The chopper dipped even lower, skirting the edge of a cliff, the tops of the gum trees swinging in the downdraft. ‘You see it now?’

The body was just visible through the trees, stark against the cliffside. It looked like a dummy had been thrown over the side, tumbling right to the base, where it lay facedown in scrub.

Big breath in, slow breath out. He scanned the surrounding bush. ‘Looks like a trek to get there.’

‘We’re going to land over to our left, in that clearing near the river,’ said Dicky. Con saw utes and motorbikes assembled there. ‘There’s a team of Forensics and SES already there, waiting for you. They drove up the river track, takes bloody forever. Do you want us to touch down, or do you need to see anything else from up here?’

‘Swing by the body again. Show me the top of the cliff.’

‘Roger.’

They drew closer again. The rocky precipice was edged by the mottled trunks of snow gums, the bark shedding in strips of brown-red and light grey.

‘Dicky, any paths to the cliff through those trees?’

‘There’s something fluoro . . . do you see it? Just perched on the end.’

Following Dicky’s pointing, Con could see a speck of yellow colour. He’d taken it for a shrub, but saw now that it was too brightly coloured.

‘How close can we get?’ said Con.

‘Not much closer,’ he said. ‘But there are binoculars in the seat pocket.’

Con found the binoculars, adapted to the pitch of the chopper and focused in on the object.

‘What do you see?’ said Dicky.

‘I can’t be certain, but I think they’re shoes . . . side by side.’ Con pressed the binoculars harder against his face, but the pitch of the helicopter was too much to see anything more than a glimpse. ‘We need Forensics up there to check them out. It’s very important no one else touches them.’ He put the binoculars on the seat and rested his forehead against the window, eyes on the tiny speck of colour. He brought out his phone and called Constable Darren, the search controller, preparing to explain the details of what he’d seen.

The chopper touched down in the empty area beside a rocky, beer-coloured river at the bottom of the gorge. Con climbed down while dirt was still drifting through the air from their landing. People were milling nervously about – some of the forensics team, a group of local and imported police officers, and the SES workers, wielding chainsaws and slash-hooks.

And Detective Melinda Tran. She was short, and wore a leather jacket, jeans, and well-worn hiking boots. She had a hiking pole.

‘Detective Badenhorst,’ she said. ‘Great to finally meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.’

Con shook her outstretched hand. ‘Likewise. Welcome to the team – it’s a relief to have someone with your expertise. Let me tell you something, real quick.’