"Who was that?" I asked, a hint of annoyance creeping into my voice as Karl walked back into our shared open plan office. He held a pen in his hand and his notebook was still open, his eyes scanning the notes he had scribbled during the interview I had been notably excluded from. I watched him, feeling a mixture of irritation and curiosity. It always irked me when Karl went rogue on tasks. For the most part, he was a decent communicator, someone I could rely on. But there were times, just like now, when I felt the urge to give him a good, metaphorical slap for leaving me out of the loop.

"Jenny Triffett," Karl said nonchalantly, his voice betraying nothing of the significance of the interview. He was always like this, playing his cards close to his chest, not giving away information easily.

"Who's Jenny Triffett?" I probed further, my curiosity determined despite my annoyance. I leaned slightly forward in my chair, trying to catch a glimpse of his notes.

"The wife of Nial Triffett, of course," Karl replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

I couldn't help but give him a firm, playful thump on the shoulder. It was part of our dance, this back and forth. I knew that if I wanted to extract any meaningful information from Karl, I had to play along with his irritatingly cryptic responses. It was a game of patience and persistence, one that I had become quite adept at playing.

Despite my frustration with his secretive ways, a part of me couldn't deny the effectiveness of our dynamic. Karl's method of holding back information often led to more in-depth discussions and analysis, something that was crucial in our line of work. As detectives, piecing together the puzzle was our job, and Karl, in his own maddening way, was often the one who provided the most intriguing pieces. I settled back into my chair, mentally preparing myself for the task of unraveling the mystery of Jenny Triffett and her connection to our case.

"We need to advise the officers to be on the lookout for Nial Triffett's work ute," Karl stated, his tone serious. He looked up from his notes, his expression focused and intent.

"Why? What's up? Something else related to the investigation?" I asked, leaning forward in my chair, my enthusiasm piqued by the new development.

"I'm not sure yet," Karl replied, his brow creasing with uncertainty. "His wife said he went to visit a potential new client for his struggling fencing business yesterday and has now gone missing. But…”

I didn’t let him finish. "Well, that definitely sounds like it could be connected," I interjected, my mind racing with the possibilities this new lead presented. "Do we know who he went to visit?" I asked, eager for more details.

"No," Karl said, frowning deeper. "And Jenny called the police last night. While they were there talking to her, she received a text message from Nial telling her that he would be late home and not to wait up for him."

I frowned back at Karl, skepticism creasing my forehead. "That does sound a lot more like a case of infidelity rather than a missing person, and the last time I checked being a slimy cheat wasn’t actually against the law," I remarked, a hint of disappointment in my voice. The prospect that this might not be another lead for our investigation was disheartening. Still, a part of me reasoned, infidelity, while painful, was probably a better outcome for Jenny than dealing with a dead body. However, given the intensity that such situations often spiralled into, I couldn't help but think darkly that there might yet be a dead body involved in this whole mess. It never ceased to amaze me how often "crimes of passion" occurred, even in a place as seemingly tranquil as our state. The lengths people go to for sex, or love, or whatever they convinced themselves it was.

"You're right," Karl agreed, his tone indicating that he was still pondering the possibilities. "But I still think it might be worth us having a little bit of a dig ourselves. I'm sure Glen won't mind us helping him out a little." He sat down at his desk, a gesture that signalled he was settling in for some serious work. He placed his small notepad in front of him, the pages filled with his concise, scrawled handwriting.

I followed suit, standing behind him and peering over his shoulder at the notebook. Despite my initial reservations, I knew that any piece of information could be crucial, and overlooking even the smallest detail could be a mistake. Karl's instinct to dig deeper resonated with me; after all, our job was to uncover the truth, no matter how convoluted or hidden it might be.

"Glen's on the case?" I quipped, unable to resist a jab at our colleague. "God help that poor woman." My tone was light, but there was a hint of genuine concern there. Glen, while competent, had a way of complicating things that sometimes left us all wondering.

Karl chuckled at my comment, a brief moment of levity before he continued working on the database, his fingers moving with practiced ease. Within seconds of initiating the search, a match appeared on the screen. Efficiently, Karl scribbled the number plate details onto a yellow post-it note.

"Here, go put out a BOLO for Nial's ute for me," he requested, passing me the note. The simplicity of the task belied its importance. A BOLO – Be On the LookOut – could be critical in locating Nial Triffett's vehicle and, by extension, Nial himself.

I took the note from Karl, glancing down at the scrawled details. I read them aloud slowly, ensuring I had correctly deciphered Karl's often hard-to-read handwriting. "Tasmania's a small place. I can't imagine his ute staying hidden for long," I commented as I walked over to my own desk. The island's size played to our advantage in cases like these. It was hard to stay lost for long in such a tight-knit community.

