“Who told her this?” Bran whispered harshly, grabbed his partner’s arm. “Jay, she knows. She fucking knows. And if she knows, someone else knows.”

“She doesn’t know it.” Jay spat on the floor. “She’s guessing. A good fucking guess. If she’d known it she wouldn’t have come here alone.”

“It’s hardly a guess when there’s so much evidence.” Amanda frowned.

“Right.” Jay shoved Amanda’s shoulder with his boot, knocked her over hard. “So where the fuck is the money?”

“Well, it’s not concreted into the garage floor.” Amanda gave a bloody grin as she righted herself again.

“We fucking know that!” Bran snapped. He gritted his teeth, growled. “For fuck’s sake, woman. He’s going to kill you. This man here is going to kill you.”

“No way,” Amanda said. “He wouldn’t dare. Jay’s smart. Aren’t you, Jay? You’re not going to kill me until you get what you want.”

“So tell us!” Jay screamed.

“No way,” Amanda said again. “What do you think I am, an idiot? If I tell you, you’ll kill me.”

Jay snapped. He grabbed Amanda by the hair.

I called Pip Sweeney. She answered in a couple of rings.

“Where’s Amanda?”

“I was just going to call and ask you the same thing,” she said. “I haven’t seen her all day. Her phone’s off. She’s not at the office. Are you okay?”

I hung up and got back into the big black car. Linda followed, confused.

“Where to?” Sharon asked.

“Just drive,” I said, tapping on my phone. I opened the email from Frankie giving me access to the motor registry database, but my hands were so shaky and sweaty I could barely go further, and I didn’t know what to search for in any case. I had a name. Kevin. I applied the search for Ford Falcon XF utes registered in the area of Claire’s abduction on that date and brought up the list of names, scrolled painfully through them. No Kevins. The car might have been in his girlfriend’s name. His mother’s. Anyone’s. There was probably CCTV footage of Kevin at the Lord Chesterton Hotel. But the police weren’t going to put out a bulletin for him, not on my word alone. And the media weren’t my friend right now. I called Fabiana. Linda was turned in the front passenger seat, watching me. When Fabiana answered her phone, I started speaking before she said hello.

“I need you to go through your list of attendees for today’s event,” I said. “Tell me Kevin’s surname.”

“What?”

“Please.” I held on to the handle above the car window, closed my eyes, forbade myself to scream at her. I repeated my request. Heard papers shuffling.

“There are no Kevins on this list,” Fabiana said helplessly. “What do—”

I hung up. Sharon was driving us east, toward the beaches. I went back to the car search. Stared helplessly at the names.

Doherty, Richard. Mount Annan. Ford Falcon XF Ute. 1988. DDB 451. White.