Free Ladykiller by Candace Sutton

town. Smith followed; on Goulburn’s main street, he watched Goulburn Highway Patrol Senior Constable Paul Morsanuto activate his police lights behind Burrell, who pulled the Pajero into the kerb.
    Burrell wound down his window. ‘Good morning, fellas,’ he said to the officer who had alighted from the police vehicle, ‘what’s the problem?’
    Morsanuto said, ‘Is this your car, sir? According to our computer systems, you have the incorrect numberplates on the car and the vehicle is not registered.’
    ‘It should be.’ Burrell looked surprised.
    Morsanuto asked him again.
    Burrell’s face was turning red. ‘Okay,’ he said eventually, ‘the plates are off an old car that I had on the farm. It’s not registered.’
    Morsanuto informed Burrell that he was now under arrest and would have to go to Goulburn police station for an interview. ‘Lock up your car and leave the dog there,’ Morsanuto told him. ‘We’ll be a couple of hours.’
    Parked a short distance away, Senior Constable Smith watched Burrell take one long look around him before he bent down to get into the police van. Smith radioed through to taskforce HQ. The covert search could begin.
    With a car full of SPG officers tailing them, the search group drove towards Hillydale. In the four-seater utility were Allan Duncan, Ricky Agius and two female scientific officers. The team’s job was to ascertain whether Kerry was somewhere on the property, or at the very least find evidence which would convince a magistrate to grant police a formal search warrant.
    Allan Duncan parked at Hillydale’s gate and they began the walk up to the house. Dressed in jeans and T-shirts the group members posed as two couples walking arm in arm, pretending to chat and laugh on their way to visit their friend, ‘Charlie’. Duncan looked at Agius and the women. They all seemed composed, but if they were like him, their pulses were racing and their palms sweaty. Duncan had no idea what he was walking into—the so-called ‘international’ team of thugs implied in the ransom note, or perhaps an armed gang guarding a tied-up Kerry? The foursome had guns in their ankle holsters and the SPG parked just up the road as back-up, but still they felt vulnerable.
    As they neared the house Duncan yelled out, ‘Charlie. Mate! You home? We’re looking for ya.’
    No reply. Duncan listened at the door. Not a sound. The detective knocked. ‘Charlie. Wake up! . . . You been on the piss again? Let us in.’ Duncan could feel his heart pounding. He looked at the others. Was someone watching them? Ricky Agius raised his eyebrows and shrugged.
    The scientific officers got to work on breaking in. With a soft waxy material and some metal, they began to fashion keys for the house. Duncan and Agius pressed their faces up against the windows of Burrell’s house, peering into the gloom for any sign of life. The men smoked and then Agius dug a hole in the lawn to bury their cigarette butts. The place felt eerie and isolated.
    Once the detectives were inside, Duncan waited for his pager to beep, as per his instructions from the taskforce HQ. ‘Pick up the phone Al. Hendo,’ the text on the pager read. Two seconds later, Burrell’s telephone rang.
    Duncan picked up the receiver with a rubber-gloved hand. It was Detective Sergeant Brett Henderson.
    ‘Hi, mate,’ Hendo said, ‘What can you tell us?’
    Henderson was the investigations manager from Parramatta Local Area Command and was now attached to the taskforce. He instructed them to keep Burrell’s phone line open and, for the next forty-five minutes, Duncan and Agius went from room to room relaying what they could see. There appeared to be no trace of Mrs Whelan.
    Strewn over the kitchen table were bills and documents, a packet of Panadol, prescription tablets for arthritis, and four packets of Ransom brand cigarettes. Among the papers were a number of ‘Safe’ brand and ‘Tudor Blue’ brand envelopes, marked