Today, the last of the autumn warmth had gone, and the sky was that dull, metallic grey, familiar to all of us who lived in this city by the Yarra. I shivered in my hoodie, and Jossie clutched a takeaway coffee in hands covered in fingerless mittens. On the river, two teams on police inflatable boats with outboard motors were setting up dive platforms. One was directly in front of us, only a few metres from Hobie’s pylon, and the other was further along, closer to the Aquarium.
We figured that if the murder weapon was indeed Hobie’s mallet — and the autopsy had revealed that the injuries to his skull were caused by a heavy, blunt object — the killer wouldn’t have wanted to hang on to it. He’d have gotten rid of it quickly, throwing it in the river right away. We were banking on him thinki
