This was not the time for a churn of supposition. Checking again for ejected cartridges, he made a rapid, more thorough search of the house: under beds, in wardrobes, behind furniture. Drawers and cupboards had been rifled in some of the rooms. He went back to the main bedroom: no men’s clothing or belongings anywhere. No sign that Denise Rennie was running an online business. He finished by photographing the bodies on his phone.

Then, as the light faded from the sky, he searched the outbuildings. No one in the boot of the little Hyundai or under the workbench. No one under the tank stand or in the implement shed. He entered the shearing shed. It hadn’t been used for years but the odours lingered: lanolin, sheep shit; the wooden rails and floor slats still greasy. A place full of shadows. He stood a moment, listening for the susurrations of children in hiding, fearful of the next bullet. Only silence. He went through the shed quickly, found nothing and began a circuit of the house.

The phone line was cut.

Hirsch photographed it, returned to the Toyota and radioed Sergeant Brandl. She listened, said, ‘I’ll get back to you,’ and ended the call.

Hirsch waited, darkness spreading around him, and ten minutes later Brandl was saying, ‘I’ve informed the Homicide Squad and police in Sydney—who, incidentally, got very heavy with me. Don’t touch anything, don’t poke about, don’t let anyone in. And have you found other bodies?’

‘Negative—but how many other bodies might there be?’

‘It was like dragging a state secret out of them. Last name Redding, mother Denise, son Nick, daughter Louise, daughter Anna. That’s all they’d tell me. You’re positive it’s the woman whose kid was locked in the car?’

‘Positive. She said her name was Rennie, no mention of other children, and she lived with her husband. Noel, Neil, one or the other. But there’s no sign of a man living here.’

‘Estranged? Tracked them down and snatched the girls?’ Brandl said.

‘Maybe. What happens next, sarge?’

‘Short term? I’m supposed to join you and make sure you haven’t, quote, fucked up the crime scene. We’re to wait for CIB from Port Pirie, and eventually a Homicide team from Adelaide will take over.’

‘Is anyone coming from Sydney? They wouldn’t get here before tomorrow afternoon.’

‘No idea,’ Brandl said. ‘See you soon.’

Hirsch continued his circuit of the house and outbuildings, thinking it would take Brandl an hour to reach him. Finally, jittery, restless, he gazed out, away from the house. There was one thing he could do before the queer half-light disappeared.

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