‘Any idea who that might be?’

Sparrow kept dodging potholes. ‘The roads have always been bad, but they’ve gotten worse with the extra traffic since the brown house opened up.’

Manolis repeated his question.

Sparrow crunched the gears in thought. ‘Passers-by, eh. Well lemme see. There’s no fruit pickers cos there’s no fucken fruit to pick. And I think all the slaughterhouse workers live here now. We had some issues with truckies recently, hmm…’

‘Truck drivers? Like what, when?’

Sparrow drummed the steering wheel nervously. Manolis got the impression the constable had said too much. He pressed him for more information.

‘Aw, you know,’ Sparrow said finally. ‘A few dumb truckers thought it was a good idea to offer our local girls drugs, food, money for sex. They used to do it in their trucks.’

‘Illegal prostitution. That’s nothing major.’

The car slowed noticeably. Sparrow glared at him with bullet-proof eyes. ‘Some of the girls were eight years old. Hadn’t even bled yet. Me sister was one.’

Manolis arched his bushy eyebrows in shock, before lowering them in dismay. ‘I’m sorry, I had no idea.’

Sparrow eyed the road. ‘Worthless white scum. Preyin’ like that.’ His tone had changed into a cold, hard bark.

‘That’s terrible. Did you at least catch the guys who were doing it?’

A satisfied smile settled around Sparrow’s eyes. ‘My oath we did. The cousins brought justice with baseball bats and star pickets. Bastards won’t be back anytime soon.’

That wasn’t quite what Manolis had asked. But point made.

They drove on. Manolis found himself recognising more of the town. A group of trees he used to climb when he had supple knees. An old house, now barely standing, that all the kids once avoided. Blinking hard, he pushed away the memories.

‘You think Molly might’ve been involved in something like that?’ he asked. ‘The sex game, I mean.’

Sparrow shook his head. ‘Doubt it. What’s in it for her?’

Manolis moistened his lips. He was pensive. ‘Maybe she was turning tricks as well. Nice little earner, till she ticked off a client?’

‘Like I said, doubt it. Big difference between wanting a middle-aged schoolteacher and one of her students.’

‘Each to their own. Not everyone’s a paedo.’

‘Bullshit. Everyone’s a paedo.’

The car ploughed towards an angry murder of crows, feasting on the remains of something dead stuck to the road. They scattered at the last second. Sparrow scowled.

‘Look at the way Molly was killed,’ Manolis said. He was speaking with his hands now, gesturing his thinking. ‘Aren’t women normally stoned to death for adultery? Maybe one of her clients was infatuated, thought they “owned her” or something. You even mentioned that one bloke who carried a torch for her?’

Sparrow stayed quiet, thinking.

‘I’m just talking off the top of my head here,’ Manolis added.