As I glanced out of the side window, the contrast between the earlier sunny morning and the dark storm clouds now rolling in was stark and foreboding. They loomed ominously, a tangible symbol of the mounting tension and unresolved mysteries surrounding our investigation.

"We'd better make quick work of this investigation," Karl's voice broke the silence that had settled between us, his gaze shifting towards me. "I don't think we have much time before it hits.”

I simply nodded, my response minimal. The silence that had enveloped us during the drive was a product of the unresolved tension from yesterday's incident. His outburst had left a palpable strain on our working relationship, and I found myself struggling to reconcile the Karl I knew with the man who had acted so irrationally.

Earlier, a call had come in from a distressed neighbour about Karen and Chris Owen, who hadn't been seen for a few days. Under normal circumstances, it might not have warranted our immediate attention. However, given the recent spate of disappearances, our instructions had been clear – to respond and investigate.

From the quick research I had managed to do, the Owens seemed like an integral part of the Tasmanian community, known for their unwavering commitment to environmental causes. Their dedication to the preservation of Tasmania's natural beauty was widely recognised. Given their line of work, it wasn't unusual for Karen and Chris Owen to be away from home for extended periods, travelling across the state for conservation projects. This knowledge made me skeptical about our assignment to investigate their absence. It seemed unlikely that their disappearance was linked to our ongoing case. Yet, in the back of my mind, the recent string of missing persons kept nagging at me, suggesting that there might be more to their absence than met the eye.

"Watch out!" I instinctively yelled, my hand almost reaching for the steering wheel. Karl's reaction was immediate, his foot slamming down on the brakes as a flock of brown chickens unexpectedly scurried across the road. The car jerked to a halt, just inches away from the feathered roadblock.

For a brief moment, Karl and I exchanged glances. There was a fleeting spark of humour in the absurdity of the situation, but it quickly faded, overshadowed by the lingering tension from yesterday's events. The unspoken discord between us hung heavy in the air, dampening what might have otherwise been a light-hearted moment.

"We must be getting close," Karl said, breaking the silence as he refocused on the road ahead.

"We are," I responded, trying to shift the focus back to the task at hand. I pointed to a street sign just down the road. "That's the road to the Owens' property."

Karl beeped the horn, a clear attempt to urge the lingering hens across the road. However, the fifth one, a straggler bringing up the rear, seemed utterly unfazed. I couldn't help but let out a slight snort of amusement. The chook paused, turning to look up at us with an expression that seemed to say we were the ones causing the inconvenience. Her beady eyes met Karl's with an almost determined defiance. As Karl honked again, she merely continued her leisurely pace, bobbing her head and pecking at the road, seemingly taking even longer with each successive beep.

"This is ridiculous," I muttered under my breath, my patience wearing thin. Unfastening my seatbelt, I swung the car door open and stepped out. We were on a tight schedule, and this unexpected poultry parade was the last thing we needed.

I flapped my arms, trying my best to shoo the chickens off the road. It was a comical sight, I'm sure, but we simply didn't have the time for this delay. Finally, after some persistent herding, I managed to clear the road. Yet, as I turned to run back to the car, I realised that several of the hens had taken a liking to me and were now following me back onto the road.

"Come on, you guys," I grumbled, half amused and half exasperated. The chickens, however, seemed unfazed by my pleas, happily clucking and pecking their way back onto the asphalt.

I glanced back at Karl, who was watching the scene unfold, an expression of bemusement on his face. For a fleeting moment, the tension between us seemed to lighten, replaced by the absurdity of the situation. I shook my head, a mix of laughter and frustration bubbling inside me. This investigation had taken us down some strange paths, but chicken herding was definitely not something I had anticipated.

"You shoo, I'll drive," Karl called out, his laughter echoing through his open window.

"Fine," I responded, a hint of exasperation in my voice as I rolled my eyes. In my mind, I thought wryly, What other choice do we have? These stubborn chooks clearly aren't going to move themselves.

Karl proceeded cautiously, ensuring he passed all the hens safely. He drove a few car lengths ahead and stopped, waiting for me. But as I began to make my way back to the vehicle, my newfound feathered friends decided to follow. It was as if I had unintentionally become the pied piper of chickens.

"Oh, shut up!" I shouted back at Karl when he burst into laughter again upon seeing my predicament. I had to admit, despite the absurdity of the situation, the hens' determination was impressive.

"Karl! Wait!" I yelled, slightly out of breath as he teasingly began to drive the car slowly up the road without me. I quickened my pace, trying to catch up, but the faster I ran, the faster my poultry entourage followed, their clucking growing louder with each step.

