‘Pakinga is at Georgia’s house now, with Detective Coops . . . Because I heard over the radio there was an altercation at the Murphys’ house . . . Call it a hunch, ma’am. They’ve got no evidence, even though they’ve searched for his crop a half dozen times. Everyone local seems to know Murphy and his brother run the weed trade here . . . I’m about to speak with – well, I wouldn’t call it a mob exactly . . . I did hear they wanted to kill him on my way into the station, yes . . . I hate small country towns, ma’am . . . No, I’ll take him out by a back door . . . Well, it could be that the missing girls are hidden wherever his crop is . . . Of course. I’ll do my best to get something out of him, ma’am. I’ll keep you up to date.’

He ended the call. After a moment he said to Tran, ‘Catch all that?’

‘The guys down in Hobart call her “the Hellcat”,’ said Tran.

‘There are many names that would suit that woman,’ he said with fondness. ‘Do you want to watch from inside or on the cameras?’

‘Cameras. He might let his guard down if it’s just you.’ She stood up. ‘We really think he’s involved? His own daughter?’

Con hesitated. ‘There’s a lot of coincidences. Keep an eye on him and let me know what you make of him after.’

At that moment, a text message came through, from the same number as the missed call:

Hello, detective. This is Pastor Hugh. Can you please call me back on this number?

Con glanced at it, then stepped inside the interview room. Murphy and his lawyer sat across from him. He slipped the phone into his pocket. ‘Okay, Murphy,’ said Con. ‘Shall we begin?’

Murphy was pale and dark rings lay under his eyes, but with his heavy brow and beard this only made him look more fearsome. ‘You need to let me out of here. I have to join the search.’

‘You must have more pressing concerns right now, detective,’ said Dave. ‘You’re bringing petty charges against my client regarding weed. Shouldn’t you be examining a crime scene?’

‘We’re giving you a chance to come clean, Murphy,’ said Con, ignoring Dave. ‘The signs don’t look good.’

‘Your “signs” do not constitute evidence,’ interjected Dave.

Con pulled four photographs from his folder and placed them down on the table, leaving the last face down. The first three each showed a bag of marijuana with the THE CAPTAIN sticker. The one found on the trail, one from Georgia’s pocket and the bag with the three condoms that Kevin Mason had brandished in Murphy’s face barely an hour before.

‘Are these your product?’ said Con.

‘No,’ said Dave.

‘No,’ said Murphy.

‘This one was found on the trail,’ said Con.