Sitting at my desk, I felt a sense of anticipation. This could be a quick investigation, I thought. With a few keystrokes, I began the process of issuing the BOLO.

"Oh, Sarah. I almost forgot," Karl suddenly interjected, drawing my attention back to him. His addendum had a note of urgency, "Make a note to get a copy of Nial's phone records. Let's see if we can find out who he may have gone to visit."

"On it," I called back, acknowledging his request. Gathering phone records was a routine task, but it often proved to be a goldmine of information. Who Nial had been in contact with could lead us to his whereabouts or at least give us a clearer picture of his recent activities.

As Karl turned back to his computer, I saw an opportunity for a little more personal interaction, something I found myself increasingly looking forward to. "Hey Karl," I said, interrupting him. I walked over and casually sat myself down on the edge of his desk. I liked being close to him; there was something comforting about his presence. It reminded me of the subtle, affectionate nudges of my grandmother's late cat, how she would gently press her small, furry head against me. I positioned myself at an angle where, if Karl just swivelled his chair slightly, our knees would touch, almost imperceptibly.

"Found something already?" Karl asked, his attention now on me, though he hadn’t moved his chair to close the small distance between us.

"Yes," I replied, a hint of hesitance in my voice.

"That was quick," he noted, a slight raise of his eyebrows showing his surprise.

"Oh, no. It's not about the Triffetts," I quickly clarified. "It's about Jamie and Kain. I meant to tell you earlier," I confessed, feeling a little guilty for not sharing the information sooner.

"Shit, Sarah," Karl exclaimed, his voice tinged with irritation. He swivelled his chair with such force that it startled me. I instinctively moved to dodge his knees as they spun around, narrowly avoiding a clumsy collision that would have been less like a gentle nudge and more akin to my grandmother's cat pouncing on me with claws unsheathed.

I shrugged off Karl's frustration, understanding his reaction but not letting it rattle me. "Ellen's spoken with both the Launceston and Hobart airports. There's no record of either Jamie or Kain having boarded a plane in the last two weeks," I reported calmly, maintaining my professional demeanour despite his evident annoyance.

"Which means they must still be in the State," Karl said, his tone shifting to one of eagerness. He leaned forward, his frustration momentarily forgotten as he focused. "At least that keeps our searching area fairly narrow." His expression then clouded over again with a frown, clearly piecing together the next steps in his mind. "What about the Spirit of Tasmania? Have you checked with them yet?"

Taking a deep breath, I prepared to fill him in on the latest development. "Yes. We've heard from the Spirit too. They have no records of Jamie or Kain having boarded in the last two weeks. But Duncan is bringing down a copy of their boarding security footage. They could have used aliases. And there is always the slim chance that they snuck on board," I explained, laying out all the possibilities, however remote they might be.

"Very slim chance," Karl agreed, nodding. "But very good work, Sarah. That's gonna keep you busy for a while."

I nodded in response, though internally, I wasn't thrilled at the prospect. The idea of trawling through countless hours of security footage didn't exactly fill me with excitement. It was one of those necessary but tedious parts of the job. The painstaking examination of video footage, looking for any sign of our suspects, was a daunting task. It required patience, sharp eyes, and an attention to detail that was often mentally exhausting.

I steeled myself for the long hours ahead, sitting in a dimly lit room, eyes glued to the screen, searching for that one crucial frame that could break the case wide open.

My head jerked upwards abruptly, my eyes snapping open wide in a desperate attempt to focus on the computer screen in front of me. The words blurred together, dancing just out of reach of comprehension. The exhaustion from the last few days was finally catching up with me, making even the simple task of reading feel like an insurmountable challenge.

Closing my eyes just a fraction, I rationalised that a brief power nap wouldn't hurt. Surely, no one would notice. I raised my arm, creating a makeshift pillow with my hand, and gently rested my forehead against the cupped tips of my fingers. Just a few minutes, I told myself, feeling my consciousness already starting to ebb away into a much-needed respite.

"Sarah!" A sharp voice boomed suddenly in my ears, rudely jolting me back to reality. My head slipped through my fingers, narrowly avoiding a graceless collision with the hard surface of the desk beneath it.

"I'm awake!" I exclaimed, perhaps a bit too loudly, my voice echoing through the open plan office. Quickly, I rubbed at the crook in my neck, trying to ease the discomfort from my awkward sleeping position. I scanned the office for Karl, assuming he was the one who had so abruptly disturbed my brief slumber. To my surprise, Karl was seated at his own desk, several meters away, engrossed in his work. He appeared calm and focused, seemingly oblivious to my abrupt awakening.

But he’s so far away. Is he really the one that woke me up? I questioned internally, my mind still foggy from the shock of being awoken. The idea of Karl startling me from such a distance seemed improbable. I couldn’t picture him shouting across the room, then hurriedly returning to his desk as if nothing happened.

