‘Why’ve you got your home car? And you’re not in uniform?’

Because she didn’t want people noticing her retrieving Ernie’s car.

Instead of the truth she said, ‘I’m not working right now, just tying up something.’

‘I’m bringing beer,’ Jack said.

‘Bit early, isn’t it?’

Jack scoffed, turned back inside. It took him a minute to put on some pants, the dressing gown still tied around his waist as he exited and locked his home.

It didn’t take long to reach the fork in the road, past the cemetery. Neither of them spoke. Sharon turned left, found the boat turn-off.

‘What’re we doing?’ Jack finally asked. He swigged his beer.

They turned down the dirt road. The boat ramp and the river before them a slurping mess of brown. Weed and debris floating the length of it.

‘We’re collecting the car,’ Sharon said. She drove slowly, looking for Ernie’s car.

‘Why?’

‘It’s stolen, Jack. Need to retrieve it, return it to the owner.’

‘Stolen by who?’

‘That old man I brought in yesterday.’

‘Vernon Moore? The woodwork teacher?’

Sharon nodded. She meandered around the boat ramp and soon found the car. Front all banged up.

‘According to the witness,’ she said. ‘And Vernon also confessed to it.’

She didn’t turn the engine off.

Jack said, ‘So I’m driving your car back?’

‘If you wouldn’t mind.’

‘If I did, would it matter?’

Sharon made no response to this.

‘You have keys to this thing?’ Jack said, nodding in the direction of Ernie’s car.

She nodded. They both got out of her car and Jack walked around, sat in the driver’s seat. ‘Take it back to the station,’ she said. ‘I’ll follow you and then drop you home.’

‘I’ll wait to make sure you’re okay, then,’ he said, each word dripping resentment. He shut the door.

She got into Ernie’s car and reached over to the backseat. Opened one of the cardboard boxes, pulled out a tomato paste jar, found the weed. She kept her hands low but Jack didn’t seem to be watching. The product was probably all here, Vernon wouldn’t have taken any. She took a moment to check that all the boxes were full. The old man had been telling the truth.

You would’ve told the truth too, she thought, if you’d been so kicked so hard you’d been left bleeding. She wondered if his dignity had been hurt, her being a woman. Probably didn’t matter to him. Being made to feel completely powerless feels the same no matter who’s dealing the damage. That was the word too: powerless. She knew what that was like.

She started the car. Jack raised his hand to his forehead to form a visor. As she backed out, the sweeping arc of sun over the river made it look like it was illuminated from within, like a thousand luminescent fish had grouped together and spilled over onto the muddy banks. She drove up the dirt track and made her way back to the station.