Finally, brushing two more snakes out of the kitchen, Murphy systematically searched the rest of the house. He found one more snake, already dead, hanging through the broken window. Around its crushed head was a note attached by a piece of baling twine: BRING OUR GIRLS BACK PEDO SNAKE OR YOU’LL BE NEXT.

He looked out the broken window, where two teenagers were now filming Murphy’s house. Running to the front door, he wrenched it open and hurled the dead snake at them.

Satisfied by their squeals and the way they sprinted away, he finally returned to Butch and gave him the all clear. The big man climbed down off the table, trying to hide a wet patch on the front of his trousers.

‘I pissed myself . . .’ he muttered, avoiding Murphy’s eyes. He gave a double-take. ‘What the fuck happened to your face?’

‘I’m fine,’ said Murphy. ‘Go get yourself cleaned up.’

Murphy’s phone rang while he waited for Butch to shower. It was Dave calling. He answered it. ‘Have they found them?’ said Murphy.

‘No, I’m back at the station . . . that journo you punched, he wants to press charges.’

Murphy slumped into a chair.

‘Don’t worry, I’m sorting it out. I’ve argued for reasonable self-defence, and Badenhorst is backing me up, surprisingly. I honestly can’t work him out. But he did give me a message for you: if you want to stay out of custody, and stay alive, don’t leave the house until he tells you to. He’s gonna organise for a regular patrol to go past your place as protection.’

Murphy stayed silent.

Dave’s voice went quieter. ‘That might make it harder to get this Skinner to come to your place . . .’

‘I’ll work it out. I’m not keen on running into another mob.’

Dave ended the call, and Murphy rested his head on the table.

‘Was that Dave?’ said Butch, coming out of the shower naked. ‘Do they have news on Jasmine? Did you tell him about the snakes?’

‘I’m gonna call Skinner around tonight. Is that an issue for you?’ said Murphy without lifting his head.

‘You want to sell some weed now?’ said Butch.

‘No. I need to know who he sells our weed to.’

‘You know he won’t tell us, lad.’

‘He will if we get him high enough. We’ll take him out to the shed – we still have some of his angel dust,’ said Murphy.

‘You want to dose him with angel dust? Shit.’ Butch headed down the hallway towards his bedroom to get dressed. ‘Let me know when he’s on his way.’

CHAPTER 17

ELIZA

Eliza stood in the doorway of the Limestone Creek Community Hall, now converted into the search command centre.

In her hand, crinkled tight, was a permission slip:

I give Eliza Ellis permission to join the search and not feel guilty.

Signed, E. Ellis