Chandler hadn’t even considered applying at the start. Becoming a cop wasn’t in his plan. He’d been drifting along in CJ’s Grocery Store, stacking shelves and skiving out the back any chance he got. The only reason he applied at all was Mitch. And Mitch was only applying because of pressure from his family. His uncle had been amongst those who died. Chandler completed the application, partly in brotherhood with Mitch, and partly from curiosity over whether they would take him.

They were sworn in together in August 2001. He had stood shoulder to shoulder with Mitch, proud and astonished in equal measure, the shiny badges pinned to their uniformed chests.

After graduation they were placed in Wilbrook, together, firmly at the bottom of the ladder. Both of them would work their way up. Just not here. And not together.

Chandler sat in his office and stared at the phone, waiting for Nick to patch HQ through. He was dreading this; having to talk to Mitch again. He wondered whether his old friend had filled out from the pallid string bean with the unnaturally blue lips he’d known before. It was fully ten years since they had last seen each other, but through Mitch’s cousin who lived in town Chandler knew that Mitch had moved up the ranks since leaving for Perth. Not that Chandler had cared. Not until the dispatch arrived announcing that a new inspector had taken over in Port Hedland, one Inspector Mitchell Andrews. That changed things. Mitch was now in effect his boss. So far, circumstance and the arid desert had kept them apart, but now their worlds would collide.

The phone rang.

‘Inspector Mitchell Andrews, Port Hedland HQ, speaking.’

The voice was unruffled, comfortable in command. Behind it Chandler could almost hear the cogs in Mitch’s brain whirring. The man he had known had an unerring ability to compartmentalize his thoughts, to foster rational judgement. Sometimes this led him to be too rational and remove any feeling. But maybe the edge had dulled in the ten years since. Maybe Chandler should wipe the slate clean, revert to simple boss and subordinate. His stomach twisted into a knot that couldn’t be undone.

‘Sergeant Jenkins, are you there?’

Chandler realized he hadn’t spoken.

‘Yes, Mitch, I’m here.’

There was a pause from the other end. The voice returned – backed with indignation and a touch of menace.

‘It’s Inspector Andrews, Sergeant. You will address me as such.’

That answered that. Rather than dulling Mitch’s conceit, time had clearly exacerbated it.

‘Is your whole team there?’ asked Mitch.

‘No, it’s just us two . . .’ He couldn’t bring himself to state Mitch’s full title, his mind rejecting it, rebelling against such an egotistical request.

‘Assemble them and put me on speakerphone. I want to address you all.’