Hugh winked at Con. ‘He’s a good man. God’s got a big plan for him. Now, gents, please come into my office.’

Inside, posters of motorcycles and mountains covered the walls, the bookcase was overflowing, but the desk was empty save for a laptop and a thermos.

Con took a seat opposite Hugh’s desk, his eyes taking in everything at once. Murphy remained standing. On his side of the desk, Hugh steepled his fingers and peered down at them. ‘Alright. Let me pray to begin with.’ He bowed his head.

Con, nodding, bowed his head.

‘Relax, mate, I was joking, just trying to break the ice,’ laughed Hugh.

Con shrugged. ‘Our father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name . . .’ said Con, finishing the Lord’s Prayer solemnly.

‘Amen,’ said Hugh slowly. Con caught his eye, and Hugh raised a thick eyebrow, then closed his eyes. ‘Okay then, my turn: Papa God, thanks for today, thanks for bringing Detective Badenhorst here today, and our good friend Murphy. I pray You give Detective Badenhorst guidance and strength during this investigation, and that You keep him safe from stress and anxiety, compassion fatigue, and anything else that might come with his job, such as post-traumatic stress . . .’

Con glanced up suddenly, but Hugh, eyes closed, kept praying.

‘. . . also, Lord, please help us find these girls, help Con find the sick and twisted soul who took them and bring them to justice. Be with those girls, Lord. You love them more than we do; You care about them more than we do. Right now, in this conversation, let Your Holy Spirit guide my words and Con’s mind so that he can . . .’

Con’s eyes trailed over the spines on the bookshelf, catching on one particular tome: Stress Disorders. He saw, for the first time, a framed degree on the wall, in golden tint. Masters in Counselling and Psychotherapy.

‘And be with Murphy. You love him, Lord. Let him know and feel that. Let him take comfort in You, even in this horribly shitty time. Amen.’

Con was shocked a pastor would swear. Murphy gave an annoyed sort of grunt.

Hugh reached behind his desk, there was the clink of glass, and he pulled out three bottles of ginger beer from what seemed to be a small bar fridge.

‘Let me guess,’ he said to Con. ‘Catholic?’

Con nodded as he accepted a bottle, but left it unopened on the table. ‘Catholic school. And my parents.’

‘Great,’ said Hugh. He studied Con, his eyes like cameras, recording his every move and twitch. Con shifted in his seat. Was this what it felt like when he did this to other people?

‘Can you tell me why you wanted me to come here?’ he asked. ‘You said on the phone you had something important to tell me.’