‘This isn’t anyone’s fault,’ she argued. ‘Well, it’s Matt’s fault. Let’s save our anger for fucking Matt.’

Rohan nodded, though he still didn’t look happy about it.

‘And the video only confirms what we already thought happened,’ Anita said. ‘As you said: no twists.’ She attempted a dry smile but her mouth was quivering.

‘Are you okay to drive?’ he asked.

‘I’ll be fine.’ Anita saw him looking at her hands, which were jiggling on the steering wheel. ‘Do you believe I’m a danger on the roads in my current state?’

‘I do. Why don’t I drive you home?’ he offered. ‘I can ask Walsh to handle things here and bring my car back later.’

On the half-hour drive from Lidcombe to Newtown, Rohan driving Anita’s little hatchback, they agreed not to talk about the video or about any of their mutual work stuff, given that it all revolved around people being murdered. They tried listening to news radio, but that threatened to add another grim layer to the mood. Then they tried an easy listening music station, but the wailing ballads with their cloying string arrangements made them both sick. Finally, Anita played the cumbia music playlist and chatted about her many cousins.

In the car park under Anita’s building, Rohan handed back her car keys with a small courtly bow.

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Very much.’

He smiled and shrugged. No problem.

‘Look, um, if you fancy some early dinner,’ said Anita, ‘I happen to have a freezer full of Chilean comfort food.’

‘Oh.’

‘Was that “Oh” as in “How do I politely sidle away from this shaky woman and her offer of a stodgy corn-based meal” or “Oh” as in “I would love to eat a stodgy but tasty corn-based meal but I’m not sure if it’s a genuine invitation or she’s just being polite”?’

‘The latter,’ he said.

‘Goodo. And it’s a genuine invitation.’

They headed upstairs, and Anita watched Rohan Mehta pace around the small living room of her flat making work calls. She liked the way he was in his police detective mode—steady, well-mannered, firm. She liked the way he scrunched up his face slightly to concentrate as he listened, and how every now and then he would nod or laugh softly at something the person on the other end of the phone was saying.

Meanwhile, Anita extracted a terracotta dish of pastel de choclo from the freezer to defrost in the microwave and then heat up in the oven. She assembled the most interesting salad she could out of the vegetable matter in her fridge.

By the time Rohan finished his string of calls, she’d opened some wine. By the time the food was ready to eat, they’d finished most of the bottle.