Ruby was breathless but she was focused and clear. When she’d reached her nana and pa’s place on the dirt bike, Jye was gone. According to the grandparents, Wigney had turned up, demanding to take his son, so the terrified boy locked himself in the bathroom. When Wigney forced the door open, he discovered that Jye had smashed the window, climbed out and disappeared into the bushland. The father could see traces of blood on the jagged edges of the window pane, so he knew the kid was injured.

By the time Ruby got to the house, her stepfather had already driven off and her grandparents had called the police for help. But Ruby wasn’t going to wait around for the cops. She took off again on her bike, guessing that her brother had gone to one of their hidey holes. She found him near the Upper Pinch Road house, in a cave the two kids used as a cubby, a retreat where they kept supplies of lollies and bedding and toys.

Ruby didn’t trust the police and she didn’t think her nana and pa’s house was safe. But she knew Jye needed medical attention, so she brought him here on her bike, hoping to find Paula.

‘That’s good, Ruby,’ said Paula. ‘But we really must tell the police and your grandparents that you’re both okay. I don’t have my phone with me, so can you use the one on the desk?’

It took Ruby a moment to remember her grandparents’ landline number before she dialled. Then she held the receiver out so Paula could hear it ringing and would be able to speak to them. The phone rang a few times before Paula heard an almighty thumping noise coming from the door to the car park—someone kicking at the timber, then forcing the outer door open.

‘Jye! You in there? Jye!’

At the sound of Curtis Wigney’s voice, the boy froze and Ruby dropped the phone receiver onto the desk.

‘You got him in there, Ruby? I saw you on the bike. You got him, you little bitch?’

Paula lunged across to shut the consulting room door, but Wigney slammed his weight against it before she could close it.

The man was making wet growling noises in his throat and snarling the same words over and over—he wanted his son, he hated that little bitch Ruby. His pupils were dilated and Paula could feel the heat radiating from his body even a metre away. Wired up on amphetamines, she figured. Then she saw the rifle he was holding down by his side, gripped tight.

She only managed to say, ‘Please don’t—’ before he swung his arm out, thumping the butt of the rifle into her cheekbone and propelling her hard into the desk.