“I’m not ready to release her.” Clark gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “Maybe she is tired and confused, but she’s all you’ve managed to dig up so far. Get her into a cell, get her to sleep and when she wakes up put her straight into a room with a psychologist. Search her house. I’ll organize a warrant. And you”—he turned on Amanda—“you’re banned from this station. I don’t want to see you unless you’re under arrest for something.”

“Ooh.” Amanda smiled, clapped the chief on the shoulder as she passed him, making for the door. “Don’t tempt me, Clarky. You know I’m a naughty girl.”

Amanda was standing on the steps of the police station when Sweeney emerged from the glass doors. The strange investigator was standing stiffly, facing away from the building, her elbow out at an awkward right angle from her body. As Sweeney approached she noticed an enormous multicolored butterfly walking the length of Amanda’s forearm, wings upright except for the occasional pause when it spread flat, seeming to want to blend with the vibrant tattoos crowding Amanda’s arm. Sweeney felt the humiliation and dread of the past few minutes shift slightly, not completely lifted, but resisting a definite push from the sight before her. Amanda turned her arm as the butterfly strolled over her wrist, onto her palm and settled there on the bare pink flesh, stark against the rest of her colored skin.

Amanda looked at Sweeney and shrugged, offering no suggestion for how the creature’s visit had occurred, or why.

“Do you think Stephanie’s covering for someone?” Sweeney asked, watching the insect on Amanda’s hand.

“Dunno,” Amanda replied with another shrug. “If she’s just confused, trying to question her further on why she’s confessed would be a waste of time. You’ll only tangle her mind into impossible knots. Leave it to the shrink.”

A taxi pulled up to the curb before the police station and a man and a woman exited, immediately presenting themselves as outsiders to the Cairns region. The woman was far too heavily dressed—long sleeves, and impractically formal in a silk shirt and slacks, dark patches emerging beneath her arms and at the center of her chest from the humidity. As the man got out of the taxi, the fronds of a short palm tree at the edge of the lawn brushed the back of his neck. He swiped irritably at the plant.

“Keema’s parents,” Sweeney said.

Amanda saw that Keema’s mother had the same immaculate, caramel skin and slightly upturned eyes. Sweeney swallowed hard, took a couple of steps down to intercept the parents on their march toward the door.

“Brian, Sefina,” Sweeney said, cringing slightly. “I’m Detective Inspector Pip Sweeney. I didn’t think you’d be here until tomorrow.”