‘Yes,’ said Madison. ‘I did. I planned it all.’

‘What are you saying?’ said Kevin, turning towards her a fraction.

‘You found the backpacks, is that it?’ said Madison. ‘Won’t be long until it gets out then. Yes, we planned it. But something’s gone wrong. They haven’t made contact with me, Georgia is dead, and Bree didn’t get her backpack either. I think someone has really taken them, Murphy. Or, more likely, Cierra and Jasmine are playing a game I don’t know about. The little bitches.’ Her eyes twinkled. ‘One thing’s for sure: with Georgia dead and the other three missing, maybe our story has become true. We summoned the Hungry Man.’

‘What about Jasmine? Tell me,’ said Murphy. ‘All of it.’ He shook the gun again.

‘Say please,’ said Madison.

He ground his teeth so hard they creaked.

‘Go on,’ said Madison. ‘Say please.’

‘Madison,’ whispered Kevin.

‘. . . please,’ ground out Murphy.

‘No. I’m going back to bed. I’ll talk to the cops tomorrow, but I’m not talking to you while you’re in such a foul mood. Goodnight, Mr Murphy. Night, Dad.’

Madison picked up her phone and walked up the stairs. Murphy watched her go.

Nelly, he saw now, was awake, but hadn’t moved. Kevin was white as a sheet.

Murphy put the Glock back in his belt. ‘Your daughter is out of fucking control.’ He stomped out of the house, kicking over a potted plant on his way to the dirtbike.

A story was forming in Murphy’s mind. Georgia’s death was accidental, then Jasmine and Cierra ran – afraid of being in trouble – taking their backpacks and hiding somewhere. And for some reason Madison was calm, assured. It was agonising that she wouldn’t share whatever secrets she kept behind that smug little face, but that . . . that meant whatever had happened to Jasmine, maybe it wasn’t too bad.

Two emotions were warring inside him. His daughter was missing and that was like an illness, pneumonia: there was something blocking his chest and he couldn’t breathe and he was burning with fever. But this other thing now inside him: a glimmer of hope.

Jasmine and Cierra’s backpacks are gone, so they both made it from the Lake Nameless trail to the Fisherman’s Hut at Lake Mackenzie. As he drove back home on Jack’s motorbike, certainty set in. Jasmine is alive.

In the morning he would head to Lake Mackenzie and join the search that would surely begin there.

He left the dirtbike in the driveway, behind Butch’s Hilux. He could hear music from the back shed – Butch was still out there.

Murphy walked into his room, stopping in front of Jasmine’s crayon drawing. For the first time since Sara’s death, he kneeled down at his bed to pray.