Karl turned right onto the laneway leading to the Owens' property, still maintaining his slow pace. He finally stopped to let me catch up just as I reached the turn-off. Panting slightly, I glanced back and, to my relief and slight amusement, saw that the hens had finally decided to abandon their pursuit. They stood at the edge of the main road, watching as I hurried towards our car.

"I think the girls like you," Karl teased with a chuckle as I slid back into the passenger seat, trying to regain my composure.

"Not funny, Karl!" I retorted, shooting him a glare. The chicken chase had been absurd, but I was not in the mood for his jokes. "There's a reason I don't do country."

"Sarah, you were born in the outback," Karl reminded me, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. "That's more country than country."

"That doesn't mean I liked it," I huffed, crossing my arms. Just because I was from a rural area didn't mean I had an affinity for it. The city life had always been more appealing to me.

Karl chuckled again, clearly amused. "That's not what your brother says."

I gave him a swift punch on the shoulder, a playful yet firm response. "Just drive," I commanded, not wanting to entertain his banter any further. Oscar was indeed a great storyteller, but he often embellished the truth to the point of fiction. His stories about our childhood in the outback were mostly exaggerated tales, and I rarely took them seriously.

We continued our drive, the car's tires crunching over the uneven dirt road, navigating a patchwork of pebbles, rocks, and potholes. The vehicle rocked rhythmically, making the journey feel like an off-road adventure. As I peered through the window, the dense native forest flanking either side of the road restricted our view to just the track ahead and the path we'd left behind. The tall trees formed a natural archway overhead, their twisted and gnarled branches creating a tunnel-like effect that felt both enchanting and eerie.

"Oh my god!" I couldn't help but exclaim as we emerged into a spacious clearing. Before us stood an old stone and cedar cottage, nestled at the far end of the clearing. It was small, probably no more than three bedrooms, and rustically simple. Yet, there was an undeniable charm to it. Its modest size did nothing to detract from its allure. Instead, the undulating green shades of the native forest rising majestically behind it framed the cottage perfectly, enhancing its quaint beauty. The contrast of the wild, untamed forest against the structured simplicity of the cottage created a picturesque scene that momentarily took my breath away.

I stepped out of the car, drawn to the view before me. Standing there, I allowed myself a moment to simply gaze in awe at the cottage's unassuming splendour. For a fleeting moment, the complexities of the case and the tension with Karl faded into the background, overshadowed by the peace and beauty of the natural surroundings.

"Bringing back memories?" Karl asked, his voice laced with a hint of teasing as a wide grin spread across his face.

I responded with a light, beautiful white smile, momentarily letting go of the grudge between us. Just as I was about to answer, a movement in the periphery of my vision caught my attention. "Look!" I exclaimed, pointing towards several small potoroo busily nibbling on the long grass at the shaded side of a large barn, several car lengths to the left of the cottage.

Feeling a sudden surge of curiosity and connection with the natural world around me, I started to make my way carefully towards the potoroo. My hand was outstretched, fingers gently clicking in a soft, rhythmic pattern. My voice, soft and beckoning, floated on the wind, a gentle invitation for the creatures to let me approach.

I moved slowly, mindful of each step, captivated by the sight of the potoroo in their natural habitat. It was a rare and peaceful moment, a brief connection with nature that felt almost magical.

However, the serenity was abruptly shattered by the crackle of the dispatch radio. "CITY632. Are you there? Over," the voice of the dispatcher cut through the air, loud and jarring against the quiet of the clearing.

The sudden noise startled the potoroo, and they quickly hopped away, disappearing into the safety of the underbrush. I stood there, a mix of disappointment and frustration washing over me. The moment of peace was gone, replaced by the reality of our duty.

"Damn," I muttered under my breath, turning back towards Karl and the car. The radio's interruption was a sharp reminder of why we were here. I walked back, my mind switching gears from the brief escape back to the demands of our investigation.

As Karl leaned back into the car to grab the radio, I took a moment to survey the surrounding area more closely.

"CITY632. We're at the Owens' property now. Over," Karl responded into the radio with a professional tone.

"CITY632. The neighbour that called this morning has just called back. She is pretty shaken. Said there was a lot of activity at the property. Went quiet about thirty minutes ago," the dispatcher informed us, her voice carrying a hint of urgency.

"Copy that, Dispatch," Karl replied. "We'll proceed with caution." His voice was calm, but I could sense the alertness in his posture.

With the furry distractions gone, I took the time to absorb my immediate surroundings. The Owens' property was enveloped on all sides by thick, lush forest, providing a sense of isolation and privacy. The natural barrier was broken only occasionally by other houses, each tucked away in their own clearings. The nearest neighbour was a few hundred meters away, and the one who had reported the activity was almost twice that distance on the other side.

