She had been grateful when they parked their bike a little earlier, when the trail became too steep – the bumpy ride had made her queasy and dizzy, but she couldn’t let the concussion stop her from what she had to do. Three other motorbikes had already been parked there, with two SES volunteers and a farmer now trailing behind her and Darren. Each of those three was looking in a different direction: ahead, left or right.

‘I had no idea there were so many dirtbike trails through the bush here,’ said Eliza. ‘You got us here so quickly . . .’

‘Don’t thank me yet,’ said Darren. ‘It’s still a bit of a walk to the Lake Nameless trail.’

The clouds broke overhead, sun bursting down over them like a wave. The Bassian thrush’s song ended in a high-pitched ‘seet’, but other birds took up the call. Sudden insects buzzed around her, tiny flies with metallic blue bodies.

‘We’ll have to cross a waterfall up ahead,’ commented Darren, brushing at the flies.

Listening now, Eliza heard the rushing up ahead. Her heart lifted: waterfalls in this area were beautiful. ‘Lucky my boots are waterproof,’ she said. Silence built between them, until she said, ‘So you’re a constable, right?’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘Can I ask: how did you become search controller?’

‘You mean as a lowly constable?’ said Darren, chuckling. ‘Generally you want someone practical, knowledgeable . . . feet firmly on the ground, if you know what I mean. Characters like that are usually happy to stay where they are, even if they’ve been a constable for longer than their sergeant has been in the force. Not that that’s the situation in my case,’ he said, tapping his thumb to his chest wryly. ‘I’m just lucky enough to be a local. Grew up on a farm in Meander – my parents still own it. I’ve hiked these mountains many, many times. I know this place better than probably any other copper in Tasmania. That’s the reason they put me in charge of the search. It’s not my first search-and-rescue in the Tiers.’

‘You’ll find the girls, then,’ said Eliza.

Darren was silent as he walked, boots swishing in the muddy gravel of the track. By the time he spoke again, the rushing of the waterfall had grown so loud it almost masked his words: ‘The Tiers don’t like to let go of things, Miss Ellis . . . but we’ll do our best.’

They arrived at a shallow tributary, falling down a jagged dolomite rockface into a deeper stream below. They had approached the falls from the top, and Eliza saw the thick galvanised wire across the span, designed to be held as they crossed. ‘I’ve been here before,’ she said with surprise.

‘Could be,’ said Darren. ‘But there are many like this all over the Tiers, and they all look similar. Although in winter, the streams sometimes change their paths completely . . .’