Returning to the kitchen, Manolis examined the photos stuck to the fridge door. By virtue of their high-traffic location, fridge photos were more often seen; it was why he had stuck photos of his son on his fridge. These were the newest photos, the ones yet to be framed, if they ever would be. Manolis was hoping to find photos of recent boyfriends or lovers on Molly’s fridge. The two male suspects that Searle had earmarked were at the forefront of his mind. In the past year alone, he’d seen the faces of two murderers for the first time under fridge magnets.

Instead, he saw a sad-eyed cocker spaniel, a beloved, recently departed pet. Smiling kids in school uniforms. Proud girlfriends and their young babies. Manolis wondered why Molly and Patrick never became parents. Maybe they didn’t want to. Maybe they couldn’t.

There was also refugee activism paraphernalia, stickers and pamphlets, slogans and catchcries. Let Them Stay. No Human Is Illegal. Stop War Not People. For a brief moment, Manolis felt like he’d found an oasis in the desert. There were also mementos from the detention centre, colourful thank-you cards with childlike lettering. But no photos.

‘Interesting,’ he told himself. ‘So it’s true, she was very much —’

Kerr appeared, her expression confused. ‘Who are you talking to?’

‘No one,’ Manolis said swiftly. ‘What have you got there?’

She was holding a pile of rags in one hand. ‘I found these.’

She thrust forward the rag bundle, which Manolis eyed suspiciously. He clasped an inch of cloth between his fingers and let it unfurl with gravity.

‘Y-fronts,’ she said.

But he could already see what they were. More importantly, he could see what they meant. There was a man out there to whom these belonged, a lover, who had recently been in Molly’s house and left them out of haste or routine.

‘Could they be Patrick’s?’ Manolis asked, wanting to confirm his thinking. ‘Are they from his room?’

‘Could be,’ said Kerr. ‘And no, I found them folded up in the cupboard in her room. See, thing is, this is a specific brand they buy in bulk.’

Manolis examined the underpants, rotating them before his nose. They certainly had the hallmarks of an ordinary pair: white, cotton, with an elastic waistband and supportive pocket. They really needed to be sent off for a DNA test. But he was confused. ‘Buy in bulk? Who buys in bulk?’

Kerr’s face tensed up as she realised the magnitude of what she was about to say. The words dropped from her mouth like lead weights.

‘The immigration detention centre, for all their detainees.’

Chapter 22

Chapter 22