Sparrow arrived in his jalopy, eased up outside the station with a mechanical shuffle. His face was even more swollen with an extra day’s coagulation of blood, purple golf balls now clinging to his eye and cheek.

‘Look away. I’m hideous.’

‘Horrific,’ said Manolis.

‘It was always gonna get worse before it got better,’ Sparrow said heavily. ‘How’d you go yesterday? And hey, where’s your car?’

Taking up position in the tearoom, Manolis briefed him on the interviews.

Sparrow squared his jaw and helped himself to jerky. He chewed thoughtfully and deliberately through the inflammation.

‘I’ve heard of that Pommy bloke,’ he said, before adding, ‘I’m not so sure about him.’

‘How’d you mean?’

A blank expression washed across Sparrow’s face; he was clearly scanning for facts to back his swift character assessment. Finally, he shook his swollen head.

‘Dunno. Can’t place him. Maybe that’s the problem, yair. He’s neither here nor there. Plus he’s a whitefella. And not just any whitefella, he’s the very first whitefella who invaded my people’s country, an Englishman. I mean, c’mon, even his name is Cook.’

Manolis chuckled. ‘That never occurred to me. Related to Captain James, you reckon?’

Sparrow went quiet a moment. ‘Gotta be, direct line. Did he tell you what he was in for?’

The detective looked at him with minor alarm. ‘Arson,’ he replied tentatively.

‘Really?’ Sparrow snorted a laugh. ‘Arson, eh…’

‘No?’

‘I heard aggravated assault. Bit different to arson.’

Manolis stared into space, worry etched on his brow. Had it all been a lie, a precisely honed charade? He could normally tell fact from fiction but ever since arriving in Cobb, he felt out of his depth.

‘There’s all sorts of hardcore felons and thugs at the brown house,’ Sparrow added. ‘I’m talkin’ killers, rapists, paedos, kidnappers, dealers. All mixin’ with the nice brown folk.’

‘What, they’re all in there together?’

‘They used to be in protective custody in prison, then in a separate segregated unit at the brown house. But not anymore. Some are still awaiting their trials.’

‘And they let these people roam free through the town?’

Sparrow paused. ‘No one knows that about ’em,’ he said quietly. ‘Outta sight, outta mind. The paedos are the worst. The reffos who have kids ’specially don’t appreciate bein’ housed with ’em. Can you imagine that, havin’ kids and a paedo sleepin’ a few metres away? You’d never rest.’

Strange, Manolis thought. That wasn’t how Cook had described the felons at the detention centre; he’d described them as summary offenders, speeding tickets and vandals.

Manolis hitched up his trouser legs, showed his torn knees. Sparrow regarded them through pained, puffy eyes before looking away with disdain.

‘You’ll survive,’ he exhaled.

As Manolis remembered the damaged vehicle, a vague panic buzzed inside his chest. He stood with purpose, gave his bony knuckles a brisk crack.