LITMIR.BIZ

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few years no woman had managed to draw him into a relationship of any depth, and she was perplexed as to what had caused this.

      In the years since Liam had made his home in Melbourne, Rogan had tried to visit as much as he could. Although their physical appearance made it almost impossible to tell them apart, emotionally the twins complemented one another, and Rogan had never met anyone who made him feel at ease in his own skin like Liam did. Which was why the aching sense of loss he now felt was almost a physical pain.

      As the countryside sped past, so did memories of a shared lifetime. Normally inseparable, a twisted ankle had kept Rogan at home when both boys should have been at a school camp together. A camp that had resulted in Liam coming down with rheumatic fever and suffering slight damage to a heart valve. Although not serious enough to curtail Liam's involvement in their teenage escapades, the damage had been sufficient to prevent him joining up with his brother in the Royal Australian Navy.

      If the worry in his gut would have allowed it, Rogan would have smiled as he remembered Liam's frustration when he was rejected. His normally quieter brother had stomped around the house like a bull denied his favourite cow, then he'd made a last-minute application to study law at university. Several years later, Liam had surprised them all by announcing he had joined a firm of private investigators in Melbourne, and after some time with them had branched out on his own.

      For the past twenty hours, as Rogan had driven southwards, he had tried to piece together the fragments of conversation he'd had with Liam that could give him some clue to what may have happened. Normally they phoned each other at least once a week, and Rogan couldn't recall anything in their last few calls that might be suspicious. He frowned. Except for Liam's off-hand remark about meeting the woman of his dreams. Liam had refused to elaborate and Rogan had bitten back his curiosity, confident that his twin would blurt it out sooner or later.

      When Rogan had tried Liam's home, business and mobile phones over the past day and a half, Liam hadn't answered. And Liam's lawyer mates hadn't been any help either. Not that Rogan blamed them. With the often dangerous work Liam undertook, his friends weren't going to hand out information on the strength of a vague phone inquiry. He would just have to ask them in person.

      As he crested a rise on the Hume Highway, Rogan saw the smog that hung like a pall in the distance, and knew he was getting close to his destination. Like most large cities, Melbourne couldn't escape the air pollution that came from factories and constant traffic.

      His need for sleep growing with each kilometre travelled, Rogan stopped at a small cafe and bought a coffee. The thought of an ice cold beer was tempting, but that would have to wait until he reached Liam's apartment. At least he would miss arriving in morning peak hour, but the traffic into Melbourne was always constant, so he just hoped for a smooth run.

      By the time he swung into the driveway of Liam's strata title unit in Chelsea Heights, Rogan doubted he could keep his eyes open another five minutes. Liam's was the back unit of the dual-occupancy set, surrounded by high brick fences on three sides and separated from the front unit by a low hedge. He parked in front of the roller door, and scrabbled in the vehicle ashtray for the spare keys Liam had given him. When the rising garage door revealed Liam's car, Rogan's stomach lurched. He got out of the Rodeo, stretched the kinks from his back, and grabbed his duffle bag from the back seat. He walked into the garage and looked through the windows of Liam's car. The contents of the open glove box were strewn over the front seat, but otherwise the car was empty.

      Rogan unlocked the door into the small laundry area, and stepped inside. The cupboard had been ransacked, washing powder and cleaning products spilled across the floor. Rogan dropped his bag and hurried into the kitchen. A similar scene awaited him there.

      Stomach knotting, he walked cautiously into the living room.

      Whoever had searched the townhouse had been thorough, but not careful. The lounge cushions had been cut open, their filling ripped out. Paintings hung crookedly on walls, the bookcase bare, its contents scattered across the carpet, every drawer in the wall unit emptied in a heap. Even the dining chairs had been upended onto the table so they could be checked over.

      Now more afraid than he could ever remember feeling, Rogan made his way to Liam's bedroom. Apart from the mess he now expected, it was empty. Liam used the second bedroom as an office, and it was here that Rogan saw how thorough the intruders had been. Not a single file remained in the cabinet, equipment had been upended, and the computer tower was missing.

      As he reached across for the phone that had been shoved to the back of the desk, he caught sight of something that made his heart pound. At the side of the desk, partially obscured by a sheet of paper, the carpet had been stained by a liquid.

      A liquid dark enough to be blood.

      CHAPTER FOUR

      A camera flash caught Rogan's attention. From his position on one of the lounge chairs, he watched a police forensic officer methodically photograph and examine Liam's office. The woman's careful, deliberate movements seemed agonisingly slow, and his gut clenched with frustration.

      'What made you come down to Melbourne to see your brother, Mr McKay?'

      Detective-Sergeant Ed Bruin's question focused Rogan's attention back to him where the police officer sat on the opposite side of the table. The detective's partner had been called away soon after their arrival, and Bruin appeared to relish being left in charge. Rogan considered the burly policeman thoughtfully. If he gave the true reason, he doubted the detective would believe him. Rogan had grown up thinking there was nothing unusual in the connection he shared with his twin, but at high school he soon realised teenagers who were demonstrably different from the pack would be labelled 'weird'. Or worse.

      'I often visit my brother, Sergeant Bruin,' he replied. 'Well, as often as my work allows.'

      'And what is your work, Mr McKay?'

      'I'm a partner in a fishing and diving charter boat on the Barrier Reef.'

      A spark of more-than-professional interest lit the detective's eyes. 'How come you're on holidays? Wouldn't this be a good time of year for you to operate?'

      Rogan tried to keep his impatience in check. The stain on the carpet wasn't huge, but that didn't mean that Liam wasn't lying somewhere bleeding to death while he sat around discussing optimal charter seasons with a police officer. 'The engine on our boat needed repairs so I decided to catch up with my brother.'

      The detective nodded as though this was reasonable, then asked Rogan what he knew about his brother's associates and the type of work he undertook. Although Liam had rarely discussed individual cases, Rogan knew that when he had worked for the firm of private investigators, he had often been sent on undercover jobs, particularly in the areas of industrial espionage and missing persons. And when he had branched out on his own, his former employers had sometimes sent similar cases his way.

      Rogan explained to the detective that because of Liam's need for secrecy in a lot of the cases he undertook, he operated under the name of Liam Kennedy and used a mobile phone and post office box in that name for his work. He worked from home but would meet clients only at selected locations such as coffee shops. When this wasn't possible, he would hire office space on a pre-paid cash basis for the duration of the interview. As far as associates went, there were only two of Liam's friends who Rogan knew, and they were lawyers Liam had met through his previous work and who he now used for his personal legal matters. Rogan gave Bruin the men's names, and asked how soon he would be interviewing them.

      Bruin snapped his notebook closed. 'Very soon, Mr McKay.' He stood up. 'Where will you be staying so we can keep in touch with you?'

      Rogan looked through to Liam's office. The forensic officer was taking a sample of the stain. 'I thought I'd stay here. If my brother comes back I want to be around.'

      'I'm sorry, this is a crime scene now. Until forensic have finished here I'm afraid we can't risk you possibly contaminating the scene.'

      Before Rogan could protest, the constable who had stood on guard at the front door walked into the room and caught Bruin's eye. 'There's a woman here who

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