The witness had been taken to the local hospital for a general check-up, and to have the drugs flushed out of her system.

The only hospital I’d ever been to before was the towering building where Uncle Mick had gone after his heart attack. The entire family had camped out at that place while we were waiting for news. A stuck-up doctor had asked if we needed quite so many family members there, and Aunty June had yelled at him, which had almost got us kicked out. But then Aunty Viv had burst into tears, and the littlest cousins – never ones to miss a cue – had started crying too. Since no one had wanted to evict tiny sobbing children, they’d left us alone. Then we’d got the word that Uncle Mick was going to be okay, and Dad had bought us all chocolates and chips from the vending machine to celebrate.

But the hospital in this town looked nothing like the one in the city that Uncle Mick had been in. It was a jumbled weatherboard building that sprawled out in all directions, as if additions had just been tacked on wherever was most convenient as the years went by. The exterior was painted a cheery bright blue, and crows perched on the rooftop, lining the top of the big sign that said ‘HOSPITAL’.

Dad and I walked into a waiting area filled with people. A loud waiting area. Everyone was chatting – sharing news, asking about each other’s families and kids. Talking about the fire, too. I tilted my head to one side, listening to the hubbub of conversation.

‘It’s so terrible, that poor man dying …’

‘Thank heaven the children are safe …’

‘I hope they find Tom Cavanagh soon …’

‘My Rosie’s helping with the search. Says they haven’t found a trace of him yet …’

‘They say it was bad wiring. I said to Jim, we must get our electrics checked …’

I stopped listening. They didn’t know any more than I did, and no one here was overcome with grief or anxiety, which meant no one had been close to Tom Cavanagh or Martin Flint.

Dad strode towards the nurses’ station in the far corner, which was surrounded by a small but determined group of people complaining about how long it was taking to see the doctor. One of the nurses – a blonde, harassed-looking woman – came hurrying over to intercept Dad.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she said, ‘but one of our doctors is off with the flu. It’s put us terribly behind. Is there any chance you could come back tomorrow?’

Dad held up his identification. ‘I’m a detective. I need to interview the witness to the fire at the children’s home. I understand she’s being treated here?’

The nurse’s tired blue eyes lit up in relief as she realised Dad wasn’t another patient. ‘Oh, yes!’ She pointed to a hallway that led off the waiting area. ‘The wards are just through there. I’ll show y—’

She broke off as a gust of wind slammed the front door open and sent a cloud of dust whirling into the room. Dad shoved the door shut, but people were already coughing, and some of the older ones didn’t sound so good.

The nurse heaved a sigh. ‘Um, can you see yourself through? We’ll be right here if you need anything.’

‘I’ll be fine on my own,’ Dad reassured her.

I walked ahead of him into the hallway. It was lined with doors set with small panes of glass, and I peered through the nearest one into a long room filled with rows of beds. Most of the beds were occupied by people Dad’s age or older, but one held a thin dark-haired girl. This could be her!

I called over my shoulder to Dad, ‘I think she’s in—’

That was as far as I got before a voice spoke over mine. ‘You police? You here about that fire?’

There was another girl, standing in a doorway further down the hall. She had short black hair and pale skin, and was wearing a hospital gown with a long green jumper over the top. If this was the witness then they’d succeeded in getting the drugs out of her system, because her gaze was focused. In fact, everything about her was sharp, from her angled cheekbones to the spikiness of her hair and the glint in her dark eyes.

Dad stepped past me to smile at the girl. ‘Yes, I’m a detective here about the fire. Are you the one who was out there that night?’

‘That’s me.’

‘I’d like to speak to you about what you saw, if you feel up to it.’

She looked him up and down, and sniffed like she wasn’t impressed. Then she nodded and vanished into the room behind her. Dad followed.

This room looked exactly like the other ward room, except it contained only a single patient. Our witness was sitting on a bed with her legs stretched out and her head turned away from us so she could stare out the window. There wasn’t that much to see out there – just leaves and dust swirling in the afternoon light – but she seemed fascinated by the view. Or maybe she was just ignoring us. Well, ignoring Dad. Everyone ignored me, the invisible girl.

Dad pulled up a chair and sat by the bed. I positioned myself at his shoulder.

‘My name is Michael,’ he said to the girl. ‘Would you mind telling me your name?’

She answered without looking at him, ‘Shouldn’t you already know that, detective?’

I sighed. ‘I guess she doesn’t remember she wasn’t with it enough to tell anyone her name when they found her.’

The witness didn’t hear me, of course. But after a moment she turned towards Dad and said, ‘I’m Isobel Catching. You can call me Catching.’

Dad raised an eyebrow. ‘Catching? That’s an unusual last name.’

She shrugged. ‘My great-great-grandma was good at catching stray cattle, so the white boss called her Catching. Wasn’t like she could say no, back then.’

Dad blinked. ‘You’re Aboriginal?’

Her lip curled. ‘What, you think I’m not brown enough? You think all Aboriginal people are the same colour?’

‘No. I don’t think that,’ Dad answered. ‘Sorry for the misunderstanding. Matter of fact, my wife was Aboriginal.’

She opened her eyes very wide and spoke in a tone dripping with sarcasm: ‘Wow, really? Then I guess you and I are going to be best friends.’

I frowned at Catching. There was no need for her to be mean! But Dad didn’t seem to mind. He just kept talking in that same gentle voice: ‘Catching, can you tell me about anything you saw the night of the fire?’

She slouched against the pillows. ‘Maybe I didn’t see anything. Or maybe I did. Depends.’

‘Depends on what?’

She looked at me – or, no, she didn’t, she looked into the space I was standing in for a second, then away again. ‘On if you’ll believe me.’

‘I’m here to listen to anything you have to say,’ Dad promised.

‘Yeah, you say that now. But when I start talking, you’re gonna tell me there’s no such thing as monsters and other-places.’

Monsters? Other-places? ‘I think she’s messing with you, Dad.’

He gave the faintest shake of his head. He didn’t think so, and when I returned my attention to Catching, I saw why. Her gaze had shifted inwards, and the mocking glint had vanished from her eyes. She was staring at something only she could see. Whatever it was made her nostrils flare and her lips press together. I didn’t know what could scare this fearless girl, but whatever it was, it was no joke and no trick.

‘I can believe in monsters and, um, other-places,’ Dad said.

Catching hunched her shoulders. ‘It’ll take too long. This thing didn’t even start with the fire.’

I realised she wanted to talk. She just needed to be sure Dad was going to listen. Dad knew it too. ‘I have plenty of time.’

He took out his phone and switched it off, relaxing into the chair as if he was happy to sit there forever. ‘Why don’t you tell me where it did start?’

Catching sat still and quiet for a while longer. Her gaze drifted in my direction again, although she couldn’t be really seeing me.

Then she said, ‘It started with a sunset.’