‘I think I’ll order room service and get an early night,’ said Con.

‘No worries,’ she said. She left him at his door.

Once he had closed the door behind him, he breathed a long sigh.

The room was sturdy, open, with elements of country homestead: brick veneer on one wall, a gas fire in a cosmetic fireplace, a line of wicker boxes that were surplus to use. It also had modern comforts, like a coffee machine, bar fridge, and a folding window into the adjoining bathroom, allowing someone taking a bath to watch the flat-screen TV across from the bed. The bed was king size, the carpet plush, the lamps golden soft.

It was part of Con’s self-care plan that he always stayed in the best hotel rooms.

His therapist was the one who’d suggested it. Con had never been the self-care type, not until the Jaguar case. Cheap rooms and surf clothes and basic essentials. Things were different now – a lot of changes had been made.

He lifted each of his three suitcases up onto the bed and unzipped them. For the first time all day, the tension in his shoulders eased.

First, he plugged in his faithful old radio, sitting it on the bedhead. The soft sound of a news broadcast.

‘. . . have begun a petition to instate a curfew for all young women in the Limestone Creek and Meander Valley area. The petition has received over 5000 signatures already, most of them from outside of the town itself, which has led to mixed responses from the community. Local MP Alejandro Tully has described the petition as both alarmist and sexist, but a small committee of concerned mothers . . .’

He lined up his medication bottles beside the radio. Sertraline, 200 mg. Temazepam, 15 mg. Mag phos, as required. Nexium, 10 mg.

He walked to the windows and lifted the curtain rod down off the hooks. Sliding the heavy grey curtains off the rod and folding them carefully, he pulled his own navy curtains from a suitcase and replaced them. Setting the rod back in place, he stepped back.

‘. . . meanwhile, the search has officially ended for the night due to bad weather. But dedicated individuals from the community – including extended family members and friends of the missing girls – have refused to stop their search. They will continue throughout the night with spotlights and wet-weather gear, against the strong advice of emergency services . . .’

The framed photographs on the walls – Australian forests and aerial shots of the Great Western Tiers – Con stowed in the wardrobe. In their place he put up a framed photo of his parents, a photo of his cohort from the academy, and a group shot of him and his Sydney mates. He stacked a few books he’d been reading on the dressing table, although he knew he wouldn’t get to them.