He placed his laptop in the middle of the oak desk, beside the coffee machine, and his own bright LED desk lamp replaced those trendy golden lamps. When he switched on the TV it showed a re-run of House Rules; Con left it, the volume turned low, adding to the background noise of the radio.

His pistol he placed on the bedside table and he slipped a cricket bat under the other side of the bed. Finally, he took his much-lighter suitcases off the bed and replaced the bedcover and sheets with his own – navy, the same colour as the curtains.

When he was done, to his immense shame, his throat itched and his eyes began to leak. He rubbed them. It sometimes happened at the end of a long day. He ordered room service – a chicken parmi – that arrived in record time. He chewed it thoughtfully, mind on the case, then rinsed the plate in the bathroom sink before leaving it neatly outside the door.

He checked the thermostat and stripped naked. He left his damp clothes beside the bed and then walked into the open shower. As the water fell down onto the back of his neck, steam billowing around him, he unwrapped the complimentary soap and began to think.

Schoolgirls lost in the bush . . . schoolgirls taken from the bush? A string of disappearances decades earlier . . . a resurgence . . . a copycat?

His mind went back to the blood on the drink bottle, and Eliza’s testimony.

Eliza’s head injuries . . . Eliza’s shoes . . . the Oz effect . . .

He hadn’t wanted this case. The commander had told him that morning that it was probably just girls lost in the bush, that he’d most likely be sleeping in his own bed back in Launceston that night.

Of course he had been assigned to this case. He always got the cases involving teenagers or kids. Because he was good at them. When he transferred from Sydney, he’d just solved one of the biggest cases involving . . . well, he’d been too late to save anyone, but still, he had solved it . . .

The theories would come. They always did.

A transfer to Tasmania. Not even to the busy part of Tasmania – if the word “busy” could ever be applied to Tasmania. He needed the break, but he wasn’t going to give up his job. He was good at it. Even the commander thought so. She was the one who advocated for him to come here. Not a leave of absence. He wouldn’t leave. When he was doing something, it felt good.