Welcome to Ord City. Adrian Deans

do you mean?’

      ‘I’ve already spoken to the police … I’ve nothing further to add.’

      ‘So you knew them?’

      ‘Yes … as you would know if you people kept proper records.’

      Conan, knew there was no record of interview with the Army of God on the file, but made a mental note to check when he returned to the office.

      ‘I’ve been sent up from Sydney and haven’t seen much of the file … but maybe I’ll ask some different questions?’

      ‘Like what?’

      ‘Like, what are you doing for dinner tonight?’ thought Conan. She got even more attractive as her anger flared.

      ‘Like … were Bruce Fong and Michael Wing Ho members of your organisation?’

      ‘That’s the first question they asked me last time,’ she snapped. ‘We don’t have lay members. We have officers and brethren … Bruce and Michael were neither.’

      ‘But you knew them?’

      ‘Like so many in this city, they were searching. They would sometimes attend the Great Debate.’

      ‘Which is on tonight?’

      ‘Yes.’

      She was almost aggressive in her answers – eyeing him defiantly – making Conan wonder what he’d done to piss her off so quickly.

      ‘So what were they searching for?’

      ‘For God, Agent Tooley. We get many such people who cannot find what they truly need in their lives, so they turn to us.’

      ‘You must feel very vindicated.’

      She stared at him for a moment, then enquired, ‘Was that sarcasm, Agent Tooley? Because if it was, this interview is over.’

      ‘Forgive me,’ said Conan. ‘I didn’t mean to sound sarcastic.’

      In truth, sarcasm came so naturally when interviewing he wasn’t sure whether he’d meant it or not.

      ‘They were Habal Tong?’ he asked, trying to sound serious.

      ‘Yes … but very interested in Christianity.’

      ‘So … the Great Debate is about converting to Christianity?’

      ‘Sometimes,’ she said, still stiff and prickly. ‘Mostly it’s about comparison. This city is such a melting pot of culture and religion … it’s where we get together with people of other faiths to discuss what we have in common?’

      ‘So you all agree, eh?’

      ‘We do … on all the important points.’

      ‘Except one.’

      Once again she stared at him, as though suspecting him of levity.

      ‘Except one,’ she agreed. ‘Is there anything else? I really have answered these questions before.’

      ‘Who’d you speak to the first time?’

      ‘I don’t remember his name.’

      ‘Was he Chinese?’

      ‘No.’

      Captain Roberts rose to usher him out and Conan noted, to his small disappointment, the engagement ring on her finger.

      ‘I’m sorry I can’t be of any further assistance … and I do have work to do.’

      Conan switched off the Pod and put it back in his bag as she stood over him, holding the door open.

      ‘One more question, Melodie … Captain Roberts,’ he amended as he saw her anger flare.

      ‘Well?’

      ‘Was there any particular aspect of Christianity that interested these two?’

      She opened her mouth to speak, but then paused.

      ‘Yes?’

      ‘It’s nothing.’

      ‘What’s nothing?’

      ‘There was no proper aspect of Christianity that interested them.’

      ‘Proper? What about improper?’

      ‘Please don’t twist my words for meaning, Agent Tooley. I really can’t help you with this so I suggest you continue your investigations elsewhere.’

      She left the office so Conan had little choice other than to follow her out, but in her haste to be rid of him she forgot to let him go first down the stairs. Conan found himself almost swooning with desire at the sight of her gorgeous bottom in the tight, black, god-fearing skirt.

      Halfway down the stairs, she suddenly turned and Conan knew he’d been caught.

      ‘Um … I was just thinking,’ he stammered, as she blushed an angry pink.

      ‘Thinking? Is that what you call it?’

      ‘Yes … look, chances are, I’ll turn up one night at your Great Debate. Maybe even tonight.’

      ‘Everyone’s welcome,’ she said, in an ice-hard voice that clearly meant everyone but him.

      ‘Yeah … erm … but if I do turn up, I don’t want anyone to know who I am … so don’t talk to me.’

      ‘Don’t talk to you,’ she echoed, reaching the bottom of the stairs and waving him towards the door. ‘It would be my pleasure.’

      Chapter 6

      First Man Eaten

      Several hours later, after another frustrating afternoon at the office (where no record of any interview with Captain Roberts could be found), Conan was sitting just across the road from her chapter house, sipping a coffee of surprisingly good quality and enjoying the noise of the street and the evening cooking smells from so many open air kitchens. He’d picked up a tattered print out of the Ord City Times and was reading about another refugee boat sunk (allegedly) by the Dedd Reffo sub, the Eureka, and the Giant Array – a huge field of radio telescopes about fifty kilometres south – which was on the brink of some major breakthrough.

      Unlike Conan’s case, which was going nowhere.

      The one small result he’d had was a report back from forensics on the card found in Wing Ho’s shoe. The handwriting referred to the address where the bodies had been found, and also seemed to refer to Epistola Clementis which was part of the URL he had copied from the locked computer in the dead men’s flat. And when Conan did a search on those words he had been intrigued to learn that Epistola Clementis was Latin for ‘The Letter of Clement’. There was very little on the net about it, but what there was seemed to suggest that the Letter was a controversial document from the early Catholic Church.

      Conan had wanted to take the dead men’s computers in to go through their search history but Loongy had absolutely refused.

      ‘Case closed, Tools,’ he’d said. ‘There’s too much for forensics to do up here so we can’t waste any more time on Sydney politics.’

      ‘Since when is an Ord City double murder Sydney politics?’

      ‘Since you came up to waste our time,’ said Loongy. ‘I’ve been talking to your boss … he says you should go.’

      ‘He hasn’t told me that,’ said Conan, although in truth, there was an email from Kenny Cook which he hadn’t opened.

      Conan took another sip of his coffee and glanced at his watch.

      Something felt wrong. It was clear that Loongy was deliberately preventing him from making progress with the investigation and, in all likelihood, it truly would be a waste of time to pursue it further. Everything pointed to a Dedd Reffo (or Habal Tong) execution and the world would hardly end because of it. But why