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got.”
    “Brittany Dowton said it was on his left hand. I think the location has narrowed it down some.”
    “Yeah, well it could have been worse. You could have gotten fifty.” Jett leaned over the desk and scanned the names on the screen. “Some of those sound familiar.”
    “From Brittany’s description of the attacker and from the tattoo, I’m running with the theory our guy’s part of a biker gang. The tattoo search supports that theory. Three out of the five hits I got belong to members of the Redbacks.”
    Jett shook his head. “Surprise, surprise.”
    Lane took another sip of coffee and clicked on one of the names on the screen. A few moments later, the file opened.
    “Here’s the first one. Tim “Toothpick” Todd. A rap sheet as long as your arm for serious assaults, drug offences and robbery. Known associate of the Redbacks. Has a distinctive redback spider tattoo on his left hand.”
    He returned to the search file and clicked on another name. “Boris “Beefcake” Vukovic. Another prolific law-breaker. Did a stint in Long Bay for manslaughter. Just the kind of bloke you’d want to date your sister. Also a member of the Redbacks with a distinctive redback spider tattoo on his left hand. Last but not least, we have Draco Jovanovic.”
    Jett sidled closer. “Why have I heard that name before?”
    Lane compressed his lips into a grim smile. “He’s the president of the Redbacks. Surrounded by a club full of violent and lawless members, he’s risen to the top.”
    “What’s his form?”
    “The usual. Assaults, numerous drug offenses, unlicensed firearms, intimidation of a witness, the list goes on. Several visits to the big house.”
    Jett shook his head again, his tone derisive. “And yet, we keep on letting them out.”
    Lane frowned. The remark triggered an idea in his mind, sending a surge of adrenaline through his veins. He sat upright and turned to his partner. “Let’s print out the mug shots of all five and do an identikit up for Brittany. She might recognize one of them.”
      “Good idea. It might give us the break we need. I’ll get right on it.”
    “Thanks, Jett. I appreciate it. Make sure you throw in a few extra headshots so that we don’t get any hassles when this thing goes to court. I hate it when good evidence gets tossed out on a technicality.”
    “I’m hearing you, mate.”
    Lane reached for the phone. “I’ll call Clayton and Ellie and give them an update.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

    Saturday, January 27, 1:45 p.m.

    Clayton stared out the window of his study and tried to ignore the dread that clawed at his gut. Every minute, every hour that crawled past was another hour they’d lost in their search for his baby.
    The technicians had arrived and had made short work of setting up their equipment. Over cups of black coffee and murmured conversation, they manned the phones in the kitchen.
    The sound of muted laughter in the backyard beyond his study window drew his attention. The afternoon sun bounced off the swing set where his young sons played. Ellie stood nearby, staring off into the distance, her face stark with uncertainty and barely controlled panic.
    His heart ached. He hated to see her so troubled, but he seemed powerless to help her or offer her comfort. He was holding onto his own senses with an ever loosening grip. He had nothing to give her. The anger he’d felt earlier had long since dissipated, but he still couldn’t comprehend how she hadn’t seen anything. Or, at the very least, heard something during the abduction.
    From what he understood, Brittany had received a reasonable injury to her head. Surely the girl had screamed? Or, at the very least, called out? And yet Ellie remained adamant she’d heard nothing.
    It was no secret Ellie and Olivia had been butting heads. His daughter was growing up; she was struggling with the rapidly approaching onset of puberty. He guessed most girls got into arguments with their mothers when hormones were running