Page 112 of Dying Truth

Bryant glanced at it before putting the key in the ignition.

‘I think you’re projecting,’ he said. ‘After what Rupert just said about him.’

‘Maybe,’ she said, and yet she detected an air of hopelessness around his eyes. There was a smile on his lips that didn’t touch any other part of his face.

‘What is this need to belong to some kind of group?’ Bryant asked.

She shrugged. ‘Human nature. The need to belong is among the most fundamental of all personality processes. It spans all cultures. There are many psychological theories and even an evolutionary opinion.’

‘Our ancestors?’ Bryant asked.

‘Back in the day belonging to a group was essential to survival. People hunted and cooked in groups so it’s kind of ingrained in our DNA,’ she said. ‘If you consider that we all belong to some kind of group whether it’s family, friends, co-workers, religion. There’s a need to be part of something greater than ourselves.’

She paused for a minute before continuing. ‘And for the kids at Heathcrest it’s probably even more important. They’re away from friends, family and every group they’ve known. The instinct to re-form must be quite overwhelming.’

‘A bit too deep for me,’ Bryant said. ‘Just not sure our guy was as deeply affected by excommunication as his partner would have us believe.’

Kim glanced at the photo and silently disagreed. If the need to belong wasn’t so fundamental to psychological well-being people wouldn’t feel severe consequences of not belonging.

She took a photo of the photo with her phone and sent it to Stacey. And then followed up with a call.

‘Got it, Stace?’ she asked, when the detective constable answered the phone.

Stacey hesitated, and Kim heard her hit a few keys.

‘Yep, got it. That’s our driver, Monty Johnson?’

‘It would appear so. And you’ll never guess where he went to school.’

‘No way,’ Stacey replied.

‘Find out what you can about him from the records but first circulate this photo as widely as you can. We need to speak to this guy and find his connection to Joanna Wade.’

Silence was the response.

‘Stace, you listening to me?’

‘Sorry, boss. No, I was just listening to the radio. Just heard a transmission. A patrol car has already found Monty Johnson and—’

‘Fantastic. Tell me where and we’ll get right over.’

‘And Keats is already on his way.’

‘Shit,’ Kim said, closing her eyes.

If Keats was on his way, that could only mean one thing.

Monty Johnson was already dead.

Seventy-Eight

Dawson spied Geoffrey sitting on a hard bench in the main reception beneath a Last Supper tapestry.

His backpack rested at his feet, an exercise book balanced on his knees and a textbook open on the bench beside him.

‘Hey, you wouldn’t be more comfortable in your room?’ Dawson asked, sitting down.

Geoffrey smiled and then shook his head. ‘I don’t spend too much time in there,’ he said. ‘Not unless I have to.’