What it was, was another false lead, the plastic too old and degraded to have been recently discarded. They left the clearing, trekking on into the bush, guided by some indistinct rock cairns to a broad saddle between two rises, like a pass into the unknown.

As they reached the top the landscape opened out, the tops of the trees blanketing the ground, impenetrable but at least offering shelter from the unremitting sun. An overwhelming sense of isolation swept over Chandler, the view both wondrous and frightening. Not many people came this far, not even if they were crazy. He wondered why Martin would have come here. There were easier ways to kill yourself.

He reminded himself that it had only been a week. There was still a chance Martin was alive.

Taking his first steps down the other side of the Hill, Mitch’s voice came into earshot, ordering the volunteers to spread out. Some of them didn’t hide their irritation at the barked orders, but Chandler could see that Mitch didn’t care a jot. He wondered again if Martin could survive out here for a week. He wondered if Arthur could. If Mitch could. If he could.

11

‘Right, this is what you’re going to do, Sergeant Jenkins.’ The all-knowing, all-condescending voice came over the speaker again, impossible to ignore. ‘First – make sure that the State Highway Police have a description of the man we want.’

‘Gabriel,’ interjected Chandler, feeling the need to add something of value. He wished that Mitch would dispense with the formalities. He was acting as if they had never met.

‘Get them a good description, one that covers the fact that he might alter his appearance in some way.’

‘Done,’ said Chandler.

‘Most importantly, lock down the roads. The main routes—’

‘I don’t have enough officers to do that,’ said Chandler.

The response was calm. ‘Calls have been made to bring in the state police to help.’

‘That’ll take time, Mitch—’ Chandler decided to play the game. ‘Inspector Andrews . . . and Gabriel may be long gone by now. Blocking the roads could be bolting the barn door—’

Mitch butted in, his stringent tone making it evident that he didn’t appreciate his decisions being questioned. ‘We have to try and put some sort of lid on things, Sergeant Jenkins. After your mess. Letting a prime suspect just walk out of the station . . . no, worse than that, chauffeuring them to and putting them up in a hotel. At the taxpayers’ expense. Extending an incredible compassion to criminals.’

Chandler imagined the smug pockmarked face on the other end of the phone and decided to remind Inspector Andrews of a salient fact. ‘Gabriel might not be a criminal.’