As I trudged towards the police station, my mind still whirled from the events of the morning. The display on the car dashboard had confirmed my fears – I was late for work, again. The thought of a 'quiet chat' with the Sergeant over my tardiness and the potential blemish on my newly acquired promotion rankled me. I needed to be more cautious.

Opting for the front entrance rather than sneaking in through the back, I hoped my fresh set of clothes would dispel any suspicion that I was just arriving. I strode through the automatic doors and down the ramp leading to the secured door near the reception desk, trying to exude a sense of normalcy and routine.

"I don't understand," I overheard a woman's voice, strained with frustration and worry. She was standing at the reception desk, her back to me.

Pausing before swiping my security card, I couldn't help but eavesdrop on the conversation.

"I haven't seen or heard from my husband since yesterday. How can that not qualify for me to make a missing persons report?" the woman demanded.

I listened intently for the receptionist's reply.

The receptionist's response was matter-of-fact, yet devoid of empathy. "I'm sorry, Mrs Triffett, but you said you received a text message from him last night. That counts as a form of direct contact. Jenny, your husband just isn't missing."

Jenny's distress was palpable as she began to tear up. "But that just isn't like my husband! He would never just leave like that, especially without saying goodbye to little Sammy. And the dog has gone missing too!"

My detective instincts kicked in. Another disappearance? The tension in the air was almost tangible. Jenny's desperation, her plea for help, resonated with me, adding another layer of urgency to the already complex web of cases I was entangled in.

"Jenny, you know there's nothing I can do for you. The system doesn't have the resources—" the receptionist tried to say before being cut off abruptly.

"Screw the system!" Jenny's voice broke through my thoughts as she slammed her fist on the countertop. "You know me, Linda. You know my husband! Hell, you had dinner with us just last week. You know Nial would never do this to us!”

The raw emotion in Jenny's voice struck a chord. Her situation, so painfully human, reminded me of the very reason I had chosen this profession. It wasn't just about solving puzzles; it was about helping people in their darkest hours, about bringing answers to those plagued by uncertainty.

"Mrs. Triffett, was it?" I approached her with a gentle tone, trying to offer some semblance of comfort amidst her turmoil.

"Yes," she responded, her voice tinged with confusion as she looked up at me. "Do I know you?"

I felt an unexpected wave of emotion, a reaction to the palpable pain in her bright blue eyes. There was something vaguely familiar about her, a feeling I couldn't quite pin down. "No, I'm Detective Karl Jenkins. Why don't you come with me and you can tell me what's going on."

She hesitated, clearly weighing her trust in a stranger against her desperate need for help. Observing her, I took in her slender, petite frame, the way her golden hair curled around her shoulders, and her two-toned pink-and-black glasses that added a unique touch to her appearance. Her rosy cheeks and pink lips added to her distinct look.

As I swiped my security card and the green light flashed, indicating access, I held the door open for her. "After you, ma'am," I said, maintaining a polite and professional demeanour.

We navigated the maze of corridors until we reached the open interview room at the end of the final narrow corridor. Standing at the entrance, memories of my recent conversation with Louise Jeffries in this very room came flooding back. The thought of another disappearance, another person lost, weighed heavily on me.

"This way please, Mrs. Triffett," I gently guided her into the room. “Please, take a seat.”

As she settled into one of the metal-framed chairs, I took a moment to compose myself. The room, stark and functional, seemed to amplify the gravity of our conversation. Each disappearance case was a stark reminder of the unpredictability of life and the fragility of human connections. As a detective, it was my duty to piece together these fragmented lives, to bring clarity and resolution to those left in the wake of uncertainty. With a deep breath, I prepared to listen to Mrs. Triffett's story, ready to delve into another mystery, another human story needing to be understood and resolved.

Waiting for her to get comfortable, I pulled up the second chair and faced her directly. Retrieving a small pad and pen from my shirt pocket, I prepared to jot down the details of her story. "Your full name, please?" I asked, pen poised above the paper.

"Jenny Triffett," she replied succinctly.

"Thank you," I responded, carefully writing her name in capital letters at the top of the notepad. I added the date in the top right corner: Sunday, 29 July 2018.

Lifting my gaze back to Jenny, I was momentarily struck by her beauty. It was rare for me to find myself at a loss for words, but her presence momentarily disarmed me. My mouth moved as if to speak, yet no sound came out.

