Searle emptied his lungs. ‘She said she enjoyed the teaching – after all, she is… she was a teacher. But she thought the conditions were poor. The education area was cramped, non-exclusive. She was trying to teach while other detainees were busy having conversations and arguments.’

‘Which probably caused more arguments,’ said Manolis.

‘Exactly. Some detainees saw learning English as pointless since they imagined never being allowed into Australia, not even after their detention.’

Manolis coughed into his hand before nodding in agreement.

‘Molly thought the detainees were getting a bum deal,’ Searle went on. ‘At least, that’s what she decided after working there a while. At first, it was just about the money. But she told me she’d gotten to know the people and quite liked them.’

‘So maybe it wasn’t just homework questions they were coming to ask her about?’

‘No. I mean yes, agreed. Sadly, that outlook made her more of a target in town.’

‘A target?’

Searle fired a look at Kerr, then back to Manolis. ‘There are many people who want to see the detention centre close down,’ he said. ‘If you’re on the side of the detainees, you’re on the outer.’

Manolis nodded again.

‘I especially remember what Molly said about the children she taught,’ Searle continued. ‘How she saw them progressively deteriorating, as if a light was going out behind their eyes. They were changing with prolonged detention, but it turns out that so was she.’

‘How so?’

‘She was more upset than I’d ever seen, like she herself was traumatised. And this was a woman who was already grieving.’

Manolis leant forward, placing his elbows on his knees and thumbs under his chin. He was trying to retrace Molly’s final steps and work out who was the last person to see her alive. For the time being, that man was sitting in front of him, polishing his bifocals on the frayed ends of his shirtsleeve.

‘Let me ask you specifically about last week…’ said Manolis.

Searle swallowed hard, his palms leaving damp marks on the table. He was brought another mug of strained mud, which he sipped pensively.

‘How was Molly over the past few days?’ Manolis asked. ‘Did you notice she had something on her mind?’

‘She was fine. And not really, no.’

‘Can you think of any reason why she might’ve been out at that hour of night?’

‘No. But why is anyone out at that hour? Nothing good ever happens after midnight.’

‘Did she have a phone?’

‘Yes. Actually, now you mention it, I remember her getting some nuisance calls.’

Manolis’s eyes lit up. ‘Nuisance calls…? She told you?’

‘No, but I used to see her look down at her phone when it rang, recognise the number and not answer it. That’s usually someone you don’t want to hear from, right?’