It had been fifteen years since Caruso had last seen his ex-wife. They’d been at that stage of deciding when to start trying for a baby; instead she’d decided to leave. Him and the job. ‘I don’t want to say goodbye to you every morning with a baby in my arms, not knowing if you’ll come home that night.’ She’d left the police and snagged a position in the Attorney-General’s Department. Better working conditions, flexi-time, no direct contact with offenders, no dangerous situations but still feeling that she was making a difference: it was a good choice for her. He’d heard that she had the suburban life now—a new build in Gungahlin, a lawyer for a husband and three kids in private schools. He couldn’t have given her that. What he loved about policing was what she hated—every day was different and anything could happen. He’d had a stint with the national side, a deployment to the Solomon Islands and to New Zealand after the Christchurch earthquakes. His next move might be across to Drugs; then he’d be dealing with the cause of crime. Robbery, assault, homicide, fraud, domestic violence—so much of it was linked to drugs. Now kids could buy synthetic tablets online while ice was destroying country communities. It’d changed since he’d joined up but Caruso was in for the long haul; he couldn’t imagine working anywhere else.

‘You’re married to the job,’ his wife had said a hundred times. But it wasn’t quite true. He liked his life outside of work, needed the downtime. Last year, he’d taken his parents on a wedding anniversary trip back to Naples and overeaten sfogliatelle, gnocchi alla sorrentina and pizza napoletana with his second and third cousins. After two weeks, though, he was itching to be back at work.

A recent girlfriend had got him into mountain biking and now he had all the gear but not the girlfriend. She’d flown out to Cambodia to work on an education program for a year. Caruso wished that they’d met sooner—their relationship was too new to make promises over long distances. But she’d invited him to visit in a few months’ time, and he’d probably go. His sister and mum constantly asked if he’d put in for holiday leave yet. They really liked her but it wasn’t as straightforward as they seemed to think. She was married to the job and her next aid project would take her off to another country. At least he had the bike and a new community of ‘off-roaders’. Maybe he’d join a team for the 24-hour race. His brother-in-law joked that it was a cheaper mid-life crisis than a Harley-Davidson.