Flowers unlocked the door and stepped into a cold hallway with patchy grey carpet. The hallway ran from front to back, its white walls scarred with scratches and scuff marks. To the left was a sparsely furnished main bedroom with a hastily made bed and a lounge chair that looked as old as the house. Behind the wardrobe’s mirrored doors were shelves containing jeans, sloppy joes and T-shirts. Three pairs of black pants and three white shirts hung from the rail.

Ryder flicked a spare wire hanger. ‘Work uniforms I’d say, and he was probably wearing the clothes that usually hang here.’

Flowers crouched down and examined the four pairs of shoes in the bottom of the wardrobe.

‘Anything?’ Ryder asked.

‘Nope.’

They crossed over to the lounge room where a brown modular couch faced a TV mounted on the wall. A ghetto blaster sat atop a low cabinet. ‘I bet this is probably full of CDs,’ Flowers said, walking over and sliding open the cabinet doors. ‘Yes, CDs and . . . here we go, an old flight bag.’

He pulled it out and dumped it on the arm of the lounge. ‘A birth certificate and some prescription repeats, the doctor’s name will be on that,’ he said, handing one to Ryder.

Next, he pulled out a small stack of business cards held together with an elastic band and flicked through them. ‘Dentist,’ he said, passing a card to Ryder who was already on his phone.

‘We don’t have time to go through everything now, Daisy. Bring it with us.’

Flowers moved on to the second bedroom. An unplugged iron stood on top of an ironing board, next to an empty clothes hoist by the window.

‘O’Day,’ he heard Ryder say in the hallway. ‘I’ve sent you a photo of a business card. Contact the dentist and request Lorrimer’s dental records, then send them through to Harriet Ono. Make it urgent.’

‘Definitely a man cave,’ Flowers said after they’d checked a couple of empty suitcases and three canvas duffle bags they’d found in the third bedroom.

‘We’ll get forensics to test those for trace elements,’ said Ryder.

‘There’s not one family photo in this place, no paintings on the walls, no books or even a magazine.’ Flowers looked around then walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge. The freezer was empty, the fridge stocked with beers and the basics. He scanned the bare kitchen benches and shook his head. ‘Not even a fruit bowl.’

‘His clothes would fit in the suitcases,’ Ryder mused. ‘He could disappear in a hurry.’

‘It’s creepy,’ said Flowers, ‘it could be any dude living here. Only what we found in that bag tells us it was Art Lorrimer.’

‘Right. His phone and laptop probably went up in the plane.’

Flowers trailed behind Ryder as he went into the bathroom. ‘He has no online presence either, I already checked,’ he said. ‘No social media.’