Sergeant Brandl was at her desk. She gave him a look. ‘Aren’t you off-duty today?’

‘Swapping vehicles, sarge.’

She grunted. ‘While I’ve got you—Vita Roesch was arrested this morning.’

Hirsch felt the easing of tension he hadn’t been aware of. ‘Where?’

‘Lightning Ridge.’

An outback opal-mining town, a place where people went to hide. Hirsch nodded. ‘See you at the Monday briefing, sergeant.’

‘Wait: where are we on Mrs Washburn’s horses?’

Hirsch knew exactly where he was on Nan Washburn’s horses, but he couldn’t prove anything yet. ‘Still sniffing around, sarge.’

He was approaching Tiverton, the Doors’ version of ‘Light My Fire’ blasting his eardrums, when his phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled over to take the call.

Joyce Gwynne, sounding frantic. ‘It’s Martin and Mrs Flann.’

Shit, bugger, damn. Brenda’s saying sorry to everyone she can think of, Hirsch thought, pulling onto the road again. ‘Two minutes away.’

He found Martin and Brenda scuffling, dragging each other in circles on the footpath. Joyce was trying to intervene, tugging ineffectually on her husband’s arms whenever he came within reach.

Hirsch piled out shouting, ‘Break it up, break it up.’ He barrelled in and strongarmed them apart.

Brenda was weepy, dishevelled. ‘I only wanted to say sorry. He didn’t have to hit me.’

‘Oh, I did no such thing,’ Martin said.

One of his few saving graces was neatness. If he’d been brawling with Brenda, you wouldn’t know it. Shirt tucked in, hair in place, face barely flushed.

Hirsch dropped his arms but stayed where he was, standing between them. ‘You both going to behave?’

‘Behave? I am behaving, more than could be said of this silly cow,’ Gwynne said.

‘Martin.’ Hirsch put some grit in his tone.

‘All I wanted was to say sorry,’ Brenda said. ‘I know I must’ve been rude sometimes, Martin. I’m very sorry.’

‘Rude? Try drunk and disorderly.’

This time Joyce said it, as harshly as Hirsch: ‘Martin.’

He swung around on her. ‘Stay out of it, Joyce.’

‘Not if you’re going to be like this.’

‘I came here…I came here…’ Brenda tailed off as if unable to get the words straight in her head.

Feeling a swift, protective tenderness, imagining her life just past and soon to come, Hirsch wrapped an arm around her shoulders and led her to the Toyota. ‘Sit here for a while. I’ll sort things out with Mr Gwynne, all right?’

‘I never…’ she said.

‘I know.’

Hirsch rejoined Gwynne and looked at him. Gwynne blanched. He said, ‘What, you’re taking her side? The woman’s a menace.’

Hirsch felt toxic in his soul and in his bones. ‘She came to apologise, that’s all. She’s genuine about it, can’t you see that?’

Apparently not. ‘Drunken cow.’

His wife said, ‘That’s unfair, Martin. She’s not drunk. She’s upset, and you didn’t have to hit her.’