Just as he reached to switch off Hansen’s phone, it rang. Hansen’s boss? Roesch? Hirsch slowed down and glanced at the screen. The caller ID simply said Denise.

33

33

HIRSCH PULLED OVER, spooked. He answered cautiously. ‘Hello?’

‘Is this…Is your name Hansen? Are you the police?’

Craig Washburn, sounding typically befuddled. Hirsch said, ‘Craig, this is Paul Hirschhausen on Senior Constable Hansen’s phone.’

Couldn’t get much clearer than that, but there was a silence, Hirsch reading bewilderment into it. He was bewildered. What phone was Washburn using? ‘Craig, where are you? Are the girls with you?’

He heard the scrape of fabric in his ear like a clamorous seashell: Washburn holding the phone against his chest? Then muffled voices laced with agitation, broken when a woman said, ‘Give me that, you idiot. Paul? This is Nan.’

Her voice cheery and bright, as if she’d just stepped in from watering the garden. Hirsch, wondering if he was in some kind of parallel universe, said, ‘What’s going on? Are you at home?’

More precise than her husband could ever be, she still gave an account that unfolded in disconnected stages with prompts from Hirsch. He was on the move again, one hand on the wheel, the other holding the phone to his left ear. Moving again because Vita Roesch had appeared.

As he’d supposed, Craig and the girls had walked south along the creek, eventually spotting Wayne Flann’s ute. They’d had no luck finding an ignition key, but Denise Rennie’s satellite phone, with only Hansen’s number in the contacts list, was in the glove box: another nail in Wayne’s coffin, Hirsch thought.

Reluctant to stay with the ute or return to the creek, they crossed the road, concealed themselves in the hayshed and called Nan to come for them. When she got there, they made a run for the car—just as Roesch drove past. She swerved in front of them. Got out of her car with a big fake grin on her face. Nan had the others on board by now—she shot through the fence and across the paddocks to Hamel Road.

‘Where are you?’

‘The girls’ house. We couldn’t think where else to go. That woman was right behind us. She shot at us, Paul.’

The house? Hirsch couldn’t see them defending a place with so many entry points. ‘Can you lock yourselves in a room?’

‘We’re in the car-shed. We managed to lock the roller door and the inside door, but she’s right outside. First she tried bashing the doors, now she’s trying to sweet-talk us. Louise says not to trust her. Is that right?’

‘I’ll say,’ Hirsch said. ‘Stay where you are, I’m a few minutes away.’ He paused. ‘Look, can you get into the service pit under Mrs Rennie’s car?’

‘Yes. Why? Oh…’

Right. In case Roesch starts firing shots through the shed walls.