‘It’s not great news, but I thought you should know. My records guy found two other girls dumped on St Kilda beach in the five years before Lilith Haverstock. We traced them, but unfortunately both are deceased—one from a drug overdose, one from suicide.’

Jake slumped against the doorframe.

‘I’m sorry, mate, thought you should know. We’ll keep searching.’

Pete really was making an effort. ‘Thanks, and ah …’

‘Yes?’

‘Just thanks.’

‘No worries.’

‘Gotta go,’ Jake said to Pete and hung up.

As Jake returned to the main room, Murphy emerged from Kelly’s office and slapped him on the shoulder.

‘Come on, mate,’ Murphy said. ‘Boss’s given us the all-clear to celebrate. He’ll mind the shop, we’re both off the clock till eight tonight and then—lucky me—it’s your shift! Time for a beer.’

‘I don’t feel like …’

‘For fuck’s sake, come and have a beer.’ Murphy looked like he wouldn’t take no for an answer.

Jake needed to walk Kelly through the DNA evidence again. He’d clearly misunderstood which of the Campbell men had fathered which child.

‘Get out of here, Hunter, that’s an order,’ Kelly called from his office.

Perhaps he’d give him an hour or so to relax, then he might be more receptive.

*

Jake stood back to scrutinise the facade of Dunton’s most popular pub, The Empire. The two-storey, Federation-style building’s red bricks, green wrought ironwork, slick black posts and oversized balcony lent it a genteel air.

Shrieks from patrons of the beer garden to the side of the building—hidden from view by a thick hedge of red-tinged lily-pilly bushes—challenged that impression.

He’d never felt comfortable in a gathering of loud, rough people drinking—the unpredictability of drunken emotions and the potential for violence repelled him. At the same time he was a little envious of how much they were enjoying themselves.

By six o’clock the pub was heaving with wall-to-wall inebriated tradies, farmers and the occasional ‘little woman’.

‘I might head off,’ Jake said to Murphy after the second round, ‘get some food before my shift.’

‘Nah, stay for another one.’ He raised an empty glass.

‘So, whaddya think, Mr Mainlander?’

A high-vis-wearing man assaulted Jake with the alcoholic haze emanating from his mouth, and possibly skin, as he leaned over Jake’s shoulder.

‘About?’

‘Which side are you on?’

‘To do with what?’

A titter rippled through the gathering. They were apparently following this exchange with interest. Murphy was suddenly avidly interested in his phone.

‘Are our glorious mountains—’ high-vis man raised a wavering arm ‘part of the Great Dividing Range?’

‘I’ve never thought about it.’

‘Think about it now.’

Jake couldn’t see the harm in appeasing him. He brought up a topographical map of the region on his phone and scrutinised it for a few moments while the pub held its collective breath.

‘They seem to be,’ he answered.