This unexpectedly good news made Manolis feel lighter. Immigration detention was often in the headlines, a political hot potato. Perhaps people high up in the government had threatened lawsuits if the media printed anything substantial on the case so early on. Still, it was only a matter of time before the truth came out. And Manolis loathed reporters. He often saw city journalists loitering around the station, notepads and recorders at the ready, or after something off the record. They were getting younger and pushier by the day.

‘Anyway, good luck, city mouse. Let me know how you get on. I’ll start making a few enquiries of my own.’

‘Who’ll you be speaking to?’

Fyfe smiled. ‘I got some folks in mind. Tell you more later.’

MANOLIS FOUND KERR leaning against the bonnet of an old Holden ute. Its doors and windows were open to allow for airflow. She was biting her nails and wore a scowl.

‘Get in,’ she said gruffly. ‘Ain’t got all day.’

She proceeded to execute a befuddling combination of pedal pumps and choke pulls until the engine whirred to life. She reversed without looking in her rear-view mirror, then floored it. They drove in silence for a while, heading east, past entire streets where houses had windows made of bricks. The ute’s tray rattled with its collection of unsecured items. Kerr drove as recklessly as Sparrow had; getting to Ida in time was a desperate race against inebriation.

In the brilliant midmorning light, Manolis stole glances of Kerr from the corner of his eye.

‘You okay?’ he asked.

‘Never better,’ she replied.

‘Is it far to go?’

‘No. Ida’s house is one of the oldest in town, handed down through the generations. Shame it’ll end with her.’

‘No kids, then.’

‘You don’t remember her?’

‘No.’

‘She never married either.’

‘Ah,’ he said. ‘An old maid.’

Kerr thrust her chin at him. ‘What’s that supposed to mean? Fuck you.’

Manolis snapped his neck right. ‘Steady on, Constable. What was that for?’

‘What do you reckon it was for?’ Kerr blinked slowly and deliberately. ‘When you see the animals in this town, is it any wonder she never married?’

Manolis looked out the window, thought a moment, then gently but directly asked what had happened before they left the station. At first Kerr denied it was anything, before finally loosening her tongue after Manolis stayed silent. He was an outsider and this was her confessional.

‘I’m sick of it,’ she said. ‘Just bloody sick of it.’

Chapter 16

Chapter 16

A GROUP OF MEN had pulled up in a car with no licence plates and about half a brain between them. They were young, their bodies hastily assembled and alive with budding testosterone. They let fly in Kerr’s direction, a combination of catcalls and gestures, which abruptly became insults and sexual epithets, all in squeaky singsong voices.