Isla feels the movement of waves, lifting her up and pulling her under. She needs to lie down.

‘Can I get you a glass of water?’

‘No, thanks.’ She waits for the room to realign itself. She puts her palms down flat on the desk. ‘I think you should reopen the case.’

‘Your father would remain a suspect if we did that.’

‘I’m not here because I think my dad’s innocent,’ Isla says. ‘I’m here because a woman is dead.’

Sergeant Dent frowns at her. Isla rocks in her damp boots. She feels a little better.

‘We need to think of our resources,’ the cop says. ‘We’d need to reallocate personnel.’

‘Maybe you could find someone who isn’t an old mate of Steve Mallory to lead on the case.’

The cop’s skin flares red at her neck. ‘What did you say?’

‘I think you heard me.’

The blush spreads across her face. ‘I’m afraid I have to get back to work.’

‘Are you going to reopen the case?’

‘Unlikely.’ She steps back from the desk. ‘Maybe it’s time you moved on from this, Miss Green. Better all round.’

Isla lets the door slam shut as she leaves. She walks out onto George Street and heads towards the city, with the Harbour Bridge behind her. Australia Square is set back from the street, its concourse busy with office workers and shoppers, tourists, residents of the luxury apartments above the retail space. From the apartments at the top you can see across the whole city; an unbroken view, her dad told her, back when he was the construction manager in charge of the site and this was the tallest building in Sydney. Isla remembers the opening ceremony: her dad picked her up from school and she stood beside him on the new concourse in the shadow of the tower. The mayor cut a ribbon and talked about the Eora people who once lived here, before there were buildings and streets and traffic. Only a small number survived, he said. It caused a murmur among the crowd, an uncomfortable pause. She doesn’t know why it has stayed with her.

She passes tables with wide umbrellas above them, people eating sushi and calamari, drinking cold white wine, laughing. She keeps walking.

51

Victoria, 1967

He wished he hadn’t let Mandy hold the boy. She wouldn’t let up sobbing and howling, slapping her hand against the timber floor where she sat with William’s body lain out across her lap. Steve felt nothing. It should have been a comfort to find her at the door, but her presence was more of an irritant. He wished to God she would shut up.

‘I should have come sooner.’ She lifted her knees and brought William’s small body to her chest. ‘There’s three buses a week. I should have left Tuesday. I don’t know why I waited.’

Steve lifted the curtain and looked out. The waves were dark and low, coming in from the south-west. They’d have a pull on them, he knew. The river was fighting with the current not far from the shore. No surfers risking their necks out there.