Not waiting for me to regain my composure, Jenny took the initiative. "My husband, Nial, is missing. He has been since yesterday morning," she said, her voice laced with a mix of determination and underlying worry.

Regaining my professional focus, I asked, "How do you know he has gone missing?"

"Because I haven't seen him since yesterday morning," she responded with a bluntness that matched my own.

"But you have heard from him, yeah? That is what the receptionist was saying, right?" I inquired, recalling the conversation I had overheard at the reception desk.

"I thought Linda was my friend," said Jenny coldly, looking away from me.

"Linda?" I asked, not sure who she was referring to.

Jenny turned back to face me. "Linda. The receptionist," she said, her tone growing impatient with the conversation.

"So, you know her then," I stated.

"Yes. Apart from also being my sister-in-law, our families have known each other for years. We share great grandmothers on my mother's side," Jenny explained.

Her response drew a chuckle from me. "You must be Tasmanian, then," I commented, trying to lighten the mood with a touch of local humour. I noticed a subtle change in Jenny's demeanour as she seemed to relax slightly.

"Yes. A bit obvious that, isn't it?" she responded with a small laugh. Her subsequent question about my origins caught me off guard. "Are you from here?"

I smiled, appreciating the brief respite from the heaviness of our conversation. "No," I replied. "I was born in South Australia, but my family moved to Queensland when I was a young boy. Somehow, I've ended up here."

Jenny's smile in response was a brief moment of solace amidst the storm of her current situation. Despite the anxiety and frustration she was clearly feeling, there was an undeniable warmth about her. It made me ponder the nature of her husband's disappearance. How could someone just leave a woman like her? The thought lingered in my mind as I redirected my focus back to the investigation at hand.

"Tell me about the last time you saw your husband," I said.

Jenny took a deep breath, then explained. "Nial had just finished in the shower. He was staring off into the mirror. He was distracted. I could tell something was bothering him, so I rubbed his damp shoulder gently. It always relaxed him so quickly when I did that."

I bet it did, I thought to myself. I wanted to interrupt and ask if she knew what was bothering her husband, but I was too distracted by the soft, eloquent, beautiful way her words floated out of her mouth, and I shifted uncomfortably in my chair instead.

"And then his phone rang. He went off to the bedroom to take the call," she continued, adding another layer to the narrative.

My eyes closed briefly. My hand rubbed at my brow, bringing back my focus. "Do you know who he was speaking to?" I asked, curious about the nature of the call that seemed to have preceded his departure.

"No. I disrobed myself and got into the shower," Jenny replied, maintaining her composure despite the personal nature of the details.

I shifted in my chair, trying to maintain professionalism despite the intimate details being shared. "What happened after the phone call?" I pressed, eager to piece together the timeline of events.

"Well, I was still in the shower when he poked his head in to say that he was just going out to meet with a new client about a potential fencing job. And then I assume he left," she recounted.

"You assume?" I echoed, wanting to clarify her last statement.

"When I was done in the shower, he was not about. His ute was also gone," she explained, confirming that Nial had left the house without a direct farewell.

This new information about a potential job and Nial leaving without a proper goodbye was intriguing. It suggested a sudden or unplanned departure, or perhaps a deeper issue that Jenny might not be aware of. I noted down every detail, aware that even the smallest piece of information could be crucial.

"And the dog? Did you say before that your dog was also missing?"

"Yes," Jenny began, "And no," she quickly corrected herself, causing me to look up in confusion.

"Well, yes, Buffy is now missing. But she wasn't earlier in the morning. Sammy was playing with her after Nial had left." Her clarification painted a picture of a normal morning that had suddenly turned abnormal.

"Sammy, your son?" I confirmed, wanting to make sure I understood the family dynamics correctly.

"Yes. He's three." Jenny's voice trembled as she spoke about her son. "He misses his father so much already. He was so upset when Nial wasn't there to tuck him into bed and read him his bedtime story. They have a nightly routine," she said, tears welling up in her eyes.

I reached out instinctively, offering a comforting touch to her shaking hands. "It's okay, Jenny. We'll find Nial," I reassured her, though I was well aware of the unpredictable nature of these cases.

Her next words caught me off guard. "Why aren't all police officers as kind as you?" she asked, a hint of bitterness in her voice.

I was puzzled. "What do you mean? Have you already spoken to another officer?" I inquired, sensing there was more to her story.

"Yes, of course," she replied quickly, confirming my suspicion.

"Really? Please, do tell," I urged her, eager to understand the full context.

