‘Hello,’ I said from the doorway.

John’s eyes were wide and flat. ‘My father’s here.’ I knew Valentin, a widower pitied by mothers at AFL practice. ‘He’s dead.’

A ghost, then! Poor John, his father Valentin lost to history, his childhood gone just like that. He stood. Impulsively, I moved to give him a hug. He pushed me out of the way. Perhaps to hide that he’d been crying.

I needed to protect Caleb from this. I walked John to the door and closed it behind him.

Caleb stared at me. ‘You have something to say. I see it in your eyes.’

I sat in the vinyl chair beside him. ‘I need to know what happened. What you did during the fire.’

Caleb touched his bandaged head. ‘Maybe I don’t remember.’

‘You must remember whether you went home or not?’

He closed his eyes. ‘I went to get my sketchbook.’

Fear seized my chest, the first cold thing I had felt that entire hot day. ‘Your sketchbook?’

His eyes open again, he glanced at the door as if he wanted to wish me through it and away. ‘You won’t understand.’

‘But why?’ I asked. ‘Caleb, people were looking for you. You could have put them in danger.’

‘I didn’t know that.’

‘I don’t understand why this sketchbook meant so much! I know it’s your art, but you left a lot of other drawings behind.’

‘It was my Sean the Adventurer stories.’

‘But why?’ Leaning closer, I rested my hand on his shoulder. He needed to realise that whatever I did, I did it for love. ‘What time was this?’

‘Checking my watch wasn’t exactly on my mind.’ He spoke quickly, beginning to get irritated. I needed to choose my next words carefully.

‘Are you sure there’s nothing you want to tell me?’

‘I don’t want to talk to anyone.’

‘What was so important about your sketchbook?’

‘I don’t want to talk to you either.’

He glanced away. He would know Michael Gillan was involved in this investigation. How much did he understand about how the urine test the sergeant gave Caleb a year ago happened to be lost? Asking him risked further anger. The secret of what Caleb knew or didn’t know was even more corrosive than the secret of what I had done.

His sketchbook. I thought at least that explained his action, but was it wise to admit it to the investigators. I remembered Genevieve’s previous advice. Admit nothing.

Somehow, Caleb managed to get back to sleep. Soon he was breathing deeply. His phone vibrated on the bedside table and a message flashed onto the screen.

He had a message from Jack. Jack?

We need to discuss this. I’m coming back to see you.

What did Jack mean? I’d have to wait until he got there. Clutching a magazine I couldn’t read, I switched on the television. This was a mistake. Rolling coverage continued.

‘Farmer Don Griffith lost his house near Damper Creek.’ A reporter stood beside an elderly man. ‘This is a site where previously he saw the suspect – whose name we aren’t allowed to reveal – smoking marijuana and drawing what resembled plans in a large black book.’