‘What do you mean by that?’ said Murphy to Skinner, ignoring Butch. ‘All I did was fall asleep.’

‘Fell asleep.’ Skinner laughed. Butch was on his feet again and lumbering around the shed, muttering to himself and scowling at the walls. ‘You went apeshit, bro. Started talking about your dead wife and Jasmine.’

‘What?’ said Murphy. ‘I don’t remember any of that.’

‘Amnesia, mate. It’s part of the package with angel dust. We thought you’d gone to bed, or maybe you were off somewhere still chatting with your dead wife. Didn’t Butch find you on the ground? You probably passed out. You weren’t naked, were you?’

Murphy’s mind spun back. Waking up to Butch’s voice, freezing and wet on the ground, wrapped up in his hunting jacket.

Butch yelled at something invisible. ‘I can’t breathe, I need water.’ He smashed the line of empty beer bottles they’d built over the course of the night.

‘Butch, mate. It’s alright,’ said Murphy.

‘I’ll go get some water,’ said Skinner, ducking out of the shed.

‘There’s bloody tiger snakes climbing up the walls again,’ said Butch, tears forming in his eyes. ‘I bloody hate the bloody snakes, mate. Where’s Jasmine gone? I can’t lose her . . .’

Butch slumped into Murphy’s arms and began blubbering into his shoulder. ‘I gotta tell her I’m sorry. I’m so sorry . . .’ His hands gripped Murphy’s back. ‘There’s a bloody demon hanging from the ceiling. He’s showing me his ass. I’m gonna kill him.’ He pushed Murphy aside and groped for something that wasn’t there.

The door flew open and Skinner pushed a bottle of water into Butch’s hand.

‘Potion . . .’ moaned Butch. He began drinking the water, then nestled into the couch, still seeing things that weren’t there.

Murphy glanced at Skinner. He looked a little guilty – Murphy didn’t know if it was from remembering the incident with Jack or because of the angel dust, but one way or the other, Skinner was off balance. Murphy grabbed his arm and dragged him outside. It was now or never.

‘I need the list,’ Murphy said, without preamble. ‘Everyone around here you sell our weed to.’

‘You know I can’t do that,’ he said. ‘Goes against my code. Distance keeps politics out of it, stops people from going to the cops if things go south. You’ve got enough heat on you with that corrupt copper watching your every move. And everyone knows it. No one would buy your product if it wasn’t for me in the middle.’

‘Someone you sell to was in Cierra’s room —’ began Murphy.

‘I watch the news too, mate. She was taken from a mountain, not her bedroom,’ said Skinner. ‘Mate, your bush bud is the best around, so there’s a lot of people on my lists.’