Con quickly turned away to check the phone he’d just lifted from Jack’s pocket – he needed to see who he’d been on the call to – but it was locked. Cursing, he handed it back to Jack. ‘Here, you dropped this.’

Jack took it wordlessly, still watching Murphy.

‘Jack, I’m gonna need you to come down the station,’ said Con. ‘You’re not under arrest or anything. You can drive yourself or you can come in the car with us. Me and Murphy.’ He nodded significantly at Murphy.

Jack swallowed. ‘I’ll meet you there . . .’

‘Great. Gabriella can drive with you, then.’

Gabriella shoved herself off Murphy. ‘Let’s go, then.’ She was flushed in the face: Murphy must have given her more resistance than she’d let on.

Con helped Murphy to his feet, feeling the man’s giant bicep pushing against his fingers, ready to break loose. He pushed him harder towards the car, a little rougher than he needed to. Murphy had interrupted his plans, now they would have to interview Jack the old-fashioned way.

‘What am I being charged with now, Badenhorst?’ snarled Murphy.

‘If you can calm yourself down for like, five minutes, then nothing, mate,’ said Con. ‘Are you going to do something stupid if I put you in the front seat?’

‘No,’ said Murphy, as Con opened the door to shove him in the front seat. Murphy, off balance with his hands cuffed, stumbled back against Con’s side before he found his seat.

Con walked around the car and climbed in the driver’s seat, watching as Murphy pulled his hands under his legs and back in front of him, still cuffed.

‘Behave yourself,’ said Con, pulling his AirPods out of the centre console. Plugging them into his phone, he dialled. ‘And don’t talk.’

The commander picked up on the fourth ring, answering her work phone even from her Blackstone Heights home in Launceston. ‘Cornelius,’ she said, her voice silky. ‘How lovely of you to call an old woman on such a cold, blustery night.’

‘Sorry, Agatha.’

‘Oh? You’re sorry? Please, what were you up to?’ She chuckled. ‘Preparing for another YouTube cameo?’

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ said Con.

‘Yes, you do.’ All false kindness left her voice. ‘Is Pakinga there?’

‘She’s bringing Jack Michaels in to the station. We think he’s a suspect.’

‘And who are you with, in that case? Please don’t say Jordan Murphy.’

‘Would . . . would it help if I didn’t say his name?’ said Con. He started the car. He saw Murphy fiddling with his handcuffs and he swatted at his hands for him to stop.

‘You have Jordan Murphy.’ Her voice was flat. ‘And Jack Michaels. And you’re taking them both to the station, even after Madison Mason just released a video declaiming their innocence.’

‘We can’t let her call the shots.’ Con had a growing sense that he should probably start lying.