Mitch didn’t wave back, instead setting his crew into motion. ‘Roper, Darren, Flo, you take that desk,’ said Mitch, pointing to Luka’s cluttered workspace. ‘Yohan, Suze, Erin, you take that one,’ he added, pointing at Jim’s empty desk. ‘The rest of you, find any place you can.’

Chandler watched as the Port Hedland team set up base, stuffing Luka’s unfinished paperwork into a pile in the corner before whisking out shiny black laptops, jamming the ports full of electronic swabs and implements, the processors whirring as they started up, lights flashing like a control tower at an airport.

‘Do you want to set yourself up in the interview room?’ asked Chandler. The more doors between him and Mitch the better.

‘Oh no, that’s not necessary, Sergeant. We might need it. I’m going to commandeer your office.’

‘Right, I’ll clear some space.’

‘Clear all the space. We really don’t need anything you have other than the testimonies.’

‘You can’t come in here and—’

‘And what?’ said Mitch moving closer, the volume lowered but the invective increased. ‘I can do what I want . . . Chandler,’ he continued, dropping the formality but making sure none of the others heard.

Chandler felt like a dog being scolded by its master. He tried to retaliate. ‘And where do you expect me to go . . . Mitch?’

Mitch stepped back, undeterred. ‘Let’s not allow petty disputes to get in the way of this investigation, Sergeant. We’re all here to work together.’

‘Okay. What do you want me to do then?’ asked Chandler, testing that theory. If the man had a plan – and knowing Mitch he had already developed one – then he should be able to rhyme off what Chandler and his team were designated to do.

‘Let’s get set up first,’ said Mitch with a grin, before shouting across the room. ‘Suze, get on to the sergeant’s computer and rip me those two interviews.’

Suze, late-twenties in age but dressed like a forty-year-old banker, left her newly allocated desk and flew past them both into Chandler’s – soon to be Mitch’s – office. The black suit draped off her thin shoulders, the lapels of the white blouse flapping with each step. What was apparent was that in the years since they’d met, Mitch had grown adept at ordering his minions around. Whether he’d grown any better at listening to the advice of others was yet to be ascertained.