‘I’ll be out of your hair in just a moment. I just need to run both plate numbers and if there’s no cause for alarm, I’ll leave you and your guests in peace.’

‘Now there’s a statement to put our minds at rest,’ Eleanor Dunner said. She tapped the keys. The film producer was named David McAuliffe; an address in Crows Nest, Sydney; South Australian car registration. The Audi was probably a rental.

Hirsch didn’t have the capacity to check interstate plates using the Toyota’s onboard computer, so he called to ask Sergeant Brandl to run both sets.

‘I’m with Inspector Kellaher and the others in the incident room,’ she replied. ‘Soon as I can commandeer a computer I’ll call you back.’

Marooned with the Dunners, Hirsch made awkward conversation for five minutes, and then his phone buzzed.

‘Sarge.’

‘I’m putting you on speaker phone. The New South Wales plates belong to a silver Camry owned by Whiteman Photography, an address in Ultimo.’

‘Thanks.’

‘The other plates belong to a blue 2007 Holden with lapsed registration, last owner a used-car dealership in Hahndorf, since closed down.’

The Adelaide Hills, thought Hirsch. One of the main routes into the city from the eastern states.

He wandered over to the door for privacy, murmuring, ‘Those plates are currently fitted to a white Audi SUV, Sarge.’

Another voice cut in: Inspector Kellaher. ‘What name did the driver book under?’

‘David McAuliffe, said he’s here to scout locations for a film company.’

‘Is he alone?’

‘Yes.’

‘Sit tight. He could be the Passat driver our New South Wales colleagues were tracking. We’ll run a check for stolen Audis and abandoned Passats.’

‘I could have a word with him in the meantime, sir.’

‘Don’t be a hero, Sonny Jim. You could get yourself shot. Wait until I can get you some backup.’

‘That could take a while, sir.’

‘Not necessarily. I still have people finalising things at the Rennie house. I’ll call you in five.’

Hirsch wandered back to the desk, where the Dunners were vibrating.

‘Is anything wrong?’

‘Is it to do with the shootings?’

Hirsch made a noncommittal noise. ‘Could you google “Whiteman Photography” or “Philip Whiteman”?’

Disappointed, Eleanor Dunner complied. Hirsch peered at the screen with her: a logo, a selection of birds, kangaroos, skyscapes and wildflowers, a beaming, bearded man festooned with cameras in one corner. ‘Is that the man staying in number four?’

‘That’s him. Should we be worried?’

‘No. He’s not involved in anything.’

Rex Dunner said, ‘But the film fellow is?’

Hirsch was thinking of a reply when his phone buzzed. He said, ‘Excuse me a moment,’ and wandered back to the door. ‘Sir?’

‘A white Audi SUV was stolen in Balhannah a few days ago.’

Another Adelaide Hills town. Hirsch chewed on the information. ‘He’s in his cabin. I’ve got enough to—’