Thoughts swirled around in my head but I couldn’t pin down any pictures of the sandpit and the cubbyhouse.

Then the detective leant in closer and asked another question: ‘Can you tell me why Bella has a cast on her arm and how you got that cut on your face?’

Watching over Bella. Always watching. Like a guardian angel.

Such an adorable child. So well behaved most of the time.

But she has started testing the boundaries.

Only in small ways. Nothing serious. Normal for that age.

Ready to sprout wings and fly.

Something to be aware of, that’s all.

To watch how she pushes.

To watch how her parents react.

9 MARTY

9

MARTY

MARTY JOGGED ALONG THE WIDE DIRT PATH SKIRTING THE RIDGE, yelling Bella’s name into the wind. He was surprised that Lexie hadn’t come with him—after all their searching together on the streets, he’d thought she’d want to keep moving, just like him.

An older couple and their three fluffy poodles were walking towards him. They veered to the left, giving a wide berth to the crazy man running in work clothes.

‘Please,’ Marty called to them. ‘I’ve lost my daughter. She’s only three years old.’

Their expressions changed, mouths open, eyes wide.

‘Up here?’ the woman asked, gesturing at the scrubby bushland that rolled up and over the ridge, then down again to fenced farms on the other side. Farms with large dams. She couldn’t get all the way over, not in a few hours. It’s too rugged. Some patches of land were open and easy to search but others were dotted with boulders, ditches and bushes. Thousands of places a scared little girl could hide. Why weren’t the SES people up here right now?

‘No, she went missing down near the shops,’ Marty explained. ‘But we come walking up here. It’s one of her favourite places.’

‘We’ll look for her on our way home,’ the old man said, rubbing his beard. ‘What’s her name?’

‘Bella. And if you see other people, please ask them to keep an eye out as well.’

Their concern re-energised Marty, and he sprinted along the path to the base of the hill. Would she try to come up here? Only four weeks ago, Bella had stood on the top of this hill, her arms spread wide, yelling out to the world: ‘I’m the King of the Cars-dul.’ At that moment, his biggest fear had been her speech.

Climbing up the rocky trail, Marty slipped and banged his hip against a fallen log. His black shoes—the ones he wore to work most days—had no tread on the smooth rocks. Flinging his jacket onto a boulder, Marty kept going, sure that he would spot Bella’s pink coat at any moment. Small trees grew densely along the sides of the track. Branches snagged at his shirt as he charged past.