as a suicide, if not for the threats made by the Harbourns. And Savannah's death could have been considered an accident, if it hadn't been for the beating at the hands of her brother. And Natasha had been killed while prosecuting the very same, Gary Harbourn.

"It's been rough, but anyone could have murdered Natasha. She upset a lot of people just by doing her job. And as far as I know, your three women died in different ways. Whoever did this one planned it and knew what they were doing. The scene's clean. So far we haven't found so much as a hair."

"Just like for Giverny. Nothing but my hair was found on her."

Kate Farrer strolled along and Anya excused herself. The Harbourns had to be behind Natasha's murder. Surely Kate had to understand that.

33.

Kate greeted Anya with a worried expression. "We need to talk."

"Are you looking at the Harbourns?" Anya removed her shoe covers and discarded them in a police-issue plastic waste-bag outside the gate.

"That's what I wanted to see you about." Kate led her down the street, beyond the border of the scene.

"We found a property out west they go to a lot. A search of the place turned up a list in Noelene's handwriting. A number of addresses and phone numbers." She shoved her hands in her trouser pockets. "Yours was on it."

She showed Anya a photocopy. Her home address and car registration were written down, along with an asterisk and the words LIVES ALONE. Suddenly Anya felt lightheaded and leaned against the nearest fence.

"Keep reading," Kate urged.

Anya scanned and saw Natasha Ryder's name and address, along with the same addendum. LIVES ALONE. Further down, she stopped at the name and felt as if her world was crashing in.

CRICHTONS YOUNG KID LIVES WITH HER EX. UNFIT MOTHER???????.

The number, street and suburb were accurate.

"God, Kate, they know where Ben lives."

The detective moved to her side. "It's okay, Hayden spoke to Martin and he's taking Ben to stay at his friend's house for a few days. Ben will stay in the classroom with his teacher until Martin gets there."

"He can't come to stay with me anymore," she sniffed. "This can't be happening."

"Look, it's not as uncommon as it seems. Noelene's boyfriend works for motor registry and we suspect he used their database to get most of the info.

"Going by the amount of drugs we found in the family home, these guys are into dealing as well as selling weapons from the armed robberies. That's how they can afford to pay for Gary's medical fees in cash.

"We've treated them pretty much as opportunistic idiots, but they've got more than a few angles going that make money. Noelene obviously wants to protect it all."

"Why would she collect all our addresses? She can't be planning on wiping out half the police, doctors, prosecutors and their families."

"We think she got hold of the personal details in case she decides to bribe the boys out of trouble. They've also got Natasha's parents, brother and aunt on the list."

"That won't mean anything to Martin. He won't understand. Instead, he'll use it to stop me from seeing my son. God, Natasha is already dead."

Kate put her hand on Anya's shoulder. "That family holiday had an effect. Hayden tells me Martin was pretty concerned that you were all right."

Anya coughed and processed what Kate had said.

"Did they have any police names?"

"Hayden and Liz Gould, her husband and kid's names too. Mine wasn't on the list so you're welcome to stay in the spare room for a few days if you want. You know I'm barely there."

It didn't seem such a bad idea. They could look out for each other. Besides, Anya didn't fancy going home alone, not now.

"Do you think it's necessary?"

Kate kicked the ground. "I don't want to scare you, but whoever killed Natasha knew what they were doing. It was an assassination: short, quick, no witnesses. It doesn't fit the Harbourn style and, thank God, she wasn't raped. It doesn't add up. But put it this way, misery enjoys company, so they say."

Anya knew the detective well enough to know that this was the closest she would come to admit being concerned.

"Do you promise to tidy up?"

Kate held her hand over her heart. "Scout's honor I'll try not to be messy. But only if you agree to water the pot plant."

As annoying as Kate would be to share a house with, it made sense. "There's been enough carnage lately. The plant just got a reprieve."

The detective's phone rang and Kate answered it. "Just told her now, she's still here...We'll be there some time after two."

34.

Later that afternoon they returned to the Homicide office. Anya bought sandwiches from the vending machine, more for something to do than because she was hungry. The mood in the office was flat despite phones buzzing continuously.

"We've just got the photos through from Natasha's PM," Kate said. "I'm about to go over them, but understand if you want to give this one a miss."

Anya wanted to help in any way she could. She sat on a chair next to Kate's messy desk.

"This one's after emergency services were finished."

Instead of a crumpled body, the image showed Natasha on the outside path. Paramedics had moved her to the nearest flat surface, where there was more room to work. A breathing tube was inserted into her mouth and her shirt was open from attempted cardiopulmonary massage. Two gel plates remained in place along with four adhesive ECG dots. The paramedics had tried to defibrillate life back into her. Just like they had for Giverny Hart.

Blood trickled from Natasha's forehead down to her left ear.

The next image was of the back of the head. A small entry wound near the base of her skull was the only evidence of what had occurred. Anya compared it to the photo of the forehead, which was larger.

"The bullet entered at the back and exited through the forehead, which is why it was found in the wall. It's a small bullet. My guess is a .22 caliber."

"Easy to get hold of, used by just about every drug dealer in the city."

The next photos Kate showed were of Natasha's manicured hands. No nailpolish, just perfectly shaped and filed, not long enough to be impractical. Feminine and functional. It pretty much summed up the woman Anya knew.