‘Only the best for my girl,’ Eric would say. Every time.

  Molly would be so relieved the story was over, she’d clap and tell them both it was a lovely story.

  But as she got older, she adored hearing it, especially the ending.

  ‘Eric told me he couldn’t live his life without me, then asked if I would marry him. Of course I said yes, because I didn’t want to spend my life without him either. And he kissed me, right at the top of that island, while the birds sang and a little breeze blew around us. But the best part was on the way home, wasn’t it, Eric?’

  Eric never answered that question, only smiled as if he had a secret.

  ‘The road to Lake Ballard back then was gravel all the way, and like I said, it had rained. Well, we got bogged on the way back. Good and proper. Like up to the axel proper.’ Iris laughed. ‘So we had to spend the night under the stars. Well, not that there were stars because it was raining. Wasn’t until the next morning that a truck heading to Sandstone came along and the driver helped get us out.’

  As Molly rounded a sharp corner, she wondered if this was where her parents had been bogged. She imagined them, cuddled together on the back seat, keeping each other warm as the night turned cold.

  ‘Holy fuck!’ she muttered as she came out of the corner, slamming her foot on the brake. Two cows were standing in the middle of the road.

  Her heart hammered as she tried to steer away from them but the gravel caught the wheels and dragged her to the right.

  ‘Shit!’

  She knew enough about driving on dirt roads to know not to slam her foot down. Instead, she gently pressed the brake pedal once, twice and a third time as she held the car steady.

  The car kept creeping towards the edge of the road then suddenly it hit the embankment and came to an abrupt halt. The engine cut out and Molly, her hands glued to the steering wheel, found herself staring at the trunk of a tree, its branches touching her windscreen and her heart pounding.

  ‘Holy hell.’ She opened the car door and got out. Walking around the car, she realised that nothing was badly damaged and she wasn’t bogged. Not like her parents had been. She rested her shaking hands on the bonnet, soaking in the warmth. Even with the day being so hot, her body was suddenly freezing. From shock and panic, she knew.

  Everything on the seat of the car had fallen forward into the footwell when she’d hit the embankment. Getting back inside, she reached over to put everything back up on the seat. Her water bottle had leaked a bit, so she took a few sips, trying to calm herself.

  The cattle were regarding her with curious looks, their tails swishing. One of them took a few steps closer to her car, as if inspecting the unfamiliar thing in the middle of her territory.

  ‘Go away!’ Molly waved her hands at them and yelled.

  The cow stopped and stared, then moved away.

  Molly took a few deep breaths and then put the car back into gear and reversed away from the side of the road. She drove away at a slightly more sedate pace.

  This time, she avoided the potholes and stayed close to her side of the road until the turn-off to Lake Ballard. It took only minutes for the lake to appear, the middle of it in a hazy shimmer of heat.

  She got out of the car and leaned against the door. Her hands were still shaking but at least her heart rate was under control now.

  The reflection of the salt was harsh on her eyes and made the temperature even hotter. Even with her sunglasses and hat on, she kept her hand up, shading the sun’s glare.

  In front of her was the island, just as Iris always described it: a triangle, with sharp sides and small, shrubby bushes and stones covering it.

  Unsurprisingly she was the only one here. The only one who was stupid enough to come out in the middle of a heatwave.

  Dragging in deep breaths of hot air, Molly smiled. There they were; the sculptures that had been made by a British artist to celebrate an international arts festival a couple of decades ago. Fifty-one figures, made out of black chromium steel and placed strategically around the island, dug into the floor of the plain. Her mother had always said they were ugly and a waste of someone’s time and money, which was awkward since each one was a modified version of the residents of the nearby town of Menzies. As Molly observed them, she decided she agreed with her mum, but assumed there were plenty of people around who had a different opinion.

  Then she turned her attention to the island and the vast salt plain until she couldn’t bear the heat or the flies anymore and got back in her car.

  Inside, she turned the engine on and upped the air con to its full force. The package taunted her. Tempted her. She picked it up and turned it over repeatedly in her shaking hands. Finally she slid one hand inside and brought out the contents.

  First the letter. She’d already read it, but she hoped for some stupid reason that out here at her parents’ favourite place, it might make more sense to her.

  Dear Eric,

  Thanks for your time on the phone today. I had to contact you regarding Constable Sammi Walker’s murder. I understand you adopted her daughter, and you’re a retired police officer so you have a vested interest in this case. I was an officer on the case and it is one of ‘those’ cases . . . One I can’t forget. I kept detailed notes of the investigation and have sent you a few photocopies. The rest of the notebook is here with me if you want to see more. I suspect you will once you’ve read it.

  Don’t you find it odd that the investigation was shut down before an arrest was made? Does the force usually stop searching for the killer of one of their own? I didn’t think so. Maybe it did have something to do with influence, shall we say?

  An outcome should be possible for Sammi’s daughter. I guess with us all out of the force now, we’ve got more chance of getting a conviction, if indeed the person who I believe to be guilty is just that. In my notes I’ve called that person Silver.

