‘Who knows what that poor child has been through? Did you see him in the living room? That was the first time he’d ever seen a television. And she’s got a nerve calling that bag of scraps she left clothing. I’m going to have to buy him everything.’

‘Sounds like he needs you.’

‘And how will I explain this to Mark? You know he didn’t want Beau here. But I was railroaded, wasn’t I?’

‘So now you want to tell Mark things?’

‘No more secrets. That’s what got us into this mess.’

From what I understand, a loose zipper and a boozy neighbour got them into this particular mess, but I don’t want to pour salt on her wound. And after one too many nights of her crying about his affair, I’ve learned that I’m not good at consoling a woman in distress. Nothing I say ever makes her feel any better.

‘Well, I guess you tell Mark you’re looking after him because literally no one else is. He’ll see Beau with his own eyes anyway. You better make sure to tell Mark and Dad at the same time so there’s not any more –’ She waits for me to finish ‘controversy’.

Abby’s in the bathroom when the phone rings, so I answer it.

‘Has the boy settled in?’ Sergeant Doyle asks.

‘How’d you know he was here? You know Maria?’

‘I know everyone and everything, son.’ He sniffs. ‘Except one thing: why hasn’t your sister pulled her husband into line? I thought I’d made myself clear.’

‘You did, absolutely,’ I say. My breath quickens. I’d figured we were in a safety zone until Mark got back to Brisbane. Maybe Abby underestimated Mark’s ability to juggle multiple stories.

‘Because a boy like that, who’s lost his mother and been left to run wild by a pack of hippies, needs a stable home life. I can’t imagine how he’d fare in a foster home if you and your sister wound up in jail.’

‘Whoa, slow down. Mark’s working in Alice Springs, and Abby is going to talk to him as soon –’

‘She’d led me to believe that conversation had already happened. But it hasn’t, has it? Which means she lied to me. And now –’

‘Not lied, a misunderstanding I’m sure.’

He pauses for a moment. ‘We had an arrangement. You and your sister haven’t kept your part of it. Your brother-in-law hasn’t stopped poking around. He’s sent other people up here to snoop, and they’re getting very close to finding the commune, which is un-bloody-acceptable.’ He shouts this last mash of words. ‘You need to take me seriously because I am not fucking around. I’ve been doing this job for long enough that I don’t need fingerprints or tyre tracks. Your guilty faces and a well-typed confession will be enough. Roberts has done your drive, more than once – with pit stops for arguments and spewing – and it’ll never add up. You and your sister ran that car off the road. And unless you –’