‘Of course, you do realise you’re only wasting your time here,’ he said. ‘Whoever you’re looking for isn’t here. Here in the facility, I mean. The culprit is beyond these walls, out there.’ He pointed over Manolis’s shoulder, back towards the town.

The detective cleared his throat. ‘Thank you for that, Mr Onions. I need you to realise I’m just doing my job.’

‘Your job is to restore law and order in this town. That’s why you were called in, to tame the wild animals that run rampant through Cobb and sort out the cowboy lawmen who are supposed to protect us.’

Manolis sat forward and stuck out his chin. ‘Mr Onions, I was sent here to solve a murder. I’m a homicide detective. That’s what I do – I solve murders, I catch murderers, I bring them to justice. I’m not a circus trainer of animals, and I’ve no time or patience for incompetent police.’

Onions paused, smiled. ‘I knew you’d be good.’

Manolis sat back, studied the manager. ‘Just doing my job,’ he repeated.

The smile disappeared. Onions narrowed his eyes. ‘But Fyfe put you up to this. You’re on a witch hunt, like all the others.’

Manolis’s glare was steely. ‘I’m a police officer,’ he said firmly. ‘I’m following leads.’

‘And what lead is this, what scenario are you proposing? That my English teacher was involved in a relationship with one of her students and that he stoned her to death when it went sour?’

Manolis took a moment to answer. ‘I was never told she’d been teaching English here.’

‘Figured you were a good detective. Well done on working that out.’

‘And yes, that is certainly one possibility, that she was involved with a student. There are many lines of enquiry that we, the police, are following. It would be remiss of us not to ask what happened here. She was, after all, a person in your employ.’

Onions considered the detective’s face, clearly searching for a sign of doubt, a hint of uncertainty, a chink in his armour. Something that told the manager that this was just some bureaucratic hoop that needed to be jumped through, a box on a form that needed ticking. This man from the city had been summoned to restore order to a lawless town ravaged by alcohol and racial tension, not to falsely accuse already distressed and persecuted people of crimes they couldn’t possibly commit.

The manager stood to his full height of nearly two metres, neatly buttoned his suit jacket and strode to his big office window. His step was heavy on the boards. The window was south-facing and overlooked the rest of the detention centre. He placed his hands on his slender hips and spoke to his view.

‘Do you know about the people who live here, Detective?’ His voice was resonant and rich with authority.