‘Um, well she liked singing and dancing, which she did a lot with the kids. I still don’t know how we’ll replace her. She loved life, loved people, and was very approachable. The kids adored her, and the parents did too. Everyone did. She had a bubbly personality and a wicked sense of humour. I still don’t know how I’m going to explain to the children what happened to their lovely teacher. Why do the good always die young…?’

It was the first description of Molly that Manolis had heard which made her sound like an ordinary, likeable person. He hated this moment of an investigation – when he properly met the victim for the first time, saw their personality, and couldn’t help but become momentarily human. This made his job immeasurably harder.

Manolis closed his eyes. He needed something to come to him that would make this bloody investigation easier.

‘She was a green thumb but claimed she hated roses,’ Searle continued. ‘I thought that was both unique and funny. Who hates roses? No one hates roses, everyone loves roses. She once looked after my garden when I visited my brother and threatened that I’d come home to find my roses with their heads cut off. She didn’t, of course, and I returned to find a lush, green garden, better than ever.’

Manolis snapped his eyes open, refocused on the principal. ‘Did you live far from Molly?’

‘Two streets over. I’m on Wellington Road, she’s Henry.’ He sipped the hell-dark brew, wincing at the taste. ‘Molly had a warmth and generosity that drew people near. She wanted to know who you were. But that came with a price. She had an unwary trust in others.’ His voice cracked with the weight of those words, at the thought that a local might’ve killed her, or someone as good as local.

‘Tell me about her other job,’ said Manolis.

Searle said that Molly had walked into his office one morning and asked for a raise. ‘I told her that if I had my way, I’d double her salary, triple it. She was worth every penny. But as it stood, the school didn’t have enough money to whack two blackboard dusters together. A week later, she returned to my office and said she’d gotten a job teaching English at the immigration detention centre. Because it didn’t impact school hours, I gave my blessing.’

The tourist park had increased bookings. Local teachers got second gigs. The centre was exactly as it had been sold to the town – jobs, the local economy, improvements to infrastructure, lucrative contracts. Manolis thought that was clear. But as Rex and Vera had told him, the dark side was harder to see.