Sterling walked on, the thundering water gushing from the spillway drowning out all sound. The suspected murder of Lorrimer had overshadowed the murder of Freidman, for now, and she could understand how those tendrils had become entangled, especially with Lorrimer’s past drug convictions.

She stopped at the end of the spillway and stood looking out over the quiet airstrip. She’d taken this undercover job well before Lorrimer crashed on the runway below. Her assignment had been to gather information about a drug ring operating in the Snowy Mountains with a view to finding whoever had killed Scruffy. She had to remember that.

She retraced her steps and started running again before she cooled down too much. She was due at the hotel in an hour.

She saw the dog first.

It was standing in the tray of a white Ford Ranger ute that she’d never seen parked on her street. She’d spotted the vehicle as soon as she’d turned the last corner, and immediately began her counter surveillance. Thankfully, the wind had become gusty on the way back and she’d pulled up her hood, the drawstrings tight around her face.

Sterling ran on, closing the gap between her and the ute, grateful she was on the other side of the street. Closer now, she refused to break stride or turn her head or acknowledge that she could see Rodney Garrett leaning against the car door, his arms folded, ankles crossed. He was here to intimidate her. She’d challenged him yesterday, and he was going to show her no one was allowed to do that.

Drawing level, she stared at the bitumen, her skin crawling as she ran past. She’d met numerous men like him in the course of her work, though normally she’d have her gun and handcuffs. The dog scared her more.

A car was reversing out of the driveway ahead, giving her the opportunity to cross the road. When her feet hit her driveway, she was already unzipping her pocket and feeling for her key. She resisted looking back, even as she let herself in.

‘He knows where I live,’ she told Ryder, pulling her work clothes out of the closet and tossing them on the bed. ‘That’s a bit disconcerting.’

There was silence at Ryder’s end. She knew he and Flowers would be exchanging some form of silent communication in the car.

‘I got his plate number.’ She read it aloud, imagining Flowers plugging it into his phone. ‘The thing is, I don’t know whether Garrett’s dangerous, or he’s just being a dick.’

‘You should report it to Collins,’ Ryder said, ‘and don’t hesitate if you need to be pulled out, Sterling.’

‘Yes, Sarge.’

‘I don’t like it,’ she heard Flowers say.