‘For what it’s worth, I agree. I think she’s protecting someone, and it may be whoever’s taken the girls. If that someone is not you, then I don’t know who it is.’

‘It’s not me,’ said Murphy firmly. ‘I would never sleep with an underage girl.’

He heard Jasmine’s voice in his head: ‘My father raped my mum.’

Shut up. No I didn’t, he thought back fiercely.

‘Everything about this case has changed, Murphy,’ said Con, looking away, studying the wall. ‘They planned to disappear. So I have to ask: do you really think Jasmine would willingly cut herself off? Her phone, the internet, all media? Her family?’

Murphy had a brief flash of defensive anger. ‘No.’ Then he slumped back in his seat with a long sigh. ‘Yes. She honestly could. She’s stubborn – if she decided she didn’t want to hear or read anything, she would make it happen. Once, in Year 7, she threw her phone and laptop in the river because she wanted to go without social media for a month. She went vegan for almost a year just because Butch told her she wouldn’t be able to handle it for even a week. She doesn’t do things by halves. She takes after her uncle in that way. Is this seriously what you brought me in for?’

‘No,’ said Con. ‘I had a very interesting phone call from Pastor Hugh earlier. He said he had information about Sergeant Doble, but wanted me to come to the church to meet with him. Given what you’ve told me about the sergeant, I thought you might want to come along.’

‘Are you saying you’re taking my word over another cop’s?’ said Murphy.

‘I’m saying I want you to come with me to church and see what you make of the pastor’s information.’

Murphy hesitated, then glanced up at the ceiling. God, if Jasmine disappearing is just Your sneaky way of getting me back to church, I’m going to be extremely fucking pissed.

CHAPTER 33

CON

The Limestone Creek Baptist Church sat alone on a rise, a lawn cemetery around the back. There was a brick chapel with stained-glass windows and a steeple, but attached to the side was a more modern, flat building built out of rendered brick.

Con knocked on the glass entrance of that building, peering inside at the carpeted hallway. When no one answered, he pushed the door open and walked in. Murphy trailed behind, eyeing the walls like they were going to fall down.

The plaster walls of the long corridor were lined with posters and framed photos, as well as bumps and scratches. It smelled like a church always smells – of sanctity and paper and food. It instantly took Con back to the church at his Catholic school.

‘Hello?’ he called. ‘Anyone here?’