This seclusion added a layer of complexity to our investigation. The isolation of the property meant that any unusual activity might have gone unnoticed by the wider community. It also meant that whoever had been at the property could have operated with a degree of privacy.

The dispatcher's words had set my nerves on edge, heightening my awareness of the potential danger that might be lurking on the Owens' property. I instinctively moved closer to the car, my hand reaching for my gun. Drawing it, I felt a surge of adrenaline, my senses sharpening as I prepared for whatever might unfold.

"For once, you're actually right about the gun," Karl muttered under his breath, his tone an unusual mix of seriousness and resignation. He too unholstered his weapon, readying himself for what lay ahead. "Follow my lead," he instructed, his voice low but clear.

As we advanced toward the front verandah, every sense was heightened, every sound magnified. My steps were cautious, deliberately quiet as I veered to the left, scanning every inch of the surroundings for any signs of disturbance or danger. Meanwhile, Karl moved directly towards the steps of the verandah, his focus equally intent.

Amid the tension and focus, something peculiar on the edge of the verandah decking caught my eye. Crouching down for a closer look, I found a small bunch of white daisies, their petals fresh and vibrant. It was an unexpected sight, their simple beauty starkly contrasting the severity of our purpose there.

"Karl," I whispered sharply, drawing his attention. As he turned towards me, his foot landed heavily on the second step, breaking the stillness with a thud. I held up the daisies for him to see. "These look like they've been freshly picked," I observed quietly. The discovery was curious – the flowers seemed recently placed, as if someone had set them down momentarily and forgotten to pick them back up.

"They were lying right here on the edge of the decking," I added, pointing to the spot where I had found them.

"Daisies?" Karl questioned, his brow furrowing in thought.

"Yeah," I confirmed. "It's a bit odd. Maybe the neighbour was right. There were people here earlier. Do you think they’re still around?" The possibilities churned in my mind – could these flowers be a clue to the whereabouts of the Owens, or were they left by someone else?

Karl paused, his gaze sweeping over the property, assessing the situation. "Not sure," he finally said. "It seems pretty quiet now. Why don't you go check out the barn?"

"Yeah, alright," I agreed, feeling a mix of apprehension and determination. The barn could hold more clues, or it could be another dead end.

"Sarah," Karl called out in a loud whisper as I began to move away from the verandah, his voice carrying a note of concern. "Be careful."

I nodded appreciatively in response, despite the tension that had been between us. A small smile graced my lips as I turned my back on Karl, stepping into the unknown. My mind was alert, ready for any sign or clue that might present itself. The barn loomed ahead, its old structure a silent witness to the events that had unfolded here.

As I neared the large barn, a sense of caution enveloped me. The structure was old and weathered, bearing the marks of time, yet there was an undeniable charm to it. The barn, constructed from Tasmanian oak, had a certain robust elegance that spoke of careful craftsmanship and attention to detail. Despite its age, it stood solid and imposing.

My gun remained in a ready position, a constant reminder of the potential danger that might lurk within. I moved through the lush, green grass, which seemed to have taken over the cobbled path leading to the barn's entrance. The overgrown vegetation was a sign of neglect, contrasting with the otherwise sturdy appearance of the barn.

My heart pounded in my chest, a mix of adrenaline and anticipation, as I reached the solid, wooden door. "Police!" I called out firmly, my voice echoing slightly in the open space. I knocked sharply on the door, the sound resonating against the old wood. I tried to pull the door open, only to find it secured by chains and a padlock. The rattling of the chains against the door added to the eerie silence surrounding the property.

Realising the front door wasn't an option, I decided to explore the perimeter of the barn for an alternate entrance. I moved cautiously along the side of the barn, every sense alert. My eyes scanned for any other points of entry, while my ears strained to pick up any sound of movement from inside. The possibility of someone being inside, whether it was the Owens or someone else, kept me on edge.

The sense of isolation enveloping the property intensified as I tiptoed cautiously along the side of the barn. The dense forest encircling the clearing seemed to stand as a silent witness to my every step, adding to the eerie stillness of the scene.

I couldn't help but cry out in sudden pain as a long splinter embedded itself into the top of my left index finger. I had been absentmindedly running my hand along the rough, weathered wood of the barn, more focused on my surroundings than the potential hazards of the old structure. My original intention to peer around the corner was abruptly forgotten as I glared at the offending piece of wood protruding from my skin.

Refusing to let the pain distract me, I gritted my teeth and swiftly pulled the splinter out with my blunt nails. The sting was sharp, but I pushed the discomfort aside, knowing there were more pressing matters at hand.

