The ute disappeared around the first corner on the main street. As much as I itched to jump in my car and give chase, the pursuit rules for cops were incredibly restrictive after a spate of fatal accidents during police chases. Now, police couldn’t pursue unless there was a threat to public safety or a serious offence committed. The best I could do was put a call-out to divvy vans in neighbouring towns to keep a look out for it. Of course, that would only work if the driver was headed out of town. If not, the vehicle was just as likely to pull into a driveway or a motel or a garage and disappear into the sea of white utes that were as common as sheep.

I made the call anyway, then heard it come over the police radio moments later. All local units would be on the lookout for a white ute with front-end damage. Wozza and I picked up the bits of debris from the road and bagged it. Forensics could match it to the ute.

If we found it.

CHAPTER 3: THERE’S NO PLACE LIKE HOME

CHAPTER 3

THERE’S NO PLACE LIKE HOME

Long before I had moved back to Deception Bay, my grandmother’s old homestead had felt like home. Because of my mother’s medical work in remote communities, as a child I had spent months at a time staying with Nan, even going to the local school for a couple of terms. At the farm gate, I always took a deep breath and let it out slowly, as if letting go of the cares of the world. Nana Pollard had moved to a nursing home a year ago and we’d found ourselves at a loss as to what to do with the old place, which had been in the family for generations. Rice crops and fat lambs were the family combo, although for years now the fields had been leased to neighbouring farmers while Nan enjoyed her retirement. Even so, the size of the place and its upkeep had finally defeated her and she’d hobbled reluctantly into the local aged care facility, refusing to sell up. Someone needed to move in to look after the place.

And here I was, granddaughter, cop and part-time farmhand.

The move had seemed a perfect escape. A new start. After what happened in Melbourne, it seemed the best solution. Two months in, though, I didn’t feel as settled as I’d hoped. There was a feeling of unfinished business that wouldn’t go away—even though the business in Melbourne was more than finished. A not guilty verdict and Gemma’s funeral were proof of that.

But fleeing a problem doesn’t mean it can’t follow you in wisps of memory and nightmare.