The press conference began, Mitch on the steps of the police station, flanked by his cronies, his suit freshly brushed, staring the reporters down.

It was surreal to watch Mitch parade in front of what Chandler had come to think of as his station, even though he was nothing more than a cog in the machine. A bigger cog had taken his place.

As he spoke, cameras flashed and reporters jostled for prime microphone position, each trying to grab the perfect sound bite from the circus that had rolled into town, fuelled by social media rumours and the roadblocks put up.

Mitch answered the questions fired at him, focusing on each interrogator, a born politician. He was all smiles and nods, his hands moving decisively to try and instil a sense of assuredness into the proceedings. He was good at talking without saying anything.

‘As I’m sure you can appreciate, I cannot give too many details at this stage – ’

Because you don’t know too many, thought Chandler.

‘– because it is too early to discuss certain aspects of an ongoing investigation. All I can tell you is that we are currently detaining a pair of individuals who are assisting us with our inquiries.’

Cameras and microphones jostled back and forth in front of Mitch like seaweed on a heavy tide.

‘Inquiries into what?’ shot a question from the mass.

The question elicited another winning smile. ‘When the time comes you can be sure I will inform you of the details.’

One difficult question batted away. The next one was bowled.

‘Is it true that one of the suspects escaped, and was that why you set up the roadblocks? Did you in fact have a suspect on the loose, Inspector, and did you fail to inform the local population of that fact?’

Mitch snorted. ‘Nothing as sinister as that. The person we were seeking at that stage had no means of contacting us, and so it was decided that a series of roadblocks was the only suitable option to secure contact with him. So, nothing sinister. I don’t need the press spreading fear and rumours around town.’

As much as he despised Mitch, Chandler had to admit there was real skill in the way he handled the crowd.

Thanking them all for coming, Mitch reminded the reporters to respect the job that the police now had to do. He signed off by wishing them all luck in finding places to stay for the night, joking with one blonde, Port Hedland-based reporter in particular, that she might have to sleep in her news van. He’s making friends, thought Chandler, friends in all the right places.

But Mitch wasn’t entirely finished.

‘As a final note can I just point out that all future enquiries should be directed to Sergeant Chandler Jenkins over there,’ said Mitch, pointing to Chandler, ‘who, of course we all know is the head of this local branch.’