There was again a paucity of detail over Heath’s escape, a brief mention of Gabriel at the desk before the graves, the encounter in the woods and fall. Waking next to Gabriel and running. What followed was a section that concerned Chandler, the rage displayed when accused of stealing the car, the rage and lack of remorse, insisting that it had to be done. The temper it exposed and the temper he still exhibited in the cell, the way he twisted the chain around his neck, reminding Chandler of what had been described as hanging in the cabin.

There were frayed edges with each story. Chandler needed to unpick them to find the truth.

13

2002

In a world capable of pinpointing everything from the tiniest atoms to sun-swallowing supernovae, Martin’s whereabouts remained unknown. Thermal body scans had proved ineffective, as had the transmitters. The eyes in the sky had uncovered nothing but barren land, and the simple trace of his phone had yielded zilch, the battery long dead. All that was left were human eyes, ears and feet, and the gruelling terrain had taken a toll on all of these.

It was the first break of the morning and Chandler had reminded the group to sweep the rest area thoroughly; not for clues but to scatter any creature eager for a fresh meal. This morning Chandler found himself sitting with a couple of police officers from Mount Magnet, drafted in due to their experience of searching for missing hikers. He had noted already how they didn’t chat as they walked, saving their energy, covering ground quickly and thoroughly, clearing an area in seconds before moving on.

Talk got around to how likely Martin’s survival was after a week out here. Agreement was that it depended on how well equipped he was and how sound of mind.

‘Fractious, from what we know,’ offered Mitch, ‘a mix of emotion, shock and anger.’

Jared, the Mount Magnet cop with a booming voice, interrupted. ‘If he wanted to go away for good, he could, easily. Give a reasonably fit person a head start of forty-eight hours out here and the chances of you finding them are slim. It won’t be the hunger or thirst that gets him, it’ll be the panic. Realizing that you’re in the shit but unable to do anything to solve it. He’ll get desperate, make a mistake, and then bang he’ll fall, break a leg and die at the bottom of some ditch.’

There was silence. Chandler was glad none of the family were there to overhear.

Mitch cut in. ‘How often do you find ’em?’

‘Maybe ten per cent of the time,’ said Jared, causing the volunteers to mutter amongst themselves. ‘Well . . .’ he corrected, ‘actually probably four or five per cent.’