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you?’
    ‘It’s . . . I . . . Audrey’s dead. Can you come over straightaway?’

Chapter 7
    B Y THE TIME I dressed and made it over to Leederville, it was nearly 2 am. I took Wal with me but left Cass deeply asleep on the floor.
    Madame Vine’s front yard was crawling with police and plastered with crime-scene tape. Every nook and cranny of the garden was lit by portables. Whitey stood at the front door, dressed in civvies and talking to my other least favourite constables, Cravich and Blake. A partially covered body lay not far from their feet. Even from where I stood I recognised the to-die-for heels peeking out from the bottom of the sheet. To-die-for . Now I wished to hell I’d never had that thought.
    One of Audrey’s arms was outflung and twisted and the dark shadow around her head had to be a pool of blood. I was glad I wasn’t any closer.
    Whitey saw Wal and me and came straight over. ‘What are you doing here, Sharp? Showing up for work?’
    ‘Yes, but not the way you think. Madame Vine called me to help with the investigation.’
    ‘You got a PI’s licence?’
    I shook my head.
    ‘Then I suggest you go home to bed.’
    ‘What happened?’
    ‘This is a police matter,’ said Whitey officiously. ‘I can’t discuss it.’
    My hands went to my hips. ‘I’d like to see my client.’
    ‘Your client,’ he said, wiggling his fingers in the air to indicate inverted commas, ‘is busy talking to police. Now you and your boyfriend need to beat it.’ He scowled openly at Wal.
    Wal made a noise in the back of his throat that could have been a cough. Or maybe a growl. He didn’t like being called my boyfriend. I felt the same way.
    ‘Boss?’ he said under his breath.
    I shook my head the tiniest bit, meaning ‘let it go’, and turned back to Whitey. It was hard to believe this arrogant git was the same sleazeball who’d rung me out of the blue a month or so ago on the off-chance I might want to have an affair with him. Or maybe it wasn’t.
    ‘Please tell Madame Vine I’m here.’ My voice had risen an octave. It was two in the morning, I didn’t need this shit.
    ‘Problem, Detective Whitehead?’ called out Cravich.
    Oh my God! Whitey had been promoted to detective, which meant he must have been undercover when I’d seen him here before – not a client!
    Fortunately, before he could reply a white government truck pulled up in the street. Forensics, I guessed.
    ‘Don’t move,’ Whitey ordered. He ran over to the truck, leaving us by the gate.
    I got out my phone and called Madame Vine’s number. She answered in a second.
    ‘I’m outside,’ I said. ‘The police won’t let me in.’
    ‘I’m coming.’
    At first glance, she seemed composed: still in work attire and full make-up, which hid her extreme pallor and bloodshot eyes. Once she was closer, though, I could see her trembling.
    ‘Can you tell me what happened?’ I asked gently.
    While she gathered her thoughts, I watched Constable Blake shepherd a half-dozen very embarrassed men onto the veranda for questioning. I wondered how many of them would be recognised by the curious neighbours peering out their windows at the disturbance.
    I scanned the line. No one I knew except for a guy I recognised from my previous visit. Mr Zegna Suit looked like he’d cornered the market on shame.
    A few moments later, the men were joined by a line of Madame Vine’s girls. The police made them sit a distance from the men.
    Madame Vine cleared her throat and took a breath. ‘I was in my office. Audrey answered the door to a caller. From what the police have said, there was probably no one there so she stepped out on the veranda to look into the garden.’ She gave me an imploring look. ‘I’ve told her not to do that. We get a lot of pranksters. More of late since the threats started. I’ve told her to open the door on the chain then shut it if no one’s there.’
    ‘Do you have security?’
    Madame Vine nodded. ‘Leonard had heard a noise in