As he entered, his newest recruit, Nick Kyriakos, was stationed at the front desk, his permanent lodging until Chandler was confident that the boy was capable of public duty. He had no need to risk putting an armed twenty-year-old out in the field, even if Nick had proved himself bright and respectful. A young man full of wonder, keen to please, keen to learn and keen to display his vast and unsettling knowledge of serial killers.

Tanya, his senior constable, and immediate number two, was already positioned at her desk. She was never late, as strictly bound as her ponytail. She did early shifts so she could collect her three kids from the primary school across town; kids popped out in quick succession during the five-year sabbatical she had only recently returned from. Chandler imagined it had been a clinical procedure for all three. It always was with Tanya, like a military operation. If he got promoted he would be recommending that she did too. She deserved it. Anyone who could balance kids and work deserved everything they got. He should know. He had two of his own. She at least had a partner to help.

Chandler slipped into his office. The air-con system had packed in again leaving the station feeling as sticky as glue. He took his seat and looked out of the window at Gardner’s Hill in the distance, the rocky, wood-covered mound, named after the town’s first mayor.

From this distance, the Hill looked appealing, trees enveloping the side visible from town tall, straight and rising into the sky, a lush green anomaly in an otherwise red land. Beyond the ridge lay thousands of acres of wilderness. The kind of wilderness that had always proved tempting for people to explore. But even experienced walkers used to extreme conditions found it difficult. It attracted those who wanted to find themselves. And sometimes, to lose themselves.

It was a typical day for Chandler, quiet and introspective. It was about to change dramatically.

A commotion drifted through the open door. A voice he didn’t recognize but a desperation he did. He tried to pick the accent – south, far south, maybe Perth. If so, the person – a male – was far from home.

‘Sarge, I think you should get out here,’ called Tanya. Her usually equable voice sounded disturbed.

Swinging his feet off the table, Chandler let his gut settle. It had expanded in the months and years since Teri had left, as if his body thought that the way to deal with part of him being taken away was to create more to compensate.

He entered the main office. Sitting at Tanya’s desk – the first point of call after the high-banked reception – was a nervous man who looked to be in his mid-twenties, his T-shirt and jeans bearing the evidence of what appeared to have been a substantial beating.