Split Read Free

and prolific serial murder case Australia had ever witnessed. Worse than the infamous Granny Killings, or the Backpacker Murders. Worse than the recent Snowtown Killings, where a routine missing persons’ investigation had led to the discovery of several dismembered bodies in various states of decomposition. They had been neatly packed in oil drums in the sealed vault of a disused bank. A year ago Detective Flynn had caught the Stiletto Killer, a sadistic shoe fetishist who preyed on the attractive young women of Sydney, torturing and mutilating them.
    The case had been complicated—and personal. Flynn’s big career break had come at a heavy price. A price he would not have been willing to pay if only he had known. The burden of guilt hung like a yoke around his neck, impossible to ignore and impossibleto forget. If only he had put the pieces together sooner, he told himself, lives could have been saved. Working that case had turned his own life upside down, and very nearly cost him his reputation as well. Plus there were other problems. The matter of a witness. A young woman. Beautiful. Clever. Irresistible.
    Makedde.
    He still thought about her—a lot. He had been lonely and stressed at the time, that much was true. But he had no excuse now.
    Andy was so absorbed in his thoughts that he stopped looking where he was going, and that was dangerous on the deceptively quaint streets of Hogan’s Alley. Day or night, it didn’t pay to be preoccupied there. The moment Andy realised his lapse, he reminded himself to stay alert. Even at this hour, a tactical exercise could be underway.
    He was right in the heart of Hogan, a short walk from the main FBI Academy building. It was dark and the buildings around him had lost the golden colour of the sunset. The sky was clear above, the first stars now visible. He heard the rustle of trees, and watched a red leaf fall at his feet. The northern summer was over and winter wasn’t far behind.
    Andy peeked in the darkened windows of the Bank of Hogan, pressing his nose to the glass and cupping his hands around his eyes. He grinned for a moment, reflecting on its dubious title as the most robbed bank in America. But now the tellers weregone. The bank was quiet. There were no robberies underway; no agents arresting stunt actors and wielding guns loaded with pellets of paint. Similarly, the Dogwood Inn was still. He could see that the door to Room 101 hung broken on its hinges from an earlier exercise. How many times had it been kicked in? But the motel was empty now. It held no terrorists, drug lords or fugitives tonight. The little town of Hogan was finished up for the day, the deli closed and the faux criminals had gone home for dinner.
    Or was it? Andy heard the thunder of running feet, and turned to see a group of FBI agents approaching from one of the many wooded trails. Their blue shirts, barely visible in the low light, indicated that they were new recruits. The young men and women looked like carbon copies of each other as they filed past, their FBI identification tags swinging in time. They were dedicated, focused and fit—not yet jaded, not yet riddled with the guilt of the cases they hadn’t solved and the lives they hadn’t been able to save. Each one of them would have fought like hell for the privilege of being in that group. Each one of them would have secretly felt a long-awaited thrill entering the academy for the first time, passing under the sign stating: “Through these doors pass the finest professionals dedicated to the service of law enforcement.”
    That’s what they wanted to be. The finest.
    And that’s what Andy wanted to be too.
    As he walked through the darkened Hogan streets, Andy Flynn was riddled with selfdoubt. But then again, at that moment he had good reason to be. He was about to do something foolish.
    By 10.00 pm he was settled into his modest room, reclining on the bed. He looked at his bare feet hanging over the edge and noted they were not his