‘Is that unusual?’

‘Some people avoid going to hospital their entire lives. But there should be immunisation or dental records for the children who passed through the home somewhere. Not here though.’

‘Did your colleague get in touch about Amelia MacDonald?’ asked Jake.

‘She described what she saw on Amelia.’ Meena Gill’s voice had dulled. ‘I’d say we’re talking about the same mutilation as Ava.’

‘Amelia’s mother said the other girl from the home, Charlotte Murphy, visited Amelia earlier this afternoon. Any chance the hospital would have security camera footage?’

‘You’re wondering if these two girls might have had something to do with Ava’s death?’

‘If someone did that to me, I’d sure as hell plot revenge.’

‘I’ll get in touch with security, ask them to give you a call. They might have footage that can clear both girls of being anywhere near Mason Campbell this afternoon, at least.’

Jake was impressed. ‘You think like a detective.’

‘What do you think a forensic pathologist does?’

‘Touché.’

*

That night, in the dank surrounds of the station’s breakout area, Jake pushed through a mountain of forms related to the day’s events. Murphy’s latest foray into the art of the written word was excruciating, so he’d decided to fill out the critical papers himself. A pang of homesickness—and if he was honest, a desire to procrastinate—nudged him to relent and finally call Nic back.

‘I’ll bet you’re having two-minute noodles for dinner,’ she said.

‘Nope. Burger.’ He glanced at the congealing remains of a beetroot-stained bun and soggy chips on the tiny kitchenette bench. He should have tried the Chinese instead.

‘Had a chance to go climbing yet?’

‘Sadly, no.’

‘How’s the new job?’

‘One week in and I’ve got a suspected homicide, a related suicide attempt and—as of this evening—what appears to be a connected grievous bodily harm.’

‘In other words, you’re loving it.’

It felt good to banter with her again. ‘Nic, I …’

‘Can you at least tell me why you left?’

‘I did tell you.’ Jake bit down on his annoyance. ‘You just didn’t hear me. I got tired of feeling sick to the stomach at work every day. And it was my supposed colleagues making me feel that way …’

‘So you ran away?’

He wasn’t the only angry one.

‘I did not run away.’

‘There’s no need to shout at me.’

‘You’re not listening.’ He groaned with frustration. ‘I’ve got, what, twenty, thirty years of work to go? I want to enjoy them, not just grind through hating every moment. I need to figure out what to do with the rest of my life.’

‘And you had to leave to do that?’

‘I needed time to think. A change. I had to get away from Melbourne …’

‘And me, apparently.’

How did she manage to do that, every time? ‘Geezus.’

‘Well, explain why you didn’t tell me you were leaving.’

‘You would have talked me out of it.’

‘I … ah. That’s a fair point, I guess.’