‘Keep focusing on that puppy calendar,’ I told him as he walked out the door.

When a text buzzed and the locked screen announced it was from Russell Mowbray, a smile came unbidden to my lips. I noted that with surprise. Maybe after the labyrinth that was my relationship with Daniel, the less-complicated Russell was a breath of fresh air. Not that I was looking for a relationship. I needed to breathe. I needed to experience solitude on Nan’s farm. And I needed to heal. Still … doing coffee with Russell had been nice. Uncomplicated and nice.

But when I opened the screen, it was something else entirely. Eight words that would change everything.

Found insurance policy. Brett was telling the truth.

Twenty minutes later, I was sitting at Russell’s kitchen table with a cup of tea in front of me, staring down at an insurance policy made out to Brett Millard, dated months before the Millards had died. His car was covered for $20,000. It was signed by Richard Tippet.

‘Where did you find it?’

‘In the shed. After they died and we cleaned out the house, I chucked most of the bigger items, but when I cleaned out the old roll-top desk they had, I just swept all the papers into a big box. It’s been right here all along.’

The policy was on good-quality paper, though a little yellowed now. There was a gold embossed logo at the top. Nothing to suggest it wasn’t genuine to someone who trusted the salesman.

‘Talk me through how this works,’ I said.

There was a shift in Russell as he moved into insurance salesperson mode.

‘When you sign up for insurance, you pay your premium and then the insurer lodges it with an underwriter. Pretty easy to print up a mock policy and pocket the cash. The scheme would work, too … until someone made a claim.’

‘Like Brett was about to after he crashed his car.’

‘Shit,’ said Russell. ‘Why didn’t I check their papers back then? Brett said there was a policy, but he couldn’t find it.’

‘I imagine the trauma of what happened took all your focus,’ I said.

Russell refreshed my cup from the teapot on the table, took a deep breath and spoke. ‘After talking to you about what happened with Brett and Shayna, I couldn’t stop thinking about them. I guess I always just accepted that he snapped. But then I got to thinking: what if he didn’t?’ He looked at me, pain in his expression.

‘I’ve been thinking about it too,’ I said. ‘And the more I do, the harder it is to reconcile the boy I knew with a murderer. He was a child of violence, but he hated it.’

Russell nodded towards the policy and looked troubled. ‘At the inquest, Richard Tippet told the court there was no policy. If he lied about issuing a policy, could that mean …’ He stopped and shook his head.