'Yes, Sister,' I said meekly, quite out of my depth. I picked up more papers and we set off again. Some of the people waved. Most of them didn't. I didn't know what to feel so I sliced more bread and made more sandwiches as we chugged gently up the hill to the next stop, the Treasury Gardens. Home of the Big Day Out.

This was a Bad Night In. Someone was lying on the gra.s.s. Several people were gathered around him. Mrs Palmer moved with that deceptive speed that nurses learn in their first year. They aren't actually running but they'd pa.s.s Cathy Freeman on the flat. I saw her shake her head.

'Nothing,' she said. 'Cold. Anyone know him?' she asked the crowd, who were melting away fast. Some were even running for the trees.

'Move the van around to the other side of the gardens, Daniel, or we'll lose all our clients,' said Sister Mary. 'I'll stay here and call an ambulance.' She hopped down, alone in the middle of the night, with perfect confidence.

'Would you like me to stay with you?' I offered.

She turned her blithe face to me. 'No need, dear. Nothing will harm me. And perhaps I can get in a few prayers before the ambulance arrives.'

When I looked back I saw her, kneeling down beside the dead man, folding her hands in prayer. What a woman. Jen shook her head.

'She's amazing, especially when you consider that she's nearly seventy,' she said. 'Here we go. I'll help with the soup. Quite a crowd tonight,' she said. 'They'll all be hyped because of the death. Stay calm,' she advised.

We were mobbed. People were yelling and someone was screaming. The bus actually rocked on its wheels. Daniel got out of the van and walked along until he was exactly in the middle of the crowd.

Then he slapped his hand on the side of the bus, so hard that there was an echo, and silence fell.

'We've got soup and sandwiches,' he said, loudly and slowly. 'And we've got advice. We'd love to help. But we can't hear you when you yell and there's always another place we can be. You are not the only hungry mouths in Melbourne tonight.'

The silence held. I handed out food and soup as fast as I could and Daniel marshalled the fed away from the hungry. An old man brought his sandwich back.

'It's got pickles,' he said. 'I can't eat pickles, they give me wind.'

'Cheese?' I asked.

'It gives me gripes,' he said.

'Sorry. It's cheese or corned beef, or just bread.'

'Gimme some cheese,' he grumbled.

My next client felt he had to apologise. 'Don't worry about him, Miss, he's always going crook,' said a middle-aged man. 'He was a doctor before the grog got him, they say. Ta,' he added, and took his food away.

It was horrible and fascinating and after a while it did begin to blur. Was it Flagstaff where I saw the two children, wrapped in the one blanket, asleep beside the doting father who had kidnapped them? Or maybe Treasury. A garden, certainly, which also had a camp of men brawling around an illegal fire, drinking something out of a can which reeked of methylated spirits. And why were so many of the homeless so young? Didn't they have homes to go to? What had happened to their parents? Didn't they care where that skinny trio, boys who could not have been over thirteen, spent their nights? Where did they spend their nights? And could I cope with the answer to that question?

And all the time I was watching Daniel as he moved among the lost and strayed, talking, comforting, giving out chocolate and hugs. The skinny girls loved him and would fall into his embrace as though he was the teddy bear which they should still have had. In three hours I was worn out, body and soul, when the van drove back into the side street to meet the next s.h.i.+ft.

Daniel parked the bus and gave the keys to a bright, affable Maori some three metres tall with no neck, hands like hams and a blindingly white smile.

'This is Ma'ani,' said Daniel. 'Somehow there's never any big trouble on his s.h.i.+ft. Mind you, we've had to reinforce the suspension,' he said. Ma'ani shook hands, engulfing my arm to the elbow. I a.s.sumed I would get the feeling back in the arm in due course. Of course there was no trouble on Ma'ani's watch. He would just sit on it.

'Come on, ketschele,' said Daniel. 'You're exhausted. Lean on me.'

'What about Sister Mary?' I asked, remembering we had left her with a dead body and just driven off.

'Cops'll take her back to the convent,' he said. 'Everyone knows Sister Mary. This way, Corinna. One foot in front of the other.'

That was all very well for him to say. By leaning heavily on Daniel I managed to get to my own building, key in the code, and go inside. There I slipped and would have fallen, except Daniel bore me up and turned my face into his chest.

