‘Your hand’s in a cast.’

‘Yeah, but I’m not rowing over there.’

He wouldn’t look at her. One hand on the wheel, the other fiddling with little bits of rubber flaking off the gearstick. She smiled. All men were alike. Couldn’t talk about something serious and just look you in the eye. Had to be doing something with their hands.

‘Listen,’ she said. ‘There might be some questions about me soon. Some people asking about how I did things. What I did . . .’ She paused. ‘I did some bad things, bud.’

He nodded. ‘I know.’

‘So they’ll be asking. I might be fired. For sure I’ll be fired, really. Maybe even get arrested. We’ll see, though.’

Peter clenched his fist around the steering wheel. ‘Did it hurt?’

‘Getting beaten up in general? Or my wrist getting broken specifically?’

He winced at that. ‘The wrist.’

‘I felt it break. Like when you snap the spaghetti to make it fit in the saucepan.’

‘I don’t do that. That’s your job.’

‘Yeah. ’Bout time you learnt it now, though, right?’

Peter looked out the window. The back of his head so like his father’s. He spoke without turning. ‘You ever seen a dead person up close before?’

‘I’ve seen a few in car crashes, yeah.’

He breathed out. Turned back to her. ‘Alright.’

‘I’ll see you at home?’

He smiled at this. ‘Sure.’

She felt the urge to lean over and kiss him on his cheek. Instead of stifling it she gave into it. He batted her off but not before her lips touched his face.

‘Get off.’

‘Shut up. I nearly died—I get to kiss you all I want.’

Before he could respond she got out of the car. She smiled at him through the windshield as she walked to the boat. The coroner’s hands left his lap to help her on board. Garry, lowered the motor into the water and yanked the cord and off they went.

The two of them hauled the boat onto the muddy shore, Garry doing most of the heavy lifting on account of her arm. Garry was wearing a fishing shirt she was sure he’d bought especially for the journey. Lucky there was no tag dangling from the sleeve.

They walked along the shore. Sharon found the going difficult. She’d walk a small way and end up tangled in the scratchy, worthless branches. The plaster on the cast caught sometimes. Constantly having to tear it free. Good thing they soon came upon some shoreline that wasn’t as overgrown.

‘Where did they say they were?’ the coroner asked.

‘They said the side of the island facing Port Napier,’she said. When he looked blank she added, ‘Near here, I think.’

‘We could’ve landed closer.’

‘Didn’t want to compromise the scene. Thought you’d like that.’

They waited a moment. Sharon longed for something to eat. The coroner handed her a bottle of water from his back pocket. She gulped some down. They ploughed on.