Inside the car, we listened to the report from a nasal-voiced D24 operator. ‘Farmer’s just rung in to report a young female staggering down the highway, approximately five kilometres to the north of town. He said he drove past thinking she was just drunk, but now he’s thought about it, he’s put in a concern-for-welfare call.’

‘Roger that,’ I said into the radio. ‘We’ll check it out.’

Wozza gunned the engine and donuted the car on the gravel of the laneway, spinning it in the direction we’d just come from. Lights and bells for this one.

‘Clear left,’ I said as we got to the end of the lane.

Wozza screeched onto the road, then sped towards the highway. Traffic pulled to the verge to make way for our unmarked police car with sirens wailing and dash lights flashing like a Christmas tree.

Once he hit the highway, Wozza planted his foot and I saw the speedo creep up to 140. The scenery out the side windows was a green blur. To give our ears a rest, Wozza flicked off the siren as soon as there were no other cars in sight. Rushing to a job always gave me a shot of adrenaline as powerful as any drug. A sidewards glance at Wozza told me he had the same reaction. Jobs like this were Forrest Gump’s box of chocolates: you never knew what you were going to get. It could be a hitchhiker, or it could be something bad. For some cops, adrenaline played havoc with their stress levels, but I fed on it. It helped exercise a mental toughness vital to the job. I’d had my share of nightmare jobs full of blood and death, fatal accidents, bizarre suicides, child drownings and Gemma—but every time it didn’t get to me, I got stronger. That was the theory anyway.

It only took a couple of minutes for the girl to come into view, and seconds for it to become obvious that she wasn’t a staggering drunk.

Wozza slowed the car, so that by the time we reached her he could come to a gentle stop so as not to frighten her. He turned off the ignition and pocketed the keys as he climbed from the vehicle. I reached her first.

‘Honey.’ My voice was gentle. ‘What happened?’

The girl looked to be in her late teens but it was hard to tell. Her white dress was smeared with blood and her long blonde hair whipped around her in the chill afternoon wind; some stuck to the side of her head, glued down with blood. Eyes haunted. Barefoot. Dirty.