The police were at the tip within minutes: a siren and flashing blue lights. Fergus was driving, his assistant, Ken, in the passenger seat. Leon met them at the gate while Shane waited by the excavator, pacing with anxiety and tension.

Fergus rolled down his window. ‘I’ve got the key for the excavator,’ he said. ‘Picked it up from the tip manager on the way.’

By the sheepish look on his face, Leon knew Fergus was feeling guilty about his son’s role in this drama. Good, Leon thought. Hopefully Jaden would learn a lesson and leave Max alone from now on—that was the benefit of things coming out in the open. ‘Shane’s waiting.’ Leon said. ‘He’s not happy about almost losing his son.’

The big man nodded uncomfortably. ‘I don’t blame him. Awful when your kid goes missing.’

Their eyes connected. They both knew Fergus would have to tread carefully.

Leon directed the police through the tip to the excavator where Shane hovered impatiently. By torchlight, Fergus unlocked the door of the machine and swung it open. Leon couldn’t see any movement in the cab, but there was blood. Lots of it. Fergus went to mount the steps but Shane grasped his arm and held him back. ‘Don’t touch him, you bastard. That’s my boy. Your son did this to him.’

Before the situation could escalate, Leon pushed through. ‘Let me do it. I’m first-aid trained.’ He leaned into the frigid excavator where boy and dog were huddled together. Reaching over Bonnie, he groped Max’s neck, feeling for a pulse. The kid’s skin was cold and moist, clammy like plasticine. What if he was dead? What would they tell Wendy? Leon laid his fingers in the groove where the kid’s pulse ought to be and found a weak, thready beat. ‘He’s alive but hypothermic. We need to call the ambos. Shane, are you ready to take him?’ Leon couldn’t disentangle the boy from the dog. ‘Hang on,’ he said, ‘Bonnie has to come first—she’s on top of him.’

Scooping up the limp dog, Leon handed her down to Fergus, then lifted Max, who was all skinny limbs and felt as flaccid and absent as the dog. The boy’s clothes were wet, his lips blue.

With arms of iron, Shane reached for the gangly body of his son and clutched him firmly to his chest, a few choked sobs escaping him.

‘Ambulance is on its way,’ Ken said. ‘We’ll drive to meet them. Save some time.’

Shane carried Max to the police car and laid him inside where the heater was blasting. ‘We need to get his wet clothes off,’ he said to Fergus. ‘Got any blankets to wrap him in?’

Fergus shifted self-consciously. ‘We came down in a rush and forgot the kit.’

‘Can you get that bag Wendy threw in?’ Shane asked Leon, obviously exasperated with Fergus.