‘And I’d do that so, what? You could spin another lie? I haven’t the power to throw you off the place, more’s the pity, but I can report you to the police, so maybe that’s just what I’ll do—’

‘Wait!’ He’d raised his voice into a bark of command and Tilly stiffened, casting a rapid look behind her. It was still early but there must be somebody stirring in the camp. She’d scream if he took a single step towards her, she promised her suddenly thudding heart.

‘Sorry, sorry.’ Connor must have sensed her unease for he made dampening motions with his hands. ‘I didn’t mean to yell, only you mustn’t ring the police, or tell anyone. I mean it, Tilly. Please, just let me explain. I’m not a crook, if that’s what you’re thinking, but it’s important that nobody else tumbles to the truth.’

‘Oh yes.’ She folded her arms. ‘I expect this is where you disclose that you’re ASIO or something, chasing a spy who’s made off with the blueprints for a new superweapon or a better set of pram wheels, maybe. If that’s the case, save your breath.’

His lips twitched involuntarily as he shook his head. ‘Nothing like that. I’m a Customs officer working with Sergeant Burns and a handful of other coppers trying to break a drug ring. We know the stuff’s coming in across the Straits, so there has to be boats involved, but it’s not being funnelled through the port of Darwin. Which is why we’re checking other options. Like Binboona.’ He took a breath and finished with a blunt pronouncement. ‘We have reason to think your husband is part of it. That’s why I’m here, because we have never believed that he’s dead. Now please, just let me explain.’

‘No,’ Tilly said vehemently for the third time. ‘Not drugs. Gerry wouldn’t do that. All right, he’s lied. I know that. He’s alive and hiding out, and he’s obviously involved in something clandestine’—she couldn’t bring herself to say criminal—‘but not drugs. I’ve never known him to touch them.’

They were sitting on folding stools under the flyrig at Connor’s camp. A small double-handled tin sat next to the fire, the edges of the water within it just beginning to bubble. Connor rose to drop tea leaves into it and lift it from the flames.

‘What is that thing?’ Tilly asked, distracted.

‘Quartpot. Stockmen carry them on their saddles. Quicker than a billy.’ He tapped the side with a stick, waited while the leaves settled, then poured half the contents into a tin mug. ‘There you go – sugar?’