"Well naturally, after Buffy disappeared, which gave me quite the fright, I called the police to report her disappearance," she began, pausing for a moment. "And Nial's," she added.

"But they didn't seem too worried about Nial, did they, Mrs Triffett?" I asked carefully.

"No," Jenny replied with a huff.

"And why was that?" I urged her to continue, gently trying to coax out the details.

Jenny's pause, her eyes closing as she gathered her thoughts, spoke volumes. I could sense her internal struggle, the battle between wanting to share the truth and fear of judgment. "You can tell me the truth, Jenny. I won't judge you," I assured her, hoping to provide a sense of safety and understanding.

"Judge me! You're no different to the rest of them. I know what you're all thinking," she retorted, her frustration and hurt palpable.

I didn't need her to elaborate; I understood the implication. "They questioned his fidelity, didn't they?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.

"Yes," she confirmed quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

I pressed on, knowing there was more to the story. "And there was something else you told them, wasn't there, Jenny? Something that pressed them to conclude that you had no case for a missing person's report."

Her affirmative response was a mere whisper, accompanied by a single tear that betrayed the emotional toll this ordeal was taking on her. I felt a lump in my throat, empathising with her pain, and softly asked, "What did you tell them?"

"While the police were with me, I received a text message from Nial. He said that he was still with the potential client and was going to be home late," she revealed, her eyes still closed.

"Fuck!" The expletive slipped out before I could stop it, reflecting the complexity and the frustration of the situation. A text message from Nial could significantly alter the nature of the case, yet it also deepened the mystery. Why hadn't he come home as he said he would? Was there more to his disappearance than met the eye?

Jenny's gaze, deep and blue, held a raw intensity that seemed to reach right into me. As I instinctively leaned back, the chair's metal legs scraped against the hard floor, a jarring sound in the otherwise silent room. Before I could muster an apology, another tear traced its way down Jenny's cheek, deepening my sense of helplessness in the face of her sorrow.

"He told me not to wait up for him," Jenny continued, her voice laden with a mixture of confusion and hurt. "He's never said that to me before." Her words hung in the air, heavy with implication.

I found myself at a crossroads, uncertain whether to offer comfort or to maintain a professional distance. Her account, while poignant, did seem to lean more towards the possibility of infidelity than a straightforward missing person's case. The implications were unsettling.

A wave of concern washed over me, the hairs on my arms standing on end. The lack of direct contact, the hint of strain in their relationship—it all felt too coincidental, too aligned with the patterns of troubled partnerships I had heard about in recent days.

"Do you know of a Luke Smith?" I ventured, probing for any potential connection that might shed light on the situation.

Jenny pondered for a moment, and in that pause, the tension in the room seemed to amplify. "No. The name doesn't sound familiar. Should I know him?" she inquired, her confusion evident.

"No," I replied, choosing not to delve deeper into that line of questioning. It was clear that mentioning Luke Smith would only lead her down a path of further distress without any substantial reason.

Jenny's next plea was heartfelt. "Are you going to help me?"

I couldn't refuse. I reached for another business card and slid it across the table to her. "I'll open a case file," I promised. "I need you to contact me the moment you hear anything further from your husband. Anything at all," I emphasised, wanting her to understand the importance of any new information.

"Of course," she responded, her hand briefly touching mine in gratitude. The contact sent an unexpected shiver through me, a reminder of the human connection at the heart of this case. "Whatever you need to do your job."

I managed a smile, though it felt awkward under the weight of the situation. Jenny's plight had become more than just another case to me. Her pain, her uncertainty, resonated deeply, and I was committed to uncovering the truth, no matter where it might lead. As she held my business card, I saw in her eyes a glimmer of hope, a hope that I was determined not to let fade.

"Who was that?" Sarah asked as I walked back into the open-plan office, pen in hand and notebook still open to the notes I had made from Jenny's interview. Sarah never did seem to miss much when it came to my movements.

"Jenny Triffett," I responded, offering only the name as I clutched my pen and notebook, the pages still open to my freshly written notes from the interview. I had no intention of divulging more details, especially since I was already planning to hand over the notes to Glen. My workload was heavy, dominated by the ongoing cases involving Jamie and Luke.

"Who's Jenny Triffett?" Sarah probed further, her curiosity piqued.

"The wife of Nial Triffett, of course," I replied, barely suppressing a smile. Sarah's assumption that I was intentionally keeping her in the dark amused me. I toyed with the idea of prolonging her curiosity a bit longer.