As I swivelled my chair back to face the front of the desk, the first thing that caught my eye were two long, muscular legs. My gaze involuntarily travelled upwards, tracing the thick hairs that entwined themselves along the man's legs, creating a chaotic yet mesmerising pattern across his well-defined calves and thighs. It was a sight that was both unexpected and oddly captivating.

"Duncan," I said, finally lifting my eyes to meet his face. There he stood, towering over me, the epitome of physical fitness. "It's so good to see you again. And so much of you," I quipped, a hint of playful sarcasm in my tone as I gestured towards his surprisingly short shorts and tight shirt. It was an outfit that left little to the imagination and emphasised his athletic build.

Duncan responded with a wide, charming smile. "You too, Sarah," he said warmly. "It's been a while. I wasn't sure whether I should call you." His voice was friendly, but there was an undercurrent of something else – perhaps uncertainty or a gentle reproach.

I could feel my face heat up, turning a shade of scarlet that I couldn’t hide. "I'm so sorry, Duncan," I quickly apologised, the memory of my broken promise to call him after the last work dinner party flooding back. "I got distracted. My grandmother is unwell." The words tumbled out in a rush, a mixture of embarrassment and genuine concern for my grandmother.

"I'm so sorry to hear that," Duncan replied, his tone shifting to one of earnest concern. "Your grandmother is a lovely woman." There was a sincerity in his voice that touched me, reminding me that there was more to Duncan than just his physical presence.

"Thank you," I responded softly to Duncan, feeling a need to recenter myself. My gaze drifted away for a moment as I took a deep breath, trying to steer the conversation back to work-related matters. "Did you bring the hard drive?" I asked.

"Oh, yes, of course," Duncan replied, his tone business-like now.

I watched as he fumbled with the bag slung over his broad, toned shoulder. His athletic build was hard to ignore, but I tried to keep my attention on the task at hand.

"Here it is," he announced, producing a slim black box from his bag. It was barely larger than a mobile phone, a compact vessel of potentially crucial information.

"Two weeks' worth?" I inquired, accepting the hard drive from Duncan's hands. The weight of it felt significant, filled with the promise of hidden details and answers.

Duncan nodded, confirming, "Two weeks' worth. All accounted for."

"Great," I said, managing a soft smile. However, I noticed that Duncan's gaze lingered a bit too long on my chest, which made me slightly uncomfortable. His behaviour, although probably unintentional, was unsettling.

"That's all, thank you, Duncan," I said, hinting that it was time for him to leave. But he didn’t seem to get the message and continued to stand there.

Seizing an opportunity to gently usher him away, I mentioned Ellen. "Uh. I believe Ellen was keen to see you too," I said, recalling our earlier conversation. Internally, I was grateful to Ellen for giving me an escape route.

"Really?" Duncan perked up, a bit too eagerly for my comfort.

Doing my best to appear serious, I nodded. "Oh, yes. I definitely remember her telling me how excited she was to hear that you were going to be visiting today. But, you know, I'm sure I remember her also saying that she had to go to court today. If you hurry, I'm sure you'll be able to catch her before she leaves."

"Oh, thanks," Duncan responded, suddenly motivated. "I guess I'd best be going then. Don't want to miss her!"

"Yeah. You'd better hurry," I reaffirmed. "Like, right now."

He straightened his shoulder bag and gave a short wave. "Bye, Sarah. It was great to see you again."

"See ya," I responded to Duncan with a quick, somewhat dismissive wave of my fingers. As soon as he was out of sight, I let out a sigh and rubbed my forehead, feeling a mix of relief and annoyance. Duncan, unwittingly, was a constant reminder of one of my personal rules: never be the most drunk at a work function. Unfortunately, it seemed everyone remembered more about that particular night than I did, especially Duncan, who harboured memories of a promise I had allegedly made – a special night he wouldn't forget. The irony was, I had absolutely no recollection of making such a promise. It wasn't that Duncan was unattractive – quite the opposite, really. But my lack of interest in him went beyond physical appearances; there was simply no spark there for me.

Picking up the hard drive Duncan had delivered, its weight was surprisingly hefty for its compact size. I was about to plug it directly into my computer when a moment of professional caution kicked in. I reminded myself that I was a police officer in a police station, and plugging in external digital devices carelessly ranked high on the 'stupid things that cause trouble' list we'd been constantly warned about. Then it struck me – why should I spend countless hours trawling through endless footage when I could leverage my resources more effectively? That’s when the idea hit me. James, my favourite tech guy who also happened to be my first cousin, could do it for me. Not only would he complete it in a fraction of the time, but he’d use a more secure system too.

