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more than that, John thought, but he only asked, 'What's the background on the church?'

      'It's run by a Nathaniel Bartholemew. He was born Nathan Blakely but changed his name when he started the church. Prior to that he was a salesman, and apparently a good one, but he couldn't seem to hold down a job. His employers wouldn't say much, but we gathered that seducing his clients seemed to be part of his sales routine. Before that he worked as a wardsman in a psychiatric institution for several years.'

      'What about now, running the church?'

      'We've heard no complaints in that department. At first he was just a lone preacher who delved more into psychoanalysis than any religious doctrine, but he got the people in. He's made no effort to grow the church, won't do television interviews, responds to media questions with the line that he's "been put on earth to help the hopeless and the downtrodden", and generally keeps a low profile.'

      She tapped the top section of the photo. 'The church is on the second floor, and some anonymous philanthropist pays for a charity to run a drop-in centre on the ground level. They have separate entrances and that staircase' - she indicated an open door in the building front - 'is the only way into the church from the street. There's a back entrance off a laneway and Bartholemew uses that.'

      'Are the church and the drop-in centre connected?'

      'No.'

      'Has the Tax Office approved the church as a religious organisation?'

      Toni nodded. 'They've done spot checks on the books and nothing seems out of place. The church also runs three communes they call Heavenly Houses that Bartholemew visits on a regular basis. They're set in isolated bush areas and security is fairly tight. An allegation was made some years ago by a former House resident, who reckoned that they'd taken her son from her. The police investigated and discovered she'd signed guardianship over to the church. They talked to the boy, who said he wanted to stay in the House. The woman said she was going to apply to the court to get him back. A day later she died of a drug overdose. She'd had a history of drug and alcohol abuse and although the death was thoroughly investigated, it couldn't be proven to be anything other than accidental.'

      'Any other family?'

      'The woman's brother. But after she died he stopped talking to the police.' Another antennae twitch. 'Suspicious.'

      'I know, but without proof,' she shrugged.

      'Do you have a photo of Bartholemew?'

      Toni clicked another icon and brought up a photo of a man getting out of a sleek silver sports car - a Volvo C70. Long-haired, bearded, he could have been anywhere from thirty to forty years old. Dressed casually, he carried a long, brown garment over one arm.

      'He won't allow cameras or mobile phones into the church,' she continued, 'and he guards his privacy, but this was taken in the parking space behind the church. His address is in the file somewhere.'

      'Can I have a copy of the file?'

      The assessing look she gave him had John thinking he'd overstepped his clearance. 'Why?'

      John deliberated before answering. 'Because there's a man standing in the church entrance who might be connected to my current assignment.'

      Toni waited for him to continue, but he'd already told her more than he should. Eventually she said, 'Okay, but if you find out anything that will help us with this case I'd better hear from you.'

      A minute later she escorted him to the main entrance. He hesitated near the door. 'Thanks.' Damn, but it felt like an inadequate thing to say. 'I hope you have a great wedding.' Not much better, but at least it was personal. Now they'd slipped from their official roles all the awkwardness from so long ago came flooding back.

      'Thanks.' She looked as uncomfortable as he felt. 'Good luck with your case.'

      She turned and walked away.

      'I'm positive it's the same man.' John paced his loungeroom and gripped his mobile as he listened to McSwain's doubts. 'The man behind Kate Maclaren in the photo is the same person who took the girl from the brothel. It's a long shot, and I know there's no direct connection to Leon Thompson, but it might be the only lead we can follow if he goes to ground indefinitely.'

      'Thompson knows you're willing to pay top dollar for the information,' McSwain countered. 'He'll be in touch as soon as he has it.'

      'I'm not the only buyer.' John tried to keep his impatience from showing in his voice.

      'You could risk the entire operation by getting involved on this level.'

      'I won't get involved. I'll just observe.'

      Silence. McSwain knew how to use it, but John had been around him long enough not to trap himself by arguing further and giving his boss another opportunity to reject his idea.

      'Observe only,' McSwain said finally.

      A few hours later, John flew into Sydney. The hotel he chose offered the kind of anonymity he needed and was close to the hostel where Kate Maclaren was staying. Not that she was on his list for observation, but if the opportunity arose for using her to gain information he would take it. The way he was feeling about this case, it would be easy to ignore McSwain's order to observe only. He couldn't seem to push the image of the dead girl from his mind. Sometimes when he closed his eyes her face would merge with Jessica's and the guilt would rise high in his chest and threaten to choke him.

      The photos hadn't done Kate Maclaren justice, John decided the next morning. They hadn't captured the sheen of blonde hair that looked like it had no allegiance to a bottle. Her lips, full but not pouty, gave a man ideas that had nothing to do with carrying out boring surveillance.

      He watched the way her jeans hugged her hips and how she bunched her hands into the pockets of her jacket. She'd wound a green scarf around her neck and the wind whipped it over her shoulders as she hurried into the Loving Hand church on the other side of the street.

      It was a temptation to follow her into the building. Even though he knew the connection to his current assignment and the dead girl was a tenuous one, his instinct told him that at the moment this offered more than sitting around waiting for Leon to phone. He propped himself against a shop wall and waited.

      By the end of the afternoon John had noted that a lot of the people who attended the church also seemed to take advantage of the free tea and coffee offered by the drop-in centre at lunch-time. Like Kate, a small proportion of the church-goers returned to the church for the afternoon session as well.

      It was only as the last two people left and the entrance door to the church was being closed that John saw the man who had caught his attention in the photo at Toni's office. His well-worn jeans and baggy jumper were no different from the clothing of a lot of other men in their forties, but his movements were those of a man accustomed to using his physical strength to intimidate others. John watched the disdain on the man's face as he closed the door after the last two church members left the building.

      It took less than a minute for John to make his way to the narrow parking area behind the building. Just in time to see Nathaniel's sports car drive away.

      A door slammed shut somewhere above his head. Heavy footsteps sounded on the wooden stairs attached to the building's back wall. John moved back into the alley as the guard reached the ground level.

      It was easy to follow the man. But like the surveillance he'd carried out all day, it yielded no useful information. The man caught a train to Liverpool, had a few beers with some mates, spent an hour in the gym, grabbed a Chinese takeaway, and watched television alone in his unit before going to bed.

      John took notes and photos, went to the nearest hotel for a counter meal, shrugged off a woman offering more than he wanted to risk, and eventually returned to his hotel room to try to work out the possible connection between Leon Thompson's espionage links and a suspected paedophile ring.

      The next morning John watched Kate Maclaren again enter the church building, but this time he noted the way she strode down the street before changing her demeanour as she reached

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