  My notebook is a record of my thoughts and observations. It contains details that no one else knows and that are not in the official file. Because Silver pulled strings.

  You might be asking why I’m getting in contact with you now. It’s the old cliché. I’m sick. Those cancer sticks we all used to smoke have caught up with me. I’d like to clear my conscience, which I should have done years ago. I made some mistakes I’m not proud of and now I need to make amends. Anything more I can do to help, get in contact.

  Good luck in having the case reopened. I hope you get the desired outcome.

  Jase

  No surname. Nothing to hint at who this person was. Before she’d left the house, she’d gone back through the newspaper articles that had been hidden in the hot water system cupboard and there hadn’t been a Jase mentioned in them.

  Molly shook her head, unable to believe what she was reading. It sounded like the detectives had known who murdered Sammi this whole time – or at least suspected someone. Silver. But something had stopped the police from being able to charge them.

  So many scenarios went through her mind. Was it the old boys club? Or was the person too powerful or had contacts inside the force? Perhaps they were an informant the police needed to keep onside to make a bigger arrest? The options were endless.

  She ran her hands over the photocopied pages from the notebook, which were paperclipped together and folded inside a plastic slip.

  Was this a Pandora’s box?

  Maybe she should take it straight to Angie. She would know what to do. Or Martin, or Richard. Or Tash.

  Well, all of them, because they had proved themselves time and again. Still, there was a niggling doubt in the back of her mind.

  Looking out over the lake then back down to the notebook, a slow buzz of anxiety started in her stomach. Hang on, hang on, she thought. Eric had clearly spoken to this Jase on the phone. He must have given him some details that made Eric want to have her mother’s case reinvestigated. And now Eric and Iris were dead. Had something he discovered put him in the killer’s sights?

  Molly groaned and bent over. This was all linked, wasn’t it?

  Or perhaps it’s just your anxiety and imagination.

  Would the notebook hold the answers? She reached towards it.

  Would Eric want her to get involved?

  She drew back her hand.

  ‘Of course he would,’ she told herself.

  Or would he? Eric had protected her for twenty years. Would that be in vain if she started to read?

  No, she had to rip the bandaid off. Now! Otherwise, she never would.

  She pulled the pages out of the plastic slip, her heart beating hard. All she had to do was read.

  Looking out towards the island, Molly imagined her parents walking up the slope. Her mum in front, her father behind, so he could catch her if she stumbled. Eric had always been like that. Ready to pick them up if they fell. Always right there alongside them. God, she missed him. She missed them both. Hot tears fell on the paper in her hands and Molly closed her eyes, willing them to stop.

  Then she opened her eyes, wiped away her tears and started to read.

  MOLLY

  I had lots of dreams. One in particular, I remember well. It was so clear and vivid I thought it was real. I was back in that room, where Mum was on her knees, then she was spread out on the floor. The person who had shot her was bending over her, touching her neck, then her face. As they stood over Mum, it looked like their whole body was shaking. Quivering. Which didn’t make any sense to me.

  I dreamed they knelt down next to Mum, stroked her hair and whispered things to her. I couldn’t hear the words, not properly. But little snatches of things.

  ‘You shouldn’t . . .’

  ‘Why did you . . .’

  It only lasted a few seconds, then whoever it was got up, opened the door and left.

  That’s when I felt it. This weird lingering feeling. Sadness. Grief.

  I told the hypnotherapist about it. She had been hired by the police and she tried to take me back there. She asked questions. Lots of questions. ‘Where is your mum standing? And what is she wearing?’

  And I answered all of them. I had no idea where the answers came from because I’d never tried to remember what she’d been wearing that day, but I knew she was in her favourite jeans and a blue shirt. It would be easy to check and see if what I said was factual.

  Then the hypnotherapist asked: ‘Where is the person holding the gun?’

  ‘Next to her,’ I said. ‘Touching her hair.’

  She asked what they were wearing, and I replied, ‘A blue coverall suit. Plastic goggles. Gloves.’

  ‘What colour are the gloves?’

  That was hard to answer. ‘Clear, but sort of hazy at the same time.’

  She told me I was doing well. ‘Now I want you to look under those gloves. Can you see the hands inside? Is there anything on the hands?’

  It was difficult to see, but I tried, because I wanted to help the police, you know? I was so young. I wanted to help them find who did this to my mum and lock them up for a long, long time.

  I felt my body deflate. I couldn’t see anything.

  The hypnotherapist didn’t say anything, didn’t encourage me. She just let me continue to stare at the picture in my mind.

  And then I saw something. Like a ring. It was hard because the gloves were cloudy. I know now they were probably latex gloves, kinda see-through, you know?

  Then the hypnotherapist asked me if I could see the person’s wrist. She wanted to know if I could see anything on it.

  I could see a gap. Between the blue suit and the gloves. I could see white.

  ‘White skin?’ the hypnotherapist clarified.

  I squinted. ‘I think so,’ I said. ‘It’s not clothes.’

  ‘Great, well done, Molly. Is there anything on the skin?’ she asked.

  ‘It looks . . . smooth.’