No sooner had I dealt with the splinter than a loud clang erupted from inside the barn. The sudden noise startled me, and I instinctively retreated, spinning around to face the source of the disturbance. My gun was up and ready, my body tensing for any sign of danger.

As I cautiously moved forward, ready to confront whatever lay inside the barn, I felt an abrupt whack against the back of my head. The sound of a loud crack followed the impact, sending a wave of pain through my skull. Reacting instinctively, I swivelled around and swiped at the object that had hit me – a slender, wooden rake handle.

Closing my eyes for a brief moment, I massaged the sore spot where the rake had made contact. Realising that I must have inadvertently stepped on the tool, causing it to flick up and strike me, a series of cartoonish images flashed through my mind. The absurdity of the situation wasn't lost on me. It's not turning out to be a good day for me, I thought, a mix of frustration and irony colouring my thoughts.

Regaining my composure after the rake incident, I reopened my eyes, only to find a small black cat stalking something in the underbrush ahead of me. The cat's sleek body moved with a predator's grace, completely absorbed in its pursuit. "What is it?" I whispered, half-expecting the cat to respond, but it paid me no mind, its focus unbroken.

Driven by curiosity and a need to momentarily distract myself from my self-inflicted pains, I quietly followed the cat, treading softly to see what had captivated its attention. It was then I spotted the object of the cat's interest: a small, brown and grey duck, lost amidst the tall grass, evidently trying to find its way to the spring-fed dam in the distance. The duck appeared confused and vulnerable in the dense undergrowth.

Feeling a sudden surge of sympathy for the little creature, I intervened. I shooed the cat away with a gentle hiss, which it met with a disgruntled look before disappearing into the bushes. The duck, startled by the commotion, let out a panicked quack but didn't flee.

Moved by the duck's plight, I decided to help it find its way. I crept behind it, using my hands to gently guide and encourage the bird towards the dam. I was careful not to scare it, moving slowly and keeping my distance to avoid causing it any more stress.

Finally, the duck reached the edge of the water and waddled into the dam. Watching it paddle away, a sense of accomplishment washed over me. There was something heartwarming about helping a small creature in distress, a brief but meaningful respite from the intensity of our investigation.

Intently focused on helping the duck and momentarily revelling in my saint-like goodness, my attention was completely diverted from any potential threats. I was blissfully unaware of any danger until it was too late. Suddenly, I felt a sharp, forceful impact against my backside. The unexpected blow threw me off balance, and I tumbled awkwardly into the mud at the edge of the dam. I landed hard among the reeds, a sharp pain shooting through my body as I saw blood start to seep through the bandage on my left hand.

A loud clap of thunder boomed overhead, startling me into a defensive crouch. As the first drops of rain began to fall, my eyes darted around, searching for the source of my attack, bracing for another assault. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of a large, grey figure rising and barreling towards me from the right. It was a goose, and not just any goose – a large one, swooping at me with a ferocity that seemed almost personal, its squawks sounding like a battle cry.

"Shit!" I cried out, trying to regain my footing in the slick mud. As I pressed my bleeding palm into the ground to push myself up, it slipped, and I tumbled backward, landing with a splash in the muddy water. The goose, undeterred, dived at me again, this time aiming straight for my face.

In that moment, primal instinct overrode all reason. I raised my right arm defensively. The gun in my hand went off almost reflexively. The shot, precise and true despite my compromised position, hit the goose squarely. The bird crashed to the ground next to me, its war cry abruptly silenced.

Gasping for breath, I watched in shock as blood began to ooze from the bullet wound in the goose's chest. My heart raced, adrenaline coursing through my veins. I had never intended to shoot, let alone kill, but the suddenness of the attack had left me with no time to think.

Sitting there in the mud, soaked from the rain, with the lifeless goose beside me, I felt a mix of relief, guilt, and disbelief. This was not how I had expected my day to unfold. The absurdity of being attacked by a goose, of all things, in the middle of a serious investigation was almost too much to comprehend.

"Sarah!" Karl's voice rang out, filled with concern as he ran toward me through the rain.

I turned my head to look back at him, my vision blurred by the tears that had welled up in my eyes. I quickly wiped them away with the back of my sleeve, trying to compose myself.

Karl's footsteps slowed as he approached, his expression changing from concern to confusion when he saw the small, motionless body of the goose lying beside me in the reeds. "Ah, shit, Sarah," he sighed, his voice laced with a mixture of disbelief and frustration.

"I didn't mean to," I stammered, my voice shaky as I wiped another tear from my eye. The guilt was overwhelming; I never intended for this to happen.