'Just lean against the wall for a moment,' he said in a tightly controlled voice. I leaned. I opened my eyes. I was standing in a sea of blood. It was too much. I couldn't move. Horror really does root you to the spot, by the way, though I felt no urge to scream. Why scream? What had been killed? Where was the body? I couldn't see anything in the lobby but blood, which was dripping into the impluvium. It would kill the fish, I found myself thinking. And on the wall there was a legend, in that same unformed primary school writing. 'Death to the unchaste'. Blood was coagulating and dripping from the letters. Pure horror movie.

Daniel had crouched and stuck a finger into the red fluid. Then he sniffed.

'It's tomato sauce,' he said. 'Not blood, Corinna. Don't you faint on me now. Someone must have used a catering pack of the stuff. Let's go in through the bakery so we don't tread it all over.'

'What about the fish?' I asked idiotically.

'In the bakery,' said Daniel, leading me outside and round the corner, 'is a mop and a bucket and I am quite good at swabbing. And you will be quite good at sitting still until you feel a bit better. And then you can tell me what is going on in here. You've gone as white as milk, kitten,' he said affectionately. His affection was suddenly very important to me. 'Most people don't do that when they see spilt condiments.'

'It's the madman,' I told him.

I unlocked the shop where all was quiet. Daniel took a mop and bucket and after I had collected my thoughts I took another and joined him. We mopped for a while. Tomato sauce is ideal for mopping because, unlike milk, it doesn't leave a greasy afterstain. So much easier to deal with on tiles than, say, Aubusson rugs.

'The vinegar is probably good for the tiles,' he said, scooping the mess into his bucket. 'It's bringing the pattern up very nicely. Not much has gone into the pond and the fish seem to be eating it.'

'A new taste sensation. Tomato sauce flavoured fish food! Tell all your fishy friends!' I said, feeling much better and rather ashamed of myself. With a two-mop squad we got the hall clean and s.h.i.+ning and Daniel was right, the tiles did look brighter.

'A perfect end to a perfect evening,' said Daniel as we emptied our buckets down the drain. I suddenly liked him very much.

We went up to my apartment, greeted the cats, and put on some Ovaltine. There are days when Ovaltine is the only answer. Horatio and the Mouse Police were occupying the fluffy blue mink blanket which I bought for myself and Daniel gently dislodged them and wrapped it around me.

'Now,' he said. 'Tell me about the madman.'

I began with Mistress Dread and proceeded through the Lone Gunmen, the increasingly specific letters and the use of the real names, even of Meroe who hasn't used her birthname for twenty years.

'Hmm,' said Daniel. 'Temptresses and unchaste women and witches. Not a man who has much time for the female s.e.x, eh? Knows far too much about the tenants of this building. Older than twenty-five, owns an IMAC with a wobbly feed in his printer and a serious down on all women.'

'There must be thousands of them,' I sighed.

'At least,' said Daniel. 'Now I understand why you nearly fainted when you saw all that tomato sauce. This lunatic is in the building and you must feel unsafe here. Drink your Ovaltine,' he instructed. I drank. It tasted lovely. I yawned. He noticed. 'Therefore, with your permission, I shall trespa.s.s on your couch for the night. I need to talk to you, Corinna, but it can wait until morning. Go to bed, now, ketschele,' he said. 'I'll be here.'

I managed to brush my teeth and wash my face and release my hair from its clasp. Then I did as he said. I climbed into my voluminous nightie and I went to bed, and the last thing I saw was Daniel tucking me in and kissing me on the cheek.

I woke up feeling wonderful. Horatio was purring into my ear, always a charming sensation. I was in my own bed and I had had a nightmare about blood. Probably due to that Polish film festival I had gone to years ago. They had a film called Blood. And another called Snakes. I can't now recall why going to them seemed like such a good idea at the time. But they had marked me for life.

Then I remembered. Not a dream. The Soup Run, the dead man, the blood all over the lobby. Except it was tomato sauce.

I needed to get up and find someone rational to talk to, rather than myself. I wasn't making anything like enough sense. I got up and, escorted by Horatio, made it to the bathroom (he always sits politely outside as he does not care for shower spray). I dried myself and dressed in a tracksuit and went into the kitchen, because I could smell coffee. If anyone wants to test whether I am actually dead, let them brew coffee near me. Strong espresso coffee, for preference. If there is not a twitch or a moan, if there is no reaction at all, then they should order the wreaths and book the gravedigger.

