Grinding the barrel of his pistol under the man’s jaw, Hirsch said, ‘Wayne Flann, I am arresting you for assaulting a police officer and for the murders of Denise and Nick Rennie.’

A twist of savagery on Flann’s face. Then it cleared, replaced by his usual sleepy-eyed charm. Almost as if he might seduce Hirsch into some harmless shared wickedness. ‘Jeez, Paul, didn’t mean to shoot at you. We’re mates, right? I’m out here looking for those kids. No one’s thought to search this part of the creek. Suddenly I hear someone coming and I think, shit, who’s that, the killer? Bit quick on the draw; sorry buddy.’

Hirsch ignored him. Took the handcuffs from his belt and manacled Flann, right wrist to left ankle.

‘Jesus, how am I supposed to walk?’

‘You’re not. You’re staying put for a few minutes.’

Hirsch patted him down briskly. Found keys, a wallet and an old Samsung phone in the front pockets of his jeans.

Flann smirked. ‘That how you get your kicks?’

Hirsch turned him over; nothing in the tight back pockets. Rolled Flann onto his back again, stepped clear of him and checked the Samsung. It was locked.

He tilted the screen towards Flann. ‘Password?

‘Fuck you.’

‘Something you don’t want me to see?’

‘Fuck you. Get a warrant.’

‘Wayne, I found the girls. You were recognised.’ He wondered, too late, if he should have kept his mouth shut.

As if unable to stop himself, Flann said, ‘The dugout, right? My old man said—’

Then his face shut down. ‘Time for me to go no comment. No comment from here till fucking eternity.’

‘Who was in the ute with you the other night? Was it Adam? Is that why he’s disappeared? Couldn’t stomach what you’d done?’

‘No comment.’

‘Wait here.’

‘No fucking comment.’

Hirsch set out to fetch the HiLux. First secure his prisoner, then deal with the Rennie girls.

Five minutes later, parked beside the creek, he shoved Flann up the bank and into the boxy prisoner-transport compartment in the back of the Toyota. Snug, white inside and out, no windows, no sharp surfaces. Stifling just now, but the car aircon was ducted through. Flann would survive.

Before locking him away, Hirsch twisted the cap off a bottle of water and handed it over. ‘It’s not a bribe, it’s not poisoned, no added truth serum.’

Flann showed a flash of bewilderment and curiosity. Then his empty, no-comment face reappeared and he merely stared at Hirsch, received the bottle with an abbreviated nod, and drank deeply—an unguarded action, and when he’d taken it from his lips, face regaining its composure, Hirsch snapped his photograph.

‘You cunt.’

Hirsch smiled, handed him a second bottle. ‘Make yourself comfortable.’

‘I get claustrophobic.’