‘C’mon,’ said Wozza, grabbing his keys. ‘Let’s see if Jack Barratt is home.’

That was also code for coffee and pastries, so we headed to Main Street after, once again, Jack didn’t answer his door. Standing on the pavement outside Angie’s cafe, sipping coffee, I had an idea.

The old Millard farm in Pine Tree Gully Road looked almost the same as it did in the crime scene photos taken a decade earlier. It might have been my imagination, but it seemed to have sagged a little under the weight of what had happened there. According to Land Titles Office records, the place was now owned by Marina and Dimitri Christopoulos.

As soon as she opened the door, I recognised Marina from my self-defence class. She had shown a vehemence in training like she was kicking and punching for real. I smiled in recognition but my mouth flatlined as I noticed the bruising under her eye. I knew what a punch to the face looked like. This hadn’t been there last night.

‘Detectives!’ she said brightly. ‘What brings you all the way out here?’ Her demeanour was ill-matched to her injury.

For a second, I was lost for words. Our need to inspect the screen door suddenly stalled. ‘Are you okay?’ I asked tentatively.

‘I’m excellent!’ she said, opening the door for us. ‘Just waiting for the ambulance. Come in!’

This time, Wozza spoke. ‘Um … Mrs Christopoulos … is everything all right?’

‘Just peachy!’ she said. ‘Call me Marina.’

We followed her down the hallway and out the back to the kitchen. On the floor lay a man, writhing in the fetal position, clutching his genitals. Marina stepped deftly over him to the bench and put the kettle on. As Wozza bent down to the man on the floor, I was momentarily distracted by the kitchen. It was the same bench from the crime scene photos. Same kitchen. Same everything. I’d looked at the photos so often all the details were imprinted in my memory. Even the moaning man on the floor was near where Brett’s body had lain dead all those years ago. My senses returned in full surround-sound as the man howled in pain. Above the noise, Marina asked if I’d prefer tea or coffee.

‘Er … tea. What happened here?’ I nodded over at Dimitri, who began sobbing theatrically.

‘We had a difference of opinion,’ said Marina. She touched her hand tenderly to the red swelling under her eye. ‘He thought he should be able to hit me and that I should just take it. And I thought he needed a knee to the groin—just like you taught us in the class last night.’

My eyes widened with surprise and admiration.

A crunching of wheels on the driveway. The ambulance. Marina practically skipped off to let the paramedics in.