‘I was dropping clothes into the charity shop—Sheila was rostered on that day. I saw Deirdre and your neighbour Janice. The Bridge Club women were having morning tea at the bakery. My granddaughter’s teacher was picking up a coffee. A couple of the farmers—Stan and … I can’t recall the other one’s name. And all the usual staff in the shops and the doctors in the surgery.’

‘Wait—which teacher?’

‘That young fella. We met him at Grandparents’ Day at school. I don’t know his name but he needs a haircut. It’s over his collar. Scruffy blond hair.’

‘Do you mean Brendan Parrish?’

Marty checked in on Lexie; she was still asleep in their big bed. Curled up in the foetal position, his wife seemed tiny, defenceless. I’ll find her for you. I’ll bring her home and our lives will be happier than before.

Parrish—a paedophile masquerading as a teacher? The hospital’s child protection unit had seen some terrible cases, one of them a primary school teacher preying on a kindergarten child. Was Parrish one of them? The man had lied; said he’d been at school. Bella liked him, talked about him, thought he was ‘funny’.

Marty pulled on his Nikes and set out, taking the long route to the ridge, down through the paddocks behind their house and looping back around. No cameraman would spot him.

When they’d first moved to Canberra, Marty had got back into running. The cool air, the mountain view, the beat of his feet, the rush of endorphins—it was addictive. Now, as he jogged up the streets to the ridge, he noticed blankets and food containers placed by a few letterboxes. Warmth and sustenance left outside for Bella, in case she wandered this way.

After the community read today’s newspaper article, he’d lose everything—his reputation, his private patients, probably his job. When he’d been interviewed for the position, Marty had explained the situation to the hospital admin and his change of name. They understood the necessity for anonymity. Now, the whole hospital would be buzzing with the news. Elissa would hear the gossip and that would be the end of that. A crazy hope-against-hope sprung in the back of his mind. Maybe she’ll have sympathy for me? A friend in need and all that crap. No, sunny Elissa would be thinking the worst of him.

Marty scanned the bushes and the rocks as he jogged. Every ten metres, he stopped, cupped his hands around his lips and yelled: ‘BELLA!’

They’d all been taken from him—Bella, Elissa, Lexie in a heap again, his reputation in tatters. Marty clenched his fists and kept running, the blood pumping through his veins. That fucking teacher must have something to do with Bella’s disappearance. It would explain why the bastard lied about where he was on Thursday morning—and why the police had been asking Lexie about him …