Cries and boos echoed across the room.

‘Bloody mainlanders, trying to claim what’s ours,’ his interrogator accused.

‘Aren’t you asking if the mountains here are a con­tinuation of the mountains in Victoria?’ Jake said.

‘Yeah,’ the pub chorused.

Jake held up his phone. ‘Looking at this, they are.’

‘Nah mate, there’s a whole ocean between them.’

‘But water over the top doesn’t make any difference. It’s still a continuous mountain chain.’

The tone of good-natured ribbing that had filled the pub moments ago evaporated.

‘Ring-in bastard,’ one barfly muttered. ‘Shouldn’t’ve been him who got the job. Shoulda been that other Murphy kid.’

Jake was at a loss. ‘Surely they are what they are. Nothing we say about them will change that.’

‘Went to university to learn to talk like that, didja?’ A woman who looked as though she should have a cigarette hanging from the corner of her mouth sneered at him.

‘Heh heh. Bet you don’t talk fancy to the missus like that,’ a desiccated old man mocked Jake, a touch behind everyone else.

‘Nah, he’s single,’ Murphy sniggered. ‘Had his heart broken recently.’ He chuckled suggestively at the woman tending bar. ‘Bet you could fix him up, eh Jenny?’

‘Give it a rest, will ya?’ she admonished the gathering. ‘If you don’t keep it down, I’ll be forced to call the police.’

Raucous laughter filled the bar.

‘Nah, he’s a goer, this one, I’m tellin’ ya,’ Murphy chortled. ‘Bet you he got kicked outta his last place for being a ginger though.’

Another round of drunken laughter.

‘Like that Prince Harry,’ the not-smoking woman shrieked.

‘Hur,’ random drunk number four slurred. ‘You want a black piece of arse like him too?’

Murphy snorted. ‘Like that stuck-up bitch at the hospital. You’d be in there, I reckon.’

Jake forced a smile and sipped at his beer until he could excuse himself. Inside, he was seething. Despite his lack of professionalism and abysmal report-writing skills, Jake had hoped to make friends with the young constable. Now, he wasn’t sure how he could share an office with the little turd.

Employing an old device he’d used to escape the parties of his youth, Jake asked the leather-skinned woman for a smoke and a lighter and headed for the door.

Nothing was visible beyond the street lights, just swirling vapour. Jake lit the cigarette in case Murphy was watching, then sucked and blew at the acrid poison. His head spun; it had been a while.

The door opened. Murphy came through holding out his phone. ‘It’s for you,’ he slurred.

Jake took it from him with a harsh glare; Murphy stumbled back inside, oblivious to it.

‘Jake?’

He stubbed out the cigarette. ‘Nic? Why are you calling me on Murphy’s phone?’

He didn’t bother to ask how she’d tracked down Murphy’s number. That was one of her specialities.