‘Any of the girls could’ve dropped it,’ said Dave. ‘Hell, one of the teachers could’ve dropped it, or some other hiker.’

‘This one, as we know,’ Con tapped on the photo, ‘was found in Cierra Mason’s room. With condoms inside.’

‘Allegedly,’ said Dave.

Con tapped another photo, watching Murphy’s face. ‘This one was found in Georgia Lenah’s pocket.’

No reaction. Murphy wasn’t even looking at the photos, his eyes were piercingly focused on Con.

‘And these . . .’ Con turned over the final photograph. It showed a pair of running shoes, fluoro yellow, sitting on a rock. The laces were neatly tied up, a pair of damp socks balled up beside them. ‘These are Georgia’s shoes, found at the top of the cliff from which she fell.’

That got Murphy’s attention. He looked down at the photo.

Silence filled the room.

‘And what does this have to do with Murphy?’ said Dave belatedly.

Con didn’t reply. He scanned Murphy’s face for any spark of recognition.

‘Why are they just sitting there . . .?’ Murphy picked up the photo. ‘Why are they tied up?’ His hands shook. ‘What else did you find?’

‘Where have you hidden your crop?’ said Con.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ said Murphy, eyes still on the photo. ‘Did you find anything else up there? Why are they bloody tied like that? I thought you said she fell? Did she jump? Was she pushed?’

‘Your marijuana crop. Where is it, Murphy? Your drying room? Your storage?’

‘Ah, so as we expected, you have no actual evidence for the charges you’re bringing?’ said Dave. ‘I imagine my client is free to leave, in that case?’

‘I need to know, mate,’ said Con, ignoring Dave. ‘Forensics have proven that all the marijuana came from the same plant strain, as if the common sticker wasn’t enough. If it’s yours, Murphy, I need to know now.’ He leaned forward. ‘If I’m forced to find out another way, it’ll look even worse for you.’

‘Like you haven’t set him up to take the fall either way,’ said Dave scathingly. ‘We are very familiar with the way “justice” works around here.’