"Smart thinking, Sarah," I congratulated myself with a smile, feeling pleased with this strategic decision. Making my way to find James, I couldn’t help but reflect on the convenience of having family in useful places. It's funny, I thought to myself, how work can sometimes be the only place where you really talk to some family members. But hey, got to love family, right? Especially when they can make your job a whole lot easier.

I wandered through what could only be described as the deep, dark dungeon of the station – the tech team's lair. Located in the basement of the old building, it was a world apart from the bustling, well-lit halls above. I always found it slightly ironic that the tech team, the ones responsible for handling some of the most advanced technology in the station, worked in such a seemingly archaic setting. They seemed to thrive down here, perhaps because the dim, cave-like environment reminded them of the apocalypse-themed video games they were fond of. To them, it was a sanctuary of sorts, a place where their technical wizardry could come to life.

The basement definitely wasn't my cup of tea, with its lack of natural light and the constant hum of machinery. Yet, I had to admit, there was something about the occasional visit here that I enjoyed. The few rooms that were occupied by the tech team were connected by a labyrinth of narrow, dimly lit corridors. These passageways were alive with the tiny, multi-coloured flashes of countless LED lights. Each flickering light, each quiet beep and whirr, signified something important – a piece of data flowing, a server operating, countless unseen processes that kept the station’s digital heart beating.

Walking through these corridors, surrounded by routers, relays, and a plethora of other technical equipment, the names of which were a mystery to me, I couldn't help but feel a sense of intrigue. This was a place of unseen magic, where information was dissected and pieced back together, where clues were unearthed from the digital depths. The tech team, with their quiet efficiency and unassuming brilliance, were like modern-day wizards, weaving their spells in a world of zeros and ones.

As I approached James' workspace, I felt a familiar sense of appreciation for this hidden nerve centre of the station. Here, amidst the blinking lights and whirring machines, lay the potential keys to unlock the secrets of our latest case. I readied myself to hand over the hard drive, hoping that James and his team could work their magic and bring us one step closer to solving the enigma that lay before us.

James, seated amidst a nest of screens and cables, didn’t take much convincing. He agreed to make my search through the security footage his top priority. The ease with which he accepted the task was a testament to his efficiency and dedication, qualities I had always admired in him. It also helped that we shared a familial bond, one that often made our professional interactions smoother and more straightforward.

Feeling a surge of happiness and confidence from this small victory, I strutted down the last stretch of the dimly lit corridor that led to the lift back up to what I jokingly referred to as 'civilisation'.

As I walked, my steps echoed slightly against the concrete walls, a rhythmic sound that matched my uplifted mood. There was a spring in my step, a feeling of accomplishment that came from knowing the hard drive was in capable hands. James and his team were the unsung heroes of many investigations, their technical expertise often providing the crucial breakthroughs we needed.

Reaching the lift, I pressed the button and waited, my thoughts lingering on the interaction with James. It was moments like these, where the pieces of the investigation started to align, that really solidified my love for the job. The thrill of the chase, the satisfaction of making progress, and the essential teamwork all wove together into the exciting and rewarding tapestry of detective work.

While I was lost in these reflections, I decided to make use of the waiting time. I confidently dialled Ellen's number on my phone. “Ellen, I’m glad you’re back,” I spoke, trying to sound as professional as possible, yet I couldn't completely mask the smug undertone in my voice. I had a hunch that Ellen had been on one of her frequent, and definitely unauthorised, cigarette breaks earlier when I had tried to visit her desk only to find it deserted.

"What is it, Sarah?" Ellen's voice came through the phone, her tone as dry as ever.

I dove straight into business. "I just wanted to check that you found the note I left on your desk. I need you to put in a request for Nial Triffett's phone records and issue an alert to all patrols to be on the lookout for his ute. All the details you need are on that note," I explained succinctly.

There was a brief pause on the other end. I could faintly hear the sound of papers being shuffled, the rustling indicating Ellen was rummaging through her desk. A part of me desperately hoped she would find the note quickly. The thought of having to revisit Ellen's desk, particularly right after one of her cigarette breaks, was not appealing in the slightest. The lingering smell of smoke that always seemed to envelope her was something I preferred to avoid.

"Yeah," Ellen finally said, her voice slow, almost as if she was relishing the act of searching. "I found it."

A wave of relief washed over me. "Thanks, Ellen," I said quickly, eager to end the call before any unnecessary small talk could begin. As soon as I hung up, I felt a sense of achievement. Despite the small hiccup earlier, I had managed to get the ball rolling on another crucial aspect of the investigation.

The lift doors opened, and I stepped inside, feeling a renewed sense of purpose. Every step taken was a step closer to solving the case, and with each piece of the puzzle falling into place, I felt more invigorated by the challenges that lay ahead.