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By this time, Esmé had woken up. She yawned and stretched, but didn’t
speak.
“Lou’s in trouble,” said Keith, his
voice strained, but talking softly so he didn’t interrupt Jason. “He’s been taken by the Mount Macedon
killer. Well, we think he has. He phoned Jason just now. Jason’s on the phone to the police.”
Jason ended his conversation with the
police. “We’re going round to Luigi’s
flat now, and then we’re going to phone the police and tell them where his flat
is. Key, can we use your car?”
“Yeah.
C’mon. Let’s go.”
In a whirl of activity, the three of
them fled the flat.
The streets were empty. It was still dark and very chilly. There was a mist. The heater of Jason’s old Holden was erratic,
alternating between frigid blasts and torrid plastic-smelling gusts. No one noticed. All of them leaned forward as if somehow they
could by their very bodies urge the car faster through the streets.
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