Sparrow leant over to Kerr. ‘See the yellow ribbons this morning?’

‘Yellow balloons too,’ she replied. ‘Her favourite colour.’

Manolis was quietly pleased to see the locals finally expressing their grief more appropriately than with rocks and roaming gangs and four-by-twos.

‘There’s been tributes posted online too,’ Sparrow said.

‘I saw,’ Kerr replied.

‘Can you show me?’ Manolis asked.

Kerr retrieved her phone and began scrolling through images of Molly that had been lovingly posted by the local community. ‘Molly didn’t have any social media accounts herself. She was very private, especially after poor Patrick died, and didn’t buy into the need to post about what she ate for breakfast.’

It was Manolis’s first chance to see the schoolteacher as she had been in life, instead of clobbered by death. With sandy blonde hair and ocean-blue eyes, Molly was a quintessential Australian beauty, the kind who belonged on a postcard of an endless beach with an idyllic sunset backdrop. Instead, she was a bloodless corpse strung up against a gum tree.

‘All this’ll send a message to the brown house,’ Sparrow said. ‘Loud and bloody clear.’

‘Okay, enough,’ Manolis snapped. ‘I know people think they’ve got it all worked out, but our investigation starts right here, right now, with basic, honest police work. Who was the last person to see Molly alive? That’s an obvious question. We need to retrace her steps. The people closest to a murder victim are often the killers, so we need to seek them out and ask for an alibi.’

The constables looked at each other, then the floor.

Sparrow finally said, ‘Yair, but we know the town. I woulda thought that’d be worth somethin’ to ya.’

Manolis took a step towards Sparrow, who seemed to shrink an inch in his chair.

‘It is,’ the detective said calmly. ‘But I need definite lines of enquiry, specific persons of interest, not broad speculation. Still, I hear you. On the one hand, we have the theory she was killed as punishment for infidelity. I believe that’s traditionally why married women are stoned under Islamic law.’

‘Men too,’ Kerr said swiftly.

‘Yes, men as well,’ said Manolis. ‘So with that in mind, persons of interest would be lovers and jilted lovers. And yes, given the way she was killed, it’s clear why the brown… the immigration detention centre would be of interest. So we’ll check that out too.’

Sparrow’s lips formed a satisfied smile.

‘But then there’s the theory of something random. Wrong place, wrong time. Drunks, drugs, et cetera. Being stoned is an especially violent and brutal way to die, and I’ve seen people high on meth who would stone you for a laugh.’

Manolis let his reasoning sink into the room. Sparrow drained his water mug, wiped his wet mouth with a hairy forearm.

Kerr looked up from her hands. ‘Have you ever worked a homicide where someone was stoned to death?’