MURDER IS NEVER PRETTY ... EVEN WHEN THE CORPSE IS A BLONDE CHAPTER ONE I was cruising west along Great Eastern Highway, going nowhere in particular, waiting for the call. It was one of those nights. It was hot, the moon was full and the dregs of society were restless. Black storm clouds hung over the Perth hills to the east and we'd had a drizzle of rain. It was enough to bring out the smell of hot tar. It had been a long day and I knew it was going to be a long night. I needed a drink of good old Queensland rum but the wagging finger in the back of my brain told me I had to stay sane.