  ‘Now, Molly, I’m going to ask you to call out to that person. I want that person to turn towards you. There’s no need to be frightened, because this person can’t hurt you. I only want you to look straight at them. Do you think you can do that?’

  That was really scary. My stomach clenched, even under hypnosis I felt the fear slamming into me. My chest started to heave up and down and I listened for the hypnotherapist’s calming voice, telling me it was okay.

  ‘You’re safe,’ she said. ‘Call out to them.’

  ‘Hey!’ I could hear my own voice reverberate around my mind. It was so weird. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘What can you see, Molly? Have they turned towards you yet?’

  ‘Yes.’ My breath was quicker now. ‘Yes, they’re looking at me.’

  ‘Now I want you to observe them. Get a strong picture of this person and then tell me what you see.’

  ‘Eyes, I can see their eyes.’

  ‘Can you tell the colour?’

  ‘No. But they’re looking at me. I think they’ve seen me!’ I started to panic. ‘I need to get out—’

  ‘Just one more look, Molly, what else can you see on the face?’

  I knew I needed to run. That person knew I was in the pantry. They took a step towards me. I shoved my hands in my mouth and bit down on my skin – hard – to stop me from making another sound.

  The person seemed unsure. They took another step towards the pantry, then turned, looked at Mum, dropped to their knees and touched her head. Body shaking.

  They stood. Took another look towards where I was hiding.

  Before they left, I caught sight of something. There was a gap at their neck between their shower cap and the blue suit, and there was something shiny that caught the light. Something silver.

  And then they were gone.

  CHAPTER 21

  ‘I’d like to speak to Detective Jack Higgins.’

  Jack didn’t recognise the voice on the end of the phone, so he took it away from his ear and checked the number again. The person wasn’t in his contact list.

  ‘You’re speaking with him.’ Jack looked up and down the street before he crossed over, heading for the cafe.

  The sun hadn’t quite peeked over the super pit mine yet, but it was casting its rays down Hannan Street, catching the gold dome on the top of the town hall.

  ‘John Park from Wandering Hire,’ the man said. ‘Sorry to call so early in the morning. I’m about to leave on a holiday and I knew you’d want the information I received last night ASAP.’

  ‘Regarding?’ Jack asked.

  ‘Hire car, eight, November, Juliet, Foxtrot, four, two.’

  ‘Yes, apologies, I’m with you now.’ Jack stepped back on the footpath as a car turned into his path.

  ‘The name of the person who was driving the vehicle was Caitlyn Elise Jones. I have her driver’s licence scan ready to send to you. There was some damage to this car. When it was returned, she said that a kangaroo jumped out and hit the passenger-side door. She paid the excess and the car is in the shop being repaired right now.’

  ‘How long ago did it go to the shop? Can you have any repairs halted?’ Jack asked. He was walking to a bench so he could sit down and start taking notes.

  ‘Three days ago, so I suspect it’s gone a bit too far to hold the repairs. What would you want to do with the vehicle?’

  ‘Forensics,’ Jack answered.

  ‘Ah, I see. Well, that could be tricky because it would have been cleaned on its return, so someone will have already vacuumed and wiped over all the surfaces.’

  Jack felt like swearing. He needed a fingerprint or something he could run through the computer. Instead, he answered calmly. ‘Okay, understood. Back to the driver’s licence, do you verify a licence when a rental is booked?’

  ‘Yes, they’re checked against all official channels. If a licence is suspended or not current, that type of thing, we know about it. What we can’t tell is if there are any driving charges against the licence holder. Of course, we will be advised if a driving offence occurs while the vehicle is hired.’

  ‘And this Caitlyn Jones’s licence checked out okay?’

  ‘Yes, because otherwise the vehicle wouldn’t have been rented to her.’

  Jack frowned. ‘Right,’ he said slowly, putting a large ring around the words ‘licence check’ in his notes. ‘What about the credit card? Was it in the same name?’

  ‘Yes, Caitlyn Jones.’

  ‘Is there anything else?’

  ‘As you would know, all our vehicles have GPS trackers in them. We download the data every time a vehicle is returned.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘The GPS in this particular vehicle was disabled half an hour after leaving the yard. Which is illegal and a breach of contract.’

  ‘Did you get in contact with Caitlyn to have a discussion about this?’

  ‘We’ve sent numerous emails, but they’ve all bounced. I think the email address she used has been closed.’

  ‘Interesting,’ Jack murmured, jotting down a few notes.

  ‘Not just the email address,’ John said. ‘Phone number too.’

  ‘Do you do a check on these details before you lease the car?’

  ‘We get the number during the check-in process but we don’t ring it. To my way of thinking, it wouldn’t prove much if we did. They could toss the phone out the window after they’ve left, couldn’t they?’

  ‘Yeah, they could. Look, can you email everything you can give me and then get further approval for the data. Do you have photos of the damage?’

  ‘We do.’

  ‘Great. Could you send them as well? Whereabouts is the repair shop?’

  John gave the address. ‘If you want to send officers around there first thing this morning, I can ring the owner and tell them to expect a visit.’