‘As the attack happened so close to the university, we will start our investigations there. She appears to have been walking home from the university to her flat in Opoho Road. There doesn’t seem to have been much of a struggle, so it is likely she knew her attacker. She’ll have had hundreds of classmates and university associates for us to work through. Of course, we’ll be looking at her boyfriend, flatmates and friends too. Her family are from out of town – Napier. So altogether there are a hell of a lot of people to talk to and eliminate. Also, the Botanic Garden is a busy place. Someone must have seen something. We need to talk to every person who walked through there last night. Let’s get busy, people.’

The room jumped into movement. Voices buzzed, papers rustled, people got busy, as ordered. Everyone else seemed to know their place, whereas I felt a bit like a spare nut rattling around loose in the engine. When I was in Mataura, I was it: sole-charge police officer. So I got to talk to everyone – do the interviews, analyse the information. I was the thin blue line. I only hoped I’d get a chance here.

How would I handle this investigation? If I was calling the shots I’d start with the boyfriend, then work my way through the flatmates. As stereotypical as it seemed, statistics told it was, as often as not, the boyfriend. Maybe they had problems, couldn’t talk through them, so he decided to take other measures. Then there were the flatmates. They could’ve fallen out over burnt dinners or the electricity bill. Perhaps she’d borrowed someone’s hairdryer and accidentally blown it up; eaten someone else’s yoghurt. Stranger things had happened.

We were at the back of the room and Alan Gibbs, one of the senior officers, only now worked his way along the row. He handed me a piece of paper, and said, ‘For you. From the boss.’

‘Thanks,’ I said, as he moved on to talk to someone else. Please let it be something front-line. Please. I unfolded the page.

‘Oh crap,’ I murmured to myself. It was a bit too loud, though, as Smithy leaned over to look at the note.

‘Lucky you,’ he said, with a grin.

‘Well, I wouldn’t get too cocky if I were you,’ I said. ‘You know who you always end up with – me.’

‘Not this time, sunshine, I’m with suspects. Looks like you’re flying solo today. You must have really pissed that man off.’

‘Don’t I know it?’