A bell – trrring. I held open the door for Biddy, her riding helmet in hand, her riotous hair. An officer smiled behind what was probably bulletproof glass. ‘How are you both?’

‘Yeah, fine.’ I put the envelope on the Formica ledge between us, tapped it. Heartbeat, boom.

‘Oh, the post office is across the road,’ he said, laughing. ‘Only joking. That one usually gets a giggle. What can I do you for?’

I cleared my throat. ‘This dossier contains some disturbing information about a young man who’s been quite central to my life, and my wife’s. He’s been babysitting our kids. A boy and a girl. Seven, no, sorry, eight and five years old.’ Oliver’s birthday on the sixteenth of January – a new bike from Sarah and me, a Teach Yourself Spanish book from Zac.

Biddy leant in. ‘He’s not who he says he is. It’s all there in the envelope.’

The officer took a pen from a plastic holder, rolled it between his thumb and forefinger. He was clean-shaven, ripped. ‘So, you two are married, and a young man –’

‘We’re not married,’ Biddy said.

‘Beg your pardon … So, you two are partners, and your children …’

‘They’re actually Chris’s children,’ Biddy said. ‘With his wife, Sarah.’

‘My apologies.’ He laughed. ‘I’m in a bit of a carb coma – morning tea for a colleague who’s retiring.’ He yawned, two fillings, tonsils. ‘So, you two are friends, and you’ – he pointed the pen at me – ‘are married to … was it Sarah?’

‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘I’m Chris Flood. I’m married to Sarah Flood. Biddy’s my partner.’

‘Biddy Honig,’ she said.

‘Right, OK, I think I’ve got it.’ He wiggled the pen, grinned. ‘Now, you mentioned a young man …’

‘Zac Batista,’ Biddy said. ‘We’re not actually sure that’s his real name but that’s what he goes by.’

I opened the envelope, pulled out the paper. ‘It’s all in here.’ I flicked through the pages, holding them up to the glass. ‘Can I pass this through the gap to you?’

‘Yes, well, maybe in a minute.’

‘He’s been looking after my children,’ I said. ‘He’s at my house nearly every evening – not just for babysitting. He’s very close with my wife.’

‘Your wife … Sarah?’ He looked at Biddy, at me.

‘Yeah, Sarah.’

‘And the nature of that relationship?’

‘Which one?’

‘Sarah and … Sorry, what was it, Zac?’

‘They’re … I don’t know. Friends, I guess. I’m his friend too. I was his friend first, before Sarah.’

He nodded. ‘And now he spends a lot of time at your house with Sarah and looks after your children for payment?’

‘We don’t pay him,’ I said. ‘He enjoys looking after them.’

‘Right.’ The pen was still in his hand, his notepad untouched.