The kitchen contained not only coffee, but Daniel, who had gone out to buy croissants and had even taken the b.u.t.ter out of the fridge. I nominated him for sainthood on the spot and grabbed for a cup of the life-giving fluid. He did not say a word but smiled at me and pushed over the apricot jam.

That's when I knew I was in love. I had never met anyone who preferred silence in the morning. Morning was the time James always chose for his robust discussions. It's amazing I stayed with him as long as I did, really. Daniel took his coffee out onto the balcony where Horatio was discussing a saucer of milk. Not a sound apart from a faint lapping. I ate and drank and recovered my sanity.

After half an hour, I said, 'You can come in now,' and he did.

'I don't like mornings,' said Daniel, sitting down and pouring more coffee. 'I thought that you might feel the same.'

'You are unique, and also you make good coffee,' I told him. 'Did you sleep well?'

'Until I woke unable to breathe and found that I had Heckle on one side of my blanket and Jekyll on the other, pinning me down. They are surprisingly heavy, cats. I struggled out and sent them down into the bakery to do an honest night's work. They have presented me with three rats and seven mice and I have rewarded them with Kitty Dins,' said this paragon among men. 'Naturally I also fed Horatio, who ate his breakfast and retired again. Then I thought that we could do with a reward as well and went out for some croissants. I hope you like them au naturel, rather than au beurre.'

'My favourite,' I said, truthfully.

'Mine too. I used to get them from an artisan boulangerie in the Quartier Latin. A beautiful girl used to serve in his shop. If she hadn't been so cheerful at that hour I would have tried to further our acquaintance. But she was, so I stuck to just buying her grandfather's bread, which was very good. I got quite friendly with him. He was an absolute bear in the mornings.'

'Do you have to do anything today?' I asked.

'We have to talk to your police officer about the tomato sauce,' he said. 'Or you do, perhaps. It might be better if you left me out of it.'

'Yes, she doesn't seem to be one of your biggest fans,' I remarked. 'Any idea why?'

'She thinks I am a suspicious character,' he said. 'And so I am. No car registration. No previous connections. No house purchase. Not on the books, and that always makes policemen edgy. You also need to consult your residents' committee's books,' he added. I decided not to pursue the mystery of why Lepidoptera White didn't like Daniel.

'I do? Why?'

'It's Sunday,' he pointed out. 'They will probably all be home. You want to know how the names of the owners of the flats are listed. Did Meroe put her legal name on her sale notice? What about those two skinny girls with the manycoloured hair? Is that, in fact, where Mr Nutcase is getting his information?'

'A good notion,' I said. 'I'll go and see Taz as soon as the day is aired, he has all their stuff on his computer. I think they picked Taz to go on the committee because he was the only computer literate person in the building. Rather Taz than Mrs Pemberthy,' I added. 'You remember her.'

'The lady with the blue-rinse hair and the horrible little dog? And I think she had a husband, somewhere in the background,' he said.

'That's what everyone remembers about poor Mr Pemberthy. All right, Taz and the cops. Now, what did you want to speak to me about?'

'Something so serious that it needs fresh air. Let's pack a little picnic-I bought a pain au chocolat each-and the rest of the coffee and go up to the garden.'

'All right,' I said. 'You take Horatio and I'll take the food.'

I poured the coffee into the thermos and we went up in the lift to the garden. It was cooler this morning. Trudi was out and about, snipping off dead heads. I left Daniel and Horatio and went over to talk to her. I had forgotten Trudi in my count of possibly unchaste women.

Trudi is Dutch, down to earth and sixty-five. She has never really got the hang of English. She has those crow's feet possessed by people who stare over great distances while fighting a losing battle with nature, like sailors, cricketers, golfers and farmers. I have never seen her dressed in anything other than a pair of stout boots, jeans and a jumper; cotton for summer and wool for winter. To judge by her clothes, her favourite colour is blue. Like her eyes. Her hair is cropped short, probably so that she can get the mud out easily. And she grows really lovely flowers. She lives just under the garden, in 8A, which is Ceres, G.o.ddess of fertility and mistress of the corn.

'The roses have been wonderful this year,' I said as an opening gambit.

