Jack turned up the music in the ute and drove, his mind wandering to Zara. He wondered where she was now. He knew she’d gone back to Adelaide for a couple of weeks, for work. She’d told him that when he’d bumped into her at the roadhouse a few days before she was about to leave. He wondered if he should get Dave to contact her to make sure she knew that he wasn’t to be approached as there was some chance she could turn up at a protest he was at. Still, maybe not. He didn’t really know how it was going to play out. He hoped that with the beard and a hat pulled down over his face, she wouldn’t recognise him, even if she did end up at the same protest.

He’d offered to do something to help her mum out, but Zara had said she thought they had it sorted. Then she’d given him a gentle punch on the arm.

‘Thanks for the very vague info about Sophie Grawd.’

He smiled as he remembered the way he’d rearranged his face into a deadpan expression. ‘I didn’t give you anything you couldn’t have found out yourself as a good journalist,’ he’d said.

Zara had grinned widely. ‘You keep telling yourself that.’ They’d said their goodbyes and Jack had driven away. As he’d looked in the rear-vision mirror he’d seen Karl pull up and get out. Then he’d seen them hugging and he’d looked forward again, not wanting to see more.

Jack dumped his duffle bag in the room he had been allocated on the second floor of the police college and then went in search of the gym. It wouldn’t hurt to go a few rounds with a boxing bag.

Gloving up, he tried a few test jabs then punched the bag hard. Pummel, pummel, pummel. He pretended he was in a protest and he had to defend himself. Sweat dripped off his forehead but he continued to punch.

After ten minutes his arms were aching and he slowed down, before getting on the treadmill and running a couple of kilometres. He realised he’d missed the gym. Training at footy with the boys or playing cricket during the summer didn’t give him the workout he liked. He loved the hard physicality of boxing and weights. It made his blood pump and cleared his head. Maybe he’d get a home gym when he went back to Barker. The easy, slow country life had made a difference to his fitness.

Slowing down to a jog, he grabbed his towel and put it over his head to wipe the sweat away.

‘You must be the new bloke?’

Jack got off the treadmill and draped his towel around his shoulders. ‘Not sure about “new bloke”, but here to do a bit of training.’ He held out his hand. ‘Jack.’