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‘Okay, pull in,’ Kim said as they approached a Costa drive-thru.

‘Your usual?’ Bryant asked, approaching the window.

She nodded. He gave the order, which was more words than he’d spoken in the twenty minutes since leaving the ERA office.

She waited until they were parked before speaking.

‘Okay, spit it out,’ she said, removing the lid and blowing on her coffee. ‘Something’s narked you.’

He sighed heavily. ‘Well, she’s right, isn’t she? I am part of the problem. I think I’m a decent kind of guy, but what’s the point if I don’t call out the shit heads?’

‘You spend your day dealing with shit heads.’

‘You did a good job of avoiding my point there, guv.’

‘You really wanna do this?’ she asked, to be sure.

He nodded.

‘Okay. It’s not enough, any more, to just be a good guy and proud of it. You don’t get gold stars for doing the right thing or being a nice person. That’s like taking an exam and getting a pass. No extra credit and no distinction.’

‘What more can I do?’ he asked, and she felt for him. Being twelve years her senior, he had grown up on a staple diet of comedies full of racism, sexism and offensive content. He’d adapted since, and his strong moral compass guided him well.

‘I’m not gonna preach at you, buddy, but as an example, have you ever entered the locker room and seen a bunch of coppers looking at photos of naked girls?’

‘Of course,’ he said, and then his face registered the penny dropping.

‘Exactly. See how easily you acknowledge that as normal behaviour? It’s just the guys, doing guy stuff.’

He started to nod slowly.

‘It’s not enough to not take part. You wanna see change, call them on it. Remind them that’s someone’s daughter, sister, whatever.’

Kim felt a stab of relief when her phone started to ring. Bryant was a good guy, but Bobbi had a point, and although it wasn’t her job to school him, she knew she’d made him think.

‘Go ahead, Stace.’

‘Boss, I’m just working on my second matrix.’

‘Well done, Neo,’ she quipped.

Stacey’s laugh on the other end clearly came because she was the boss and not because she was amused. Jeez, she didn’t know why she bothered.

‘Anyway, my second spreadsheet is detailing organisers, judges, etcetera, just to see who was around the scene frequently, and there’s a dressmaker’s name that’s coming up a lot.’

‘Okay, shoot.’

‘Kelvin Hobbs, owns a small shop in Bewdley called Sew Cute, get it?’

‘I’m assuming by your jovial tone that’s spelled with a double U.’

‘Yeah, boss. I’m easily amused. Back to it,’ she said before ending the call.

Something somewhere in the pageant world linked their victims. Had they been involved in something then that had come back to haunt them now? If so, what had they done ten years ago that would revisit them now? Was it something to do with their daughters? Someone else’s child? The competition? Rivalry?

With those questions in mind, it made sense to start talking to some of the people who had likely dealt with their victims back then.