Yohan interrupted them. A yellow Holden had been seen near Lockridge. Going fast. Mitch ordered Yohan to get the word out to those already on the street. Almost instantly another report came in, verifying the first sighting, the police fanning out, Mitch in constant contact with his team, shrieking at the officers on the other end to catch Gabriel, then screaming at those nearby to keep the damn reporters back.

‘I’ve got him in my sights.’ A determined voice fought through the radio chatter. Tanya.

‘Where are you?’ butted in Chandler. He didn’t care if Mitch didn’t like it, Tanya was one of his officers.

‘On Butcher’s. He’s trying to steal—’

The radio signal broke up. Chandler pictured Butcher’s – a dirt road heading south, out towards the iron mines and unfarmable desert.

‘Don’t get too close,’ ordered Mitch. ‘Follow him.’

The signal returned; hard breathing and frantic motion filled their ears. A microphone rubbing on fabric. The voice cut in again.

‘I can—’

The call dropped.

‘Shit!’ Chandler looked to Mitch who was already on the radio, ordering all available bodies to Butcher’s.

‘I’m going,’ said Chandler.

Mitch nodded, then shouted at Luka. ‘Luka, get us a car!’

A minute later a siren parted the reluctant horde, drowning out the questions from the press.

As they were barrelling into the car, a voice spluttered over the radio. It was Steve Kirriboo, a miner and father of six who farmed a few cattle further along Butcher’s. His voice sang with worry. ‘Chand? Sergeant?’

‘Yes, Steve,’ said Chandler.

‘One of your guys – girls – is down out here.’

Chandler held his breath. Down . . . had she confronted him?

‘Chand?’

Chandler found some air. ‘Yes, Steve . . . she okay?’

There was no answer, Steve’s drawl lost in the clamour of radio communication.

‘Luka, step on it,’ said Chandler.

Luka obeyed, the souped-up police car searing through streets that were otherwise eerily quiet, everyone either indoors watching the TV reports or crowded around the station and church hall.

‘She better be okay.’

‘As long as she blocked his escape,’ said Mitch.

Chandler glared at him, the tarmac under the tyres changing into dirt, the rear end fishtailing with the sudden lack of grip.

A couple of kilometres up Butcher’s they found the Holden outside Chucker Nelson’s farm, angled towards the ditch as if forced to stop suddenly. The rear lights were on, the engine still running. As Luka pulled up behind it, Chandler was out of the vehicle before it stopped, other squad cars queuing up behind.

Just past the empty Holden, Tanya was propped against the foot of a fence post. She was alive, much to his relief, looking up at him in embarrassment, a narrow trail of blood appearing from her tight hairline.

‘Sorry,’ she said.

‘Never mind that, are you okay?’

‘Fine. A few bruises, a sore head,’ she said, resting against the post for support.