They left the town behind. Vast brown plains soon stretched in every direction. Manolis gunned the accelerator, the pistons singing. The road heading west wasn’t on any map he had seen. He thought it strange not to be staying in Cobb itself, close to the action. He would’ve been happy enough to flop in someone’s granny flat or spare room, or even on a bunk at the station. His eyes squinted, darted, tried to work out where the hell they were going. Sparrow said nothing; he stared straight ahead from behind impenetrable black sunglasses while his fingers drummed a high-powered rhythm on his thigh. Manolis wondered whether they were heading to a farm or a property with a long rambling homestead overlooking bushland. Or maybe a slab hut made of timber and bark where early settlers once lived, drovers and woodcutters and shearers. He was so distracted that he nearly missed the crooked wooden archway announcing their arrival in Olde Cobbe Towne.

‘Holy shit,’ Manolis said.

‘Yair,’ said Sparrow. ‘Ever since the brown house opened, there’s not many cots available in town. This was Sarge’s idea. It’s away from the worst trouble.’

They parked outside a demountable office building with an Australian flag in the window. As they entered, Manolis got tangled in the multicoloured plastic strip curtains hung across the doorway; he hadn’t seen curtains like that since he was a kid.

Sparrow called out. A groan came from a back room, followed by cursing. A chair was shunted, another groan, heavy, slow footsteps.

The proprietor shambled out under a cloud of broken sleep. At first he had his head down, patting his comb-over to ensure it remained in place. When he finally looked up and stood erect, he appeared imposing, tall and broad, matching Manolis’s six feet. The proprietor wore a navy-blue shearer’s singlet and a pair of old tennis shorts. An overgrown moustache obscured his mouth, a hairless patch of skin on his arm appearing white. Rubbing his cheeks, he passed a pair of deep-set eyes over Sparrow and then Manolis.

‘Well I’ll be a monkey’s…’

After this half sentence, the proprietor’s voice turned to dust in his throat. Stepping out from behind the counter, he approached Manolis with wide eyes and wide arms. His moustache was quivering. Manolis backed away a step but was powerless to stop the embrace that clamped around his chest and squeezed his heart till it hurt.

‘Ma! Ma, quick, come see!’ the man called over his shoulder. He turned back to Manolis. ‘I thought I might’ve died in my sleep, or that I saw a ghost,’ he whispered. ‘You look just like your father.’

Manolis glared straight at Sparrow, whose confused expression showed he’d heard what the proprietor said.

‘I grew up here,’ Manolis said. ‘Here in Cobb, I mean. It’s the reason they sent me. And I think I knew Molly.’

Chapter 5

Chapter 5