It’s Constable Roberts. ‘Sorry to disturb you, Mr Scott. But I need to ask you about a few things your daughter said when we spoke yesterday.’

‘You’ve got Charlie, Scott Junior. My brother-in-law must’ve misunderstood. And, uh, I know you take your job seriously. Respect for that. But it’s Christmas Day. Can this wait until tomorrow?’ Why would Roberts be calling when Doyle has already laid down the law? They don’t seem to be sharing notes.

The kitchen is not as packed as the living room but still, these people are making a hell of a noise, flicking their ring pulls at invented targets, pouring dregs of warm wine down the sink, laughing and back-slapping, crunching on chips and peanuts. A line of kids, led by Sarah, elbows their way through the room to run into the backyard. I concentrate to hear what Roberts is saying.

‘Skye’s body,’ he says. ‘I can’t imagine anyone without some degree of compassion taking her out of the car, folding her arms –’

‘I reckon we’ve covered this.’

‘If someone ran her off the road then tried to make her comfortable but left her there, maybe that person wasn’t able to get her to their car – because it would take two people – or else there were two people who disagreed about what to do. Do you see where I’m going?’

‘Can’t say I do, no.’

We’re both less guarded, bolder, with Christmas drinks under our belts.

‘I think she was alone,’ he says, ‘and that there were at least two people in another car that forced her off the road, probably forced her off unintentionally. And I think one of those people was a woman, to lay her like that. And the driver might’ve been a man who didn’t want to get involved with local trouble since he wasn’t planning on staying. Does that strike you as a possible scenario?’

I fumble in my pocket for a cigarette but the pack is empty. ‘As possible as any other I suppose, but wouldn’t you want some evidence to back up a wild idea like that?’

I watch as Petey pours a can of lemonade into a hole he’s dug in the lawn then stirs it with a stick. He has two mates with him, who are adding fistfuls of grass and dirt.

‘Are you with your family today?’

‘I’m at my mother’s house,’ Roberts replies.

‘You’re from a big family?’

‘Eight kids.’

Catholic. ‘Well, I don’t want to keep you from them. And your girlfriend I suppose? She won’t be too happy about you working today.’

‘Hardly any cars drive along that road, and since you and your sister were travelling, and stayed in Chinchilla . . . I’m still unclear about why you did that. When you were so close to your father’s farm.’

‘You’ve met Abby. Once she’s got an idea in her head, that’s what she does. It was a night in a hotel, no biggie. We’d been fighting, not thinking straight. She told you that.’