Karl reached out, grabbing me by the arm and gently helping me to my feet. "You just shot their goose!" he exclaimed, his tone a mix of incredulity and exasperation.

"It was an accident! She flew at me. I swear she was coming for my face," I defended myself, still reeling from the shock. My heart was racing, and my thoughts were a jumble.

Karl looked at me, his frustration clear. "Do you have any idea how much paperwork this is going to be?" he asked, his voice tinged with annoyance.

His focus on the paperwork rather than my well-being soured my mood further. "I could have been seriously injured," I retorted, feeling undervalued and overlooked in the moment.

"Well, at least you wouldn't be dead," Karl shot back, gesturing towards the lifeless goose at my feet. His words, meant to be pragmatic, only served to heighten my frustration.

"You can be a real insensitive bastard sometimes, Karl!" I yelled at him, the stress of the situation finally boiling over. Without waiting for a response, I turned and began a stormy march back to the car. Every step I took was fuelled by a mix of embarrassment, guilt, and anger. Karl's lack of empathy, combined with the absurdity of having to defend myself against a goose, was more than I could handle.

"Sarah, wait!” Karl's voice followed me, echoing with urgency through the pouring rain.

I ignored him, my strides a mix of frustration and indignation as I trudged through the tall, wet grass. My mind was a tumult of emotions, replaying the absurd scene with the goose, Karl's reaction, and the overall ridiculousness of the situation.

"There’s blood in the house," Karl yelled, his voice piercing through the stormy air and halting me in my tracks.

I turned slightly, the rain running down my face. "And a body?" I called back, half-expecting to hear the worst.

Karl shook his head, dispelling that fear. "No. Just the goose," he replied. He nudged the dead bird with his foot, an unnecessary confirmation of its demise. His action only served to irritate me further.

"Bastard," I muttered under my breath, my frustration reaching a boiling point. Turning fully to face him, I announced, "I'll go call for forensics."

As I approached the car, the rain seemed to intensify, mirroring the tumultuous thoughts swirling in my head. The investigation at the Owens' property had taken unexpected turns.

Settling into the driver's seat of our unmarked car, reaching down, I picked up the dispatch radio, the familiar weight of it somewhat grounding.

"CITY632 here," I called into the radio, my voice steady despite the turmoil of emotions inside me.

"Go ahead CITY632," came the deep-voiced reply from dispatch.

"CITY632 requesting forensics analysis at the Owens' property. Trace of blood found. To be treated as suspicious," I instructed, my words concise and professional. Despite the absurd incident with the goose, the potential seriousness of our situation was not lost on me.

"Copy that CITY632. Forensics and backup patrol on their way," the dispatcher confirmed.

After returning the radio to its holder, I slumped back into the seat, shifting diagonally to find a more comfortable position. I sat there uncomfortably, staring sulkily out of the window. The rain was still falling, adding a dreary backdrop to my already sour mood.

I watched Karl making his way back to the car, his progress slow and seemingly reluctant. Despite my best efforts, my eyes couldn't help but drift over him. I noticed how the rain made his tight, dark blue pants cling to his legs, highlighting their muscular definition. His shirt, dark grey and short-sleeved, was similarly plastered to his biceps. It was a sight that, under different circumstances, might have been appealing, but at that moment, it only served to remind me of the tension between us.

Struggling with my conflicting emotions, I turned my head away from Karl, forcing my gaze elsewhere to escape the unwanted and inappropriate feelings that were bubbling up inside me. He was my partner, and these lustful thoughts had no place in our professional relationship.

Just as I was grappling with these internal struggles, the radio crackled to life, breaking the tension in the car. "Urgent call for vehicles to attend a speeding incident near Collinsvale. Apparent drag race. Available units, please respond. Over," the dispatcher's voice echoed through the cabin.

At the mention of Collinsvale, a jolt of adrenaline surged through me. Collinsvale! That's where we are! The realisation hit me like a lightning bolt. My head was suddenly clear of all distractions, and I was back in detective mode. I reached for the radio, my fingers wrapping around it with a newfound sense of purpose. I pressed the talk button firmly, ready to respond to the call.

"CITY632, we've got this. Over," I said, my voice steady and calm, or at least as calm as I could manage under the circumstances. It felt good to be back in control, to focus on the job.

"Copy that, CITY632," the dispatcher responded, confirming our involvement.

A sense of duty and determination replaced the earlier turmoil. This was what I was trained for, what I excelled at. The call for the drag race incident was an unexpected turn, but it was a welcome distraction from the complexities of the Owens' case and my personal feelings towards Karl.