Halfway along the ridge, Marty left the track and followed one of the many paths that led down into a cul-de-sac. His Nikes pounded the footpath. His thighs pumped. His thoughts pulsed with the rhythm of his feet: Bella lost—thud—Elissa gone—thud—reputation destroyed—thud—Lexie distraught—thud …

When his mobile rang, he stopped and stared at the screen for ten seconds before deciding to answer.

‘Dad, thank God you answered, I’ve been desperate talk to you. Any news?’

Marty had been avoiding Victoria so he didn’t have to turn down her entreaties.

‘No, nothing.’

Brendan Parrish lived three hundred metres from the playgroup. He had photos of Bella in his house; he’d been at the shops at the same time she’d disappeared.

‘Please can I come down and help look for her, Dad? Pleeeeaaaase.’

Her begging tone reminded him of Bella asking for a chocolate ice cream.

‘The police and the SES are doing all the searching,’ he said, trying to sound calm. ‘They’ve got it under control. It’s better that we let them do their job. Stay up there with your mum and when … come down when Bella is home again.’

‘Is this ’cos of that Saturday night?’ Victoria demanded. ‘Has Mum banned me from coming to Canberra? You haven’t told her, have you?’

‘No, no, I followed your script.’ Marty struggled for a moment to recall the concocted story: they’d gone to a party with some teenage girls and sucked on helium balloons.

That Saturday night felt like last year, not last month. And the thought of his teenager in a house with those twenty-something-year-old guys nagged at him. It could have ended so differently. Or maybe something had happened? Clearly, his daughter was adept at lying.

‘You haven’t been in contact with those guys, have you?’

The slight hesitation told him the truth. Christ, he couldn’t cope with teenage stupidity right now.

‘Actually, Dad, Kimmy keeps texting him. But I don’t want to do it again. I told her we’d made a dumb mistake.’

Marty sighed. One taste of ecstasy and Kimmy was desperate for more.

‘Do you want me to talk to her?’

‘Yeah, maybe. Kimmy thinks you’re pretty cool now.’

‘Well, in the meantime, tell her it’s not worth risking her life for a quick high.’

That scumbag. An older guy trying to sell drugs to a teenager. Was that his modus operandi—give them one high for free, get them hooked and then start selling?

‘Thanks, Dad, love you—I knew I could count on you.’

Tears in his eyes, Marty ended the conversation. How could it be that his older daughter was coming back to him at the same time as his younger one had gone away?

With his eyes focused on the street signs, Marty turned left, then right, then right again. Number twelve. It glowed like a beacon for him.