Ryder held the cup in his hand. ‘Frustrated by the lack of progress. She was considering putting out feelers about where she might score drugs.’

Flowers eyes widened. ‘What did you say?’

‘That it was a bad idea.’ Ryder recounted his conversation with Sterling. ‘It’s a town of three hundred people. It’s only a matter of time until she learns something.’ The thought of Sterling’s body floating down the Thredbo River like Scruffy Freidman’s often kept him awake at night. ‘So, what’s your take on this plane coming in?’

Flowers picked up his lemon squash, the ice clinking in the glass. ‘Even though Art Lorrimer was an experienced pilot, it was a massive risk. Ben Hoff said he would have been looking for visual cues to get his bearings as he came in, like the town lights, the pondage and spillway, because the airstrip is short, and it doesn’t have runway lights.’

‘Was he making an emergency landing?’

Flowers shook his head. ‘Alam doesn’t seem to think so. Not according to the preliminary reports anyway. Several people heard the plane, but no one reported sounds of engine failure. Judging by the heat of the blaze, he wasn’t short on fuel either.’

Ryder glanced at the elderly woman by the window. She was standing up now, preparing to leave. ‘It was a dangerous landing, and that was before he saw the tractor.’

‘That’s it.’ Flowers raised his eyebrows. ‘He must have had a good reason to risk it.’

‘Maybe he had cargo on board.’

Ryder reclined in his chair as the woman passed their table. She was tall, with shoulder-length silver-grey hair and expensive-looking jewellery, which seemed at odds with the armful of branded Vinnies bags she was carrying. She smiled pleasantly as she passed by. Ryder and Flowers nodded to her.

When the woman was out of earshot, Ryder leaned forward and spoke in a low voice. ‘Tell Harriet Ono to test the wreckage for trace levels of illicit drugs. If he had weed there won’t be anything left, but a half brick of coke would show up.’

‘You think he could have been the transporter?’ Flowers asked, his voice equally hushed.

‘It’s a long shot, and it’s probably just Freidman’s murder playing on my mind. Still, I can’t help thinking that a small plane landing late at night on a closed airstrip is suspect and warrants more investigation, and that’s leaving the tractor aside.’

Ryder paused as the bar worker spoke to the elderly woman. Flowers turned to watch.

‘Hello, Wendy. Where are you off to?’

‘Tumbarumba,’ the woman said.

‘Found a few treasures, have you?’ the barman asked, conscientiously polishing glasses.

‘I have managed to find a few things, yes.’

‘Well, you drive safely now.’