Kerr explained that an overseas company had been contracted to manage the centre. Worth billions, they were involved in military logistics, traffic management, hospitals and prisons.

‘Prisons, eh,’ said Manolis.

‘You could argue they operate from a prison model,’ said Kerr. ‘They’re printing their own money and making a killing.’

Where governments saw problems, others saw opportunities. Money wasn’t lost, it was made.

‘It costs millions to be so remote, so gloriously isolated,’ Kerr added.

Manolis wondered if he would see the day when the police force was privatised, when he would work for a faceless global conglomerate instead of a plodding, corrupt bureaucracy.

‘So the detainees feel like prisoners?’ he asked.

‘Well it makes a difference that they can come and go,’ Kerr replied.

‘Come and go?’

‘The centre is only low security. There’s a curfew at night, but the detainees are able to move around town during the day as they please. It’s supposed to help them assimilate.’

‘Assimilate? They move around?’

This was another detail that central office had neglected to communicate. Manolis looked north to the detention centre, to the dim orange lights in the distance, illuminating the perimeter. His mission was suddenly more complex.

‘Not that there’s been much movement this weekend,’ Kerr said. ‘The place has gone into lockdown.’

‘Like a country, shoring up its borders.’

‘Most of the town’s residents haven’t been fifty clicks outside of Cobb their whole lives. We get zero holiday-makers, and there’s very few newcomers. That all changed when the detention centre opened for business.’

‘So your theory is that Molly’s murder is the work of an outsider?’

Kerr fixed him with a long, unblinking gaze. Her words were precise:

‘No local did this.’

She said goodnight and flip-flopped back to her car, slamming the door and driving away at high speed.

The night fell quiet. No sign of the possum, who Manolis hoped had sought shelter in a tall eucalypt. He took one last look at his Valiant, now a charred, empty shell. He muttered a final few Greek curses, went inside and collapsed into bed.

MANOLIS OVERSLEPT. IT was a combination of sheer exhaustion and the lack of background noise. He was more used to hydraulic garbage trucks, snarling traffic and raised inner-city voices, not idyllic nature and unfamiliar silence. He woke to the gentle babble of sweet birdsong. The laughter of kookaburras and warbling of magpies flooded the pleasure centre of his brain and transported him back decades. For a brief moment, he heard his mother yelling from another room, imploring him to get up or he’d be late for school. He got up with a soft smile on his face.