Hansen became Denise Rennie’s point of contact. He talked her through ways to bring the family in. How their ongoing safety would be secured. How Roesch and anyone involved with her would be kept in the dark.

‘This went on for about three weeks. She was paranoid about wiretaps, call monitoring, email hacking, so I talked her into getting a satellite phone.’ A pause while Hansen coughed wetly. ‘I don’t know where it is now. It wasn’t at the house, and Lavau didn’t have it.’

Here Hirsch experienced an odd sense of time and place dislocation. Hansen hadn’t known about Wayne Flann.

Finally, Denise Rennie revealed her address and Hansen obtained a number for Sergeant Brandl, just in case. Then, less than a week later, the Hamel Road murders. Hansen was sent to South Australia to monitor Roesch and safeguard the girls, if they could be found.

Hirsch imagined Roesch’s eighteen months of gnawing anxiety—and then, the YouTube post, like a gift from god. She sends Lavau, but by the time he reaches the mid-north, Wayne Flann’s been and gone. Lavau would have reported back to Roesch, saying that whoever had shot Denise and Nick Rennie had either snatched the daughters or let them escape. What would Roesch have made of that? Someone in the organisation acting on their own initiative—one of her bikie mates going rogue? She would have told Lavau to stay put, keep his eyes and ears open, until her arrival. Her reason for being there? Ostensibly to safeguard the smuggling-ring investigation; actually to contain and mop up. And work out what the hell was going on.

‘She tried to seize Denise’s computers et cetera, but your people wouldn’t have it.’

Hansen’s voice grew weaker. ‘There never was a man in a silver Passat. Classic Roesch misdirection. But Lavau was part of it and I think she shot him. He’d have been a liability if you’d caught him that day. I remember she made herself scarce for a few hours.’

A long silence. Then: ‘Christ, I feel like shit. Head hurts. And I…ah…coupla things you need to know. I looked into Lavau yesterday. He was at the academy with Roesch. Twenty years ago, no contact since. But his file says he went to Barrenjoey High School. That’s a name you don’t forget…anyway, back when Neil Rennie was shot, when we were looking closely at everyone on the team, I remember one of the support staff…same school.’

Hirsch was making mental notes as he drove. Tell Hansen’s boss.

He waited for more from Hansen, but all he heard were the birds and the wind again, and, some time later, the sounds of his own feet scrabbling down the bank to find a dead man.