Her response was immediate and physical—a firm thump on my shoulder. I quickly reconsidered my playful stance.

"We need to advise the officers to be on the lookout for Nial Triffett's work ute," I stated, shifting the focus back to the case. It was essential to act quickly, regardless of who was officially assigned to the case. Finding Nial's ute could be crucial to resolving the case swiftly. Besides, I couldn't help but feel a bit curious about the developments myself.

"Why? What's up? Something else related to the investigation?" Sarah's enthusiasm was evident, always eager to delve into the details of a case.

"I'm not sure yet," I admitted. "His wife said he went to visit a potential new client for his struggling fencing business yesterday and has now gone missing. But—" I began to explain, but before I could continue, Sarah cut me off.

"Well, that definitely sounds like it could be connected," she said, jumping to unnecessary conclusions again. "Do we know who he went to visit?" she asked.

"No," I said, frowning. "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 explained.

Sarah frowned back at me. "That does sound a lot more like a case of infidelity than a missing person, and last time I checked, being a slimy cheat wasn't actually against the law," she said, clearly disappointed that it wasn't another lead for our investigation.

"You're right," I conceded, "but I think it's worth digging a bit deeper." My instincts as a detective told me not to dismiss any possibilities too soon. "I'm sure Glen won't mind us helping out a bit," I added, more to myself than Sarah, as I took a seat at my desk.

"Glen has the case?" she asked. "God help that poor woman."

Chuckling, I opened up the car registration database and began typing in the details of Nial's ute. The search yielded a result almost immediately. Scribbling the number plate on a yellow Post-it note, I handed it to Sarah. "Here, go put out a BOLO for Nial's ute, would you?" I requested.

Sarah read the number plate aloud, double-checking the hastily written characters. "Tasmania's a small place. I can't imagine his ute staying hidden for long," she observed, walking to her desk to put out the Be On the LookOut (BOLO) alert.

Leaning back in my chair, the puzzle pieces of the Triffett case swirled in my mind. The complexity of the situation was like a knot, each element intertwining with the others – the enigmatic text from Nial, Jenny's distress, and the peculiar detail of the missing dog.

"Oh, Sarah. I almost forgot," I called out, remembering a crucial step in our investigation. "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." Such details could provide vital clues.

"On it," Sarah replied promptly.

While Sarah worked on that, I turned to my computer, drawn to an old, nagging mystery that had haunted me for years: Killerton Enterprises. Typing the name into the search engine brought up the familiar result – the American construction company that seemed entirely unrelated to the mysterious note Jamie had left years ago. The disparity between the note and the results of my search was frustrating. This American company, now worth over a billion dollars, had no apparent connection to Australia. Yet, that name had clearly frightened young Jamie all those years ago.

I stared at the screen, lost in thought. The Killerton Enterprises I was looking for seemed to be a phantom, existing nowhere but in Jamie's past and potentially my ongoing investigation. It was a dead end that I had hit time and again, but something in me refused to let it go. There had to be a connection, a reason why that name had been significant enough for Jamie to scribble it down on a piece of scrap paper.

Sarah's voice cut through my thoughts. Hastily, I closed the browser window. The last thing I needed was for Sarah to stumble upon my private investigation into Killerton Enterprises, especially considering how I had lost Jamie's scrap paper after transferring to the Tasmanian Police. It was a secret I intended to keep.

"Found something already?" I inquired as Sarah approached my desk.

"Yes," she replied, but her quick clarification that it wasn't about the Triffetts caught my attention. "It's about Jamie and Kain," she added.

I couldn't hide my irritation. "Shit, Sarah," I said, frustrated. Information on Jamie's case was too critical to be delayed, especially given my personal connection and the recent reckless actions I had taken.

Sarah updated me on her findings. "I've 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."

"Which means they have to still be in the state," I said eagerly. "At least that keeps our searching area fairly narrow." My mind was already racing with the implications of this new information, but then a thought struck me. "What about the Spirit of Tasmania? Have you checked with them yet?"

Sarah took a deep breath before responding. "Yes. I've spoken with the Spirit too. They have no records of Jamie or Kain having boarded in the last two weeks either. But Duncan is bringing down a copy of their security footage. They could have used aliases. And there is always the slim chance that they snuck on board."

"Very slim chance," I agreed, nodding. "But very good work Sarah. That's going to keep you busy for a while." Her thoroughness was commendable. The prospect of going through security footage was daunting, yet necessary.