‘Four girls don’t just disappear,’ he said sternly. ‘Don’t start getting weird on me.’ He pointed up towards the mountains, hidden by the weather. ‘We know that they’re up there somewhere. We’ll find them and then we can go home. And after that you can burn your sage and cleanse your chakras.’

‘Don’t joke about it,’ she said, slapping the back of his head. ‘What about Eliza Ellis and her head wounds?’

Con went silent, footsteps crunching in the wet gravel. ‘Maybe she tripped?’

‘Ah, of course, poor helpless woman just tripped over in the big scary bush,’ said Gabriella scathingly. ‘So, what next?’

‘We wait for the ambos to finish with Eliza and, when they say she’s ready to speak, we question her and then head to where the girls were last seen. Anything we find out in the meantime is a bonus.’

Suddenly it grew cold. Icily cold. White flecks filled the air in a flurry.

Con held out his hand, catching a flake. ‘What?’

‘I hear the cool kids are calling it “snow”,’ said Gabriella with false sincerity. ‘The SES say the Tiers are like an even shittier version of Melbourne: four seasons in one day. Also, that means it could get worse.’

The flurry of snow swirled around them, and just as fast it was replaced by cold rain again.

Gabriella shivered. ‘Creepy.’

In that moment one of the local constables came bustling into the command tent.

‘They’ve found something,’ she said, voice trembling.

‘Oh good,’ said Gabriella.

‘Ah shit,’ said Con.

CHAPTER 5

MURPHY

He’d been there at least three hours – it had to be mid-afternoon by now. Murphy beat his fists against the table of the interview room, the metal cuffs stoking his fury. No amount of shouting brought anyone to the room. He was cold, wet, thirsty, and blood from his nose had congealed in his beard.

Jasmine . . . Please, God, let her be okay.

Bang.

Let her be okay. I swear I’ll do better. I’ll stop dealing weed.

Bang bang bang.

I’ll stop being a dickhead of a dad . . .

The door opened and Sergeant Doble walked in with a folder of documents and a digital recorder.

Murphy stood, the chain around his cuffs catching on the table and holding his big frame hunched. ‘Have they found her?’

‘You’ve done it now,’ said Doble. He put the recorder on the table and clicked it on. ‘Where were you this morning, Mr Murphy?’

‘Answer my question.’

‘No alibi?’

He sat back down. Murphy wasn’t an idiot. He knew what Doble was angling for. ‘With Butch. Playing video games.’

‘Yep, of course. That’s always your answer, isn’t it, Murphy? “Playing GTA and shooting up cops.”’

‘Ask Butch.’

‘It’s serious this time, Murphy.’ He flicked the file he’d brought. ‘Your alibi is always the same thing.’