‘I want my lawyer,’ said Murphy. This was driving him crazy, but you couldn’t show weakness around cops.

Doble watched him a moment, a faint smile turning his lips. He switched off the recorder. ‘You’re in over your head this time, aren’t you?’

Murphy refused to look away. He bared his teeth, knowing they were smeared with blood.

‘You know . . . I could help you out of this,’ said Doble.

There was a knock at the door.

‘I’m busy in here,’ shouted Doble. He hastily switched the recorder back on.

The door opened and Detective Con Badenhorst entered, the top two buttons of his wet shirt undone. ‘Wrap up your questions please. Pakinga and I need a chat with Mr Murphy.’ His face gave away nothing that Murphy could read.

A Maori woman walked in behind him. She immediately sized up Murphy, and he did the same. She was huge, and she looked hard.

For a moment Murphy thought Doble would argue, but he gave a sickening smile and gestured for Badenhorst to take the empty chair beside him. ‘I’m not sure how much good it will do. Mr Murphy has demanded legal representation.’

‘Have you found Jasmine?’ said Murphy.

‘We don’t have any more info than what Sergeant Doble has already told you,’ said Con.

‘They haven’t found nothing at all?’

‘Sergeant Doble didn’t tell you?’ said Con.

‘I didn’t get the chance to,’ said Doble. ‘He was being uncooperative.’

‘You found something?’ Murphy hated the desperation in his voice.

‘On the trail. A bag of marijuana, with a sticker that says THE CAPTAIN, and a bit further up a water bottle with blood on it.’ Con’s voice changed, grew a bit softer. ‘The bottle has Jasmine’s name on it. We need your permission to grab some DNA off her toothbrush to confirm it’s Jasmine’s blood —’

Jasmine’s blood . . .

Something roared in Murphy’s ears. He wrenched against the cuffs on the table, shouting profanity. He was barely aware of the words leaving his mouth as he kicked the chair over behind him, kicked against the metal legs of the table. ‘Let me go right this fucking second or I’ll rip out your throats!’

It took a few moments before he came back to himself. He stood panting and sweaty, his wrists bleeding, his temple pounding, his throat raw.

The woman righted the chair for him, looking for all the world like she’d enjoyed the show. He sat down heavily.

‘Not such a big man now, are you?’ murmured Doble.

‘Sergeant, give us the room,’ said Con. His eyes were trained on Murphy.

‘I think I’ll stay here,’ said Doble. ‘He’s a dangerous man.’

‘Mr Murphy is chained to the table,’ said Con, voice dry.

‘This is my station. I’m staying right here,’ said Doble.

The door slammed open. ‘It’s alright, Murphy, mate. I’m here now.’