She groaned inwardly. She was thinking like a cop, not about how Ida Stevenson, the waitress on a working holiday, would react. Ida would call the police and report the break-in, or perhaps flee to the safety of a friend’s place. Sterling had a key to a motel room Ryder had given her. It’s a bolthole should you find yourself needing one.

Sterling stood up and shoved her feet into her furry, rubber-soled boots, glad that she slept in a tracksuit. Putting the Glock and phones inside her small backpack, she silently zipped it up then set about putting the fascia back on the oil heater. Wrapped in her warm coat, and with her keys her only weapon, she waited at the door and listened, more convinced with every passing minute that any young woman living here would flee rather than confront burglars in the house.

Another creak on the floorboard and she moved, sure now that the intruder was still in the house. Opening the door, she stepped out into the freezing night, every sense on high alert. She locked the studio then moved swiftly through the darkness to the car. The moment she was inside with the door closed she flicked the lock and held her breath as the engine spluttered to life. A flash of light from upstairs as someone came close to the window. Reversing out of the carport, she kept the lights off until she was safely out on the road.

Just before she turned onto the Alpine Way, she pulled over onto the gravel shoulder and unzipped her backpack. Double-checking she’d picked up Ida’s phone, she called the Khancoban police station. As she knew it would, the call was diverted to Sergeant Collins’ mobile.

‘Collins, Khancoban Police,’ he said in a gravelly voice.

‘Sergeant Collins, it’s Ida Stevenson, from the hotel.’

‘Yes, Ida, what’s the trouble?’ he asked.

‘Someone’s in the house,’ she spoke in a deliberately panicky voice. ‘They smashed a window, I think. I could hear them walking around upstairs.’

‘You’re staying in the Johnsons’ house, aren’t you?’

‘Yes. I’m scared it might be Rodney Garrett,’ she said. ‘He’s been watching me lately.’

There was silence at the other end, then, ‘Are you sure about that?’

‘There was a vicious dog in the front yard when I got home the other night, and then I saw him in my street when I was coming back from my run. He was just standing there watching. The dog was in the back of the ute, and I’m sure it was the same one.’

‘All right. I’ll drive by and check it out,’ he said with a weariness that suggested too many years on the job and too many late call-outs.

‘Thank you. I’m really freaked out,’ she said. ‘I’m going to stay at a girlfriend’s place in Jindabyne.’

‘Okay.’