I flipped through them. Ali Bashar. Nathan Bosanko. Jake Duggan. I noticed that Zac Henderson had been ‘terrorising’ his parents: swearing, truanting, staying out all night. Dean Hoegel, the dreadlocked kid who’d stormed off the jetty, had been sent by his grandfather. My gaze slipped down his list of behavioural problems and a familiar pattern emerged. Self-harming. Obsessive. Antisocial.

On the spectrum, I thought. Shaun’s tough-love approach wouldn’t do much for a kid like Dean.

Shaun had explained to me that his program was designed to imitate military basic training. He started by ‘breaking down’ the campers with uniforms, discipline and exercise. Then he built them up again with positive reinforcement and stress-management techniques. ‘We’re using methods that embed positive behaviour,’ he’d said. ‘We teach ’em trust. Mutual respect. Ways of controlling their emotions. We encourage them to be the best they can be.’

Judging from the notes in front of me, he was going to have his work cut out for him.

‘Mr Kollios, you are not required to make smart comments whenever you receive a command!’ Shaun’s voice was muffled by the walls of my office as he tried to impose his will on thirteen stroppy teenagers. Flynn was wailing in the distance. Parade drill hadn’t started yet. I wondered if it ever would.

At last I reached the entry for Darren King. Darren—Aaron—had been sent by his mother. He’d been doing a lot of drugs. Cannabis, mostly, but his friends were getting into meth and his mother was scared. She’d flushed his stash down the toilet one day and he’d assaulted her. Then she’d told him that if he didn’t go on Shaun’s camp, she would call the police.

Aaron lived in Cooktown. He went to the local school. I sat staring at the sparse collection of facts in front of me, searching for more clues. He had mild asthma. He was recovering from a cold. He’d been suspended from school three times since the beginning of the year, once for being stoned, once for being violent and once for being abusive.

I felt a leaden weight settle in my stomach. This was bad. This was terrible. I’d made a massive mistake. But wasn’t that the story of my life? I always trusted people who shouldn’t be trusted. My mother. My ex-husband. My friend Annette.

For ten years I’d been clinging to the hope that I’d made the right call by putting my faith in Aaron’s mum—and now he’d ended up in a boot camp for troubled teens.

I’d seen it coming, but I was still crushed.

The next few hours were difficult. Though the kids finally put on their uniforms, Shaun’s parade drill triggered a lot of clowning. As I went about my business, he kept bellowing commands.

‘Platoon—open order, march!’

‘One, two, right dress!’