‘I’ve told you everything I know. I’ve told you who held me captive and who tried to kill me. I’ve even given you a description – yet I’m the one locked up.’

‘You stole a car, Mr Barwell.’

‘And I explained why. I was fleeing from a murderer. That overrides any attempt to steal a car, surely?’ There was a pause, before Heath backtracked, realizing that he’d just confessed to a crime. ‘You can’t use that, you haven’t started the interview, or read me my rights.’ Sweat dripped from the tangled brown hair, sweat that was quickly swallowed up by a beard, which seemed to have grown a shade darker in the last half hour.

‘I already know about the car,’ said Chandler. ‘I want to know the rest. I want you to tell me your story. How you got here.’

There was a long pause as if Heath were deciding if Chandler could be trusted. It didn’t matter; in his present situation he had no choice. Leaning back, Heath grabbed his hair, twisting it even more out of shape before dragging his hands down over a face that was as tanned and weather-beaten as Gabriel’s. It was where their physical similarities ended.

Their stories, however, were almost a perfect match. Like Gabriel, Heath was out of work, broke and travelling inland to secure some farm work.

‘Did you have a name? A location? A phone number?’

‘What, ring ahead and book?’ said Heath with a snarl.

‘You must have had some lead to come all the way out here.’

Heath sighed in frustration. ‘I was doing what I normally do – winging it. Some picker down the coast tipped me that way inland was the best place to go, that most stick to the coast to move around easily but there’s too much competition.’ Heath looked at him. ‘But winging it’s not a crime. Is it?’

It wasn’t but it also made him less credible. Chandler needed more. ‘Go on.’

‘Well I was thumbing a lift out of Port Hedland when Gabriel pulled up.’

‘What car was he driving?’

‘I dunno. A piece of shit car. The colour of shit too.’

‘Make?’

Heath shrugged his shoulders. ‘It stopped. That’s all I cared about. Battered piece of shit or not, it was better than slogging all day under the fucking sun.’

‘Licence number?’

Heath sighed and closed his eyes. ‘If I can’t remember the make, what makes you think I’ll remember that?’

Chandler didn’t answer. Both Gabriel and Heath’s descriptions of the car matched, both were equally vague.

‘And you always hitch?’ asked Chandler.

‘Only if I don’t have a choice.’

‘You didn’t get any bad vibes about him?’

‘He was tall and skinny. Nothing I couldn’t handle if he tried anything. Introduced himself as Gabriel, travelling back from town with supplies.’

‘Anything else?’