Before leaving The Waterloo, I sent Lindsay a text message. 'Having dinner with a couple of mates at the Casino.' She knew I went there on occasions, and I'd led her to believe that I only had the occasional flutter. Whether she believed me or not, I didn't know. These days our lives rarely intersected; on weekends I was out on my bike, in the Casino or in my workshop and Lindsay was shopping, at the gym or on a social outing with her female friends.
On the outskirts of St Kilda, I headed to a secluded spot on the Yarra River I'd been to before. A woman I’d picked up at the Casino a few weeks ago had brought me back to her apartment. It was one block back from the river, behind a shopping centre and a small park. I figured there'd be few people, if anyone, there at night; I could prete
