Prologue. Melbourne 2000.

It was fucking freezing. He walked down the track until he found a suitable spot and, to his relief, he found the ground soft from the recent rain. He began to dig with the spade he’d brought. Shit, he thought, this was going to take ages. The cold was seeping through the thick coat and jeans he wore. He’d left the stolen vehicle, a Ford Falcon, by the side of the gravel road. This particular spot was out of the way and not likely to be discovered for a long time. It was a paddock which nobody owned and in an isolated area on the outskirts of the city. He continued digging and wondered how long he could do so on this rotten June night. The moonlight provided just enough light so he had no need for the torch. Finally finished, he made his way back to the car. He opened the boot. He looked around but of course there was no one about. It was two o’clock on a Thursday morning and the farmers on adjoining properties were asleep, probably had been for many hours, judging by the darkness of the few surrounding houses. He heaved the blanket and contents out of the car and slung it over his right shoulder. After closing the boot, he made his way to the spot he had excavated. He unravelled the body and dumped it into the hole which was relatively shallow but he couldn’t be bothered digging any more. If it was discovered so be it. He would burn the blanket later. It might contain remnants of his DNA and he wanted no evidence to link him to her. He covered the naked body with earth and patted down the top of the grave with the spade. He then took the tools and blanket and placed them in the car. On the drive back to the park where he left his Honda Civic he drove carefully so that he wouldn’t attract lurking police vehicles. He arrived at the JJ Holland Park where he parked the Falcon on Altona Street some distance from his car. It was four-ten in the morning. He tossed fuel from a small petrol container he retrieved from the Honda onto the Ford and lit the vehicle. He drove away watching the burning heap in the rear-view mirror. At home, inside his two bedroom apartment, he removed his clothes which he tossed in the washing machine and then enjoyed a long hot shower. He walked naked to his bed and slid between the sheets. He pulled the doona up. He would call in sick later that day. His heart was still hammering but he felt he had covered all the bases. Dorothy Shaw had been eyeing him at the bar the previous evening and when he eventually wandered over to her, after a few stiff scotches, he was surprised how readily she accepted his company. She was 48 it transpired and he was 28. She was still relatively attractive, dark hair framing an oval face made-up to suggest she was much younger. She wore a black backless dress and would stand 5’4” without heels, the same height his mother had been. A fur coat was draped over the chair she occupied. After some chat and more drinks they ended up at her house. She was recently divorced and had won the house in an acrimonious and drawn out battle which ended with this settlement, she explained, when she showed him the many wonderful features it possessed. He learned she was very particular about how he should make love to her, almost as though he were her student. After being dumped by his girlfriend, Janel, earlier that day, he was in no mood to comply. They argued over how he should position himself and then he saw in her facial expression a resemblance to his deceased mother. “I don’t want you to touch me there yet,” she chided, pushing his hand off her thighs. He lost perspective. He wrapped his hands around her neck and said, “Can I touch you here, you bitch?” He squeezed until she stopped breathing. After a moment when he realised he may have gone too far, he collected himself.  He had no option. He needed to solve this problem like any other he faced at the office each day. What was he going to do? He looked about wondering whether it was best to simply leave. But that might spark an immediate investigation and somebody might recognise her from any photos released by the press and therefore link him. He had to dispose of her so that she would not be found for a while. He recalled a trip to the Yarra, wine growing country to the north west of the city, with friends not so long ago. He wrapped her naked body in a light blanket she had tossed to the floor. When he woke the next day at around eleven o’clock he felt exhilarated