DRIVING BACK TO the station, they encountered Sparrow coming in the opposite direction along Broad Street. He flashed his only working headlight and flagged them down outside Saint Christopher’s. The two cars sat idling in the middle of the road beneath the shade of a drooping coolibah tree, each driver with an elbow out the window. There was no risk of them blocking traffic; there was no traffic.

In order to be heard over the rattling engines, Manolis leant across in front of Kerr. She pinned her shoulders to the seat.

‘How’d you go?’ Manolis asked.

Sparrow spoke with a half-burnt smoke stuck between his lips, ash evaporating in the breeze. ‘So I drove out to Joe’s place – he’s got a farm just north o’ town. Breeds greyhounds.’

‘What did he say?’

‘Bashed on the door for ages. No answer. In the end, I found him snoring out back in a hammock. I woke him up. He was pretty dusty…’

‘Dusty?’

‘Well, no. More like drunk. Had to squint to focus on me, as blind as a welder’s dog. I couldn’t tell if he was in mourning or if it was just another Tuesday. Prob’ly the latter. Anyway, didn’t get much out of him, although he said he hadn’t seen Molly in months.’

‘Did he say where he was the night she died?’

‘Said he was at the pub all night. Left at first light, drove straight home.’

For as long as anyone could remember, Joe Shrewsbury’s life was a murky lament of beer, wine and country music. Sparrow said the whole town could hear Joe’s bin being emptied on recycling day from the echo of shattering glass in the distance. It was like a thunderclap.

‘Anyway, Joe’s lying,’ Sparrow continued. ‘I checked with Turps, and he said he’d barred him from the pub. Hasn’t seen him in yonks, let alone last Friday.’

A faint smile curved the corners of Manolis’s mouth. ‘Does he have a record?’

‘Public drunkenness,’ said Sparrow. ‘But that’s pretty much standard issue for Cobb.’

Manolis thought a moment. ‘Why was he barred from the pub, what did he do?’

Sparrow flicked his cigarette butt into the hot day and said, ‘Punched a woman who spilled his pint.’

Kerr sucked at her teeth. Manolis quickly asked whether Joe had ever hit Molly.

Sparrow shook his head. ‘Nuthin’ I know of. All I know about is the time she slapped him in the pub. It’s not like he pressed charges.’

Manolis nodded gently, digesting the information.

‘So anyway, I went and rang the phone company,’ Sparrow continued. ‘Turns out they’ve no record of any number owned by a Molly Abbott with an address in this state.’

Manolis cursed quietly to himself in Greek. ‘She had no social media but she owned a bloody phone, right?’

‘Prob’ly. But the phone could’ve been under another name. No Molly Abbott.’