Aircon cranked high, Hirsch sped south along the Barrier Highway, passing the disused grain silos at the end of the little town, their shadows like blockish brushstrokes across the highway, then down through a shallow valley, distant, dirty grey hills on either side. A corrugated-iron hayshed here, a scrap of red farmhouse roof there, closeted behind cypress trees. Otherwise the world was populated by wind turbines silhouetted against the sky, wheat stubble, a tiny dust eddy on a hillslope that might have been the wind, might have been a farmer checking sheep. For now, Hirsch was calling it home.

Lifting his forefinger to greet an oncoming car—a kind of rural benediction that he’d adopted—he waited for the road to clear and reached for his iPhone. Shielded it from view, set it to record, popped it into the cup holder between the seats.

‘Denise, do you mind if I ask you a few questions? We might not get an opportunity later.’

A long silence from the back seat. Then Dr Pillai murmuring. Hirsch waited.

‘She feels pretty bad about what happened, Paul.’

Hirsch nodded. ‘I know. But it was witnessed, and there will be a hospital admission, meaning a bit of paperwork. Just general questions, form-filling questions.’

The woman answered this time, her voice a dry-mouthed croak. ‘Okay.’

‘What’s your last name?’

‘Rennie.’

‘And your daughter’s called Anna?’

‘Yes.’

‘Where do you live?’

Another long pause. ‘Does that matter?’

‘Paperwork, Denise. I need a street address.’

With an effort, the woman said, ‘Hope Hill Road, number fifty-eight.’

He’d been along Hope Hill Road plenty of times, probably twice a month on one of his long-range patrols through the dry, outlying sheep-station country. Hope Hill wasn’t a town, or even really a hill; it certainly didn’t offer much hope.

‘Are there others in the family?’

Another pause. This is a seriously private woman, he thought.

She said, ‘Ne…Noel, my husband.’

Had she been about to say ‘Neil’? ‘And what do you do for a living?’

Marginal country, he was thinking. Surely they don’t farm.

‘Noel has stocks and shares,’ Rennie said, stressing the name. ‘I have an online business. Gift cards, things like that.’

The internet would be pretty patchy near Hope Hill.

Basic ADSL? Satellite? ‘Have you lived there for long?’

‘No.’

She didn’t elaborate. Hirsch said, ‘And no other children?’

She seemed to find the question difficult. ‘No.’

‘Does Anna go to kindergarten?’

‘No,’ she said, her voice dropping to a hollow croak.

‘Do you usually shop in Tiverton?’

Dr Pillai cut in, probably sensing that Rennie was struggling. ‘Denise usually shops in Redruth, isn’t that right, Denise?’ She leaned into the gap between the seats as if to create a huddle of kind souls. ‘I first met Denise when she brought Anna in to see me. She gets ear infections, poor thing. How’s she doing, Denise?’

‘Good.’