‘I’m not at liberty to say, Constable Hirschhausen.’

‘She came here on her own? You didn’t place her here?’

‘No. We didn’t know where Denise had taken the family until now.’

‘Someone did. Someone called my sergeant and gave her the address.’

‘That,’ Roesch said, ‘is a puzzle.’

‘Has her landline history been checked yet?’

‘Yes. She only called local numbers. The Redruth clinic, for example.’

Hirsch brooded. He said, ‘May I ask who you are, exactly? Her original witness protection handler?’

A hardening of Roesch’s face, her nose and cheekbones suddenly sharper. ‘Do I detect a criticism, constable?’

Hirsch put up his hands in apology and, just as quickly, Roesch was subtly warm again. ‘Senior Constable Hansen is Homicide—the murder of Denise’s husband remains unsolved. I work major crimes including fraud and organised crime within the State Crime Command. That’s how I got to know Denise. We became very close. This is personal for me.’

‘It’s a shame Mrs Rennie—Reid—didn’t contact you again,’ Hirsch said. The regret that creased Roesch’s face making him feel clumsy and ashamed, he added quickly: ‘Did you find out how their first location was leaked?’

‘Constable, please. Don’t you think I’d have kept her safe if I could?’

Careful where you tread in your size tens, Hirsch. ‘Sorry.’ He gnawed on his bottom lip. ‘Would Senior Constable Hansen have known where the family was hiding?’

She seemed amused. ‘The hackles certainly rose between you two—sorry about that.’ She bent towards him minutely and grinned, a real smile. ‘I barely know Hansen, but for the time being we’re stuck with each other.’

Hirsch returned the grin, but he sensed she was trying to tell him something other than a version of the Rennie backstory. A warning about Hansen? ‘Thanks for filling me in. I don’t have much clout, but it’s good to know a bit more about what’s going on.’

‘Don’t hide your light under a bushel, Paul,’ Roesch said. ‘I know an intuitive copper when I see one.’ She paused. ‘You have told me everything?’

Hirsch glanced upwards, considered the question, and found an answer. ‘Er, yep.’

Roesch said, ‘The girls might need protection, wherever they are.’ She touched his arm lightly.

‘I don’t know where they are,’ Hirsch said, and wondered why he felt guilty.

21

21

ON FRIDAY MORNING Hirsch prowled the town, reliving the encounter with Vita Roesch as the dawn light dissolved into birdsong. Thinking he’d dodged a bullet. By much? What kind of man was he, anyway? Thank God she hadn’t stayed long. The air was soft and clean around him, but he knew the dust- and heat-saturation would come soon enough. Meanwhile it was almost good to be alive—if you drew on your senses, not your memories.