'Ya,' she said. 'But the lilac is not so good and so dry, the gra.s.s withers. Rain soon, perhaps.'

There didn't seem to be a polite way to say this so I just came straight out with it.

'Trudi, several of us have had strange letters lately.'

'Calling you wh.o.r.e?' she asked, head on one side like a bird.

'Among other things, yes,' I admitted.

She pulled a familiar letter out of her pocket. It was considerably marked with honest toil, but it accused Gertrud Maartens of being an unchaste woman.

'He is wrong,' she said. 'We are not wh.o.r.es. Also this is not my name.'

'Not at all?' I asked. This was the first time that Mr Bible Cla.s.s had made a mistake. Trudi shrugged and stomped an unwary snail.

'Not for many years. I married once, now not married. My husband went off with his secretary. Now, she was wh.o.r.e. Me, no. You want the letter?'

'I do seem to be collecting them, yes.'

'They paint on my pots. Also they steal my insecticide. Tell the cops,' advised Trudi firmly, deadheading a rose with unusual firmness.

I took the letter back to Daniel and Horatio, put it in my pocket, and ate a pain au chocolat, probably the most luscious sweet bread ever invented. Though I do put in a bid for my date and walnut loaf. Daniel poured me more coffee. I was now as awake as I was going to get. Gusts of rose scent blew over us. Horatio went stalking off into the undergrowth.

'Tell me,' I demanded.

He seemed unwilling to begin. He averted his face, allowing me to notice that he had a five o'clock shadow and very well shaped ears. I took his hand.

'Someone's killing the drug addicts in Melbourne,' he said. 'There are too many for them to be accidents or coincidence. You saw the latest last night.'

'And the police are investigating,' I prompted.

'And they can't find out what's going on,' he said with a flash of anger. 'Because drugs are illegal, the police and the junkies are at odds. Junkies don't tell cops anything. Junkies are, in any case, not reliable people. They'll even leave their lover, their best friend, to die alone rather than stay in a house and have to explain when the ambulance arrives. You saw how they melted away when that death was discovered. Few people take drugs alone. Someone was with that boy when he injected poison into his veins.'

'And you've been asking around,' I said.

'I know most of the homeless who stay in the city,' said Daniel. 'They aren't all junkies. In fact not that many are junkies. They are alcoholics or speed heads or they are victims of circ.u.mstance. Runaways who think that living on the street will be cool. Runaways who can't stand their parents anymore. Kids out of foster homes. Abused ones and raped ones and don't cares who are made to care. Some are actually thrown out. Most exist from mate's place to mate's place, never actually sleeping out, because it's so dangerous. As long as you have a cup of coffee you can sit in some of the chain restaurants all night.'

I felt that he was getting off the topic. 'Your point being?'

'That someone knows something,' he said, balling his hand into a fist. 'There aren't that many dealers on the street and everyone knows who they are. They don't belong to any one ethnic group, no race has a monopoly on b.a.s.t.a.r.dry. The kids talk about the man in the red Porsche who supplies all the drugs; he's a myth, although some were boasting a week or so ago that they'd stolen his car. There are a lot of fairytales on the street.'

'Why do you think you can solve this mystery?'

'Because they all know me, and they all trust me,' he said. This was patently true. 'And if we don't find out and stop it, then more will die. That boy was only seventeen and now he'll never know what being eighteen feels like. Will you help me?'

'I don't see how I can,' I said honestly. 'But I'll try.'

'And I,' he said, 'will help you find your madman, and then we will have words.'

I felt the strength of his grip and saw the ripple of muscle along his shoulders and cheered up. If Daniel wished to exchange views on wh.o.r.es with our madman, Mr Nutcase would know that he had been in a robust discussion.

CHAPTER NINE.

Daniel went away on business of his own, promising to be back after five. And just what was Daniel's business? A cop? Probably not. A crook? Perhaps. He would tell me in time. Taz wasn't awake but Gully answered the door when I rang at Hephaestus after noon. He was the neatest of the Lone Gunmen, which wasn't saying much. He waved me in past a huge heap of laundry. Heaps of jocks, socks and t-s.h.i.+rts were topped with aged hole-studded work pants.

'Sorry. Rat's Mum is coming to pick up the was.h.i.+ng,' he said. 'What can I do for you, Corinna?'