Later, not a single person will recall seeing the lady bought the flight at Hobart Airport.

Welcome to the Happy Police Book Club with me, Fern Cotton.

Nothing about her appearance or demeanour raises a red flag or even an eyebrow.

Today, hear one moment by Leon Moriarty.

One thing is clear. The lady is a lady.

Not a single person will later describe her as a woman or a female. Obviously, no one will describe her as a girl. There is uncertainty about her age,

possibly early 60s, maybe in her 50s, definitely in her 70s.

Early 80s?

As old as your mother, as old as your daughter, as old as your auntie, your boss, your university lecturer.

The unaccompanied minor will describe her as a very old lady.

The elderly couple will describe her as a middle-aged lady. Maybe it's her grey hair

that places her so squarely in the category of lady. It is the soft silver of an expensive kitten,

shoulder length, nicely styled, good hair, good grey, the sort of grey that makes you consider going grey

yourself.

One day, not yet.

The lady is small and petite, but not so small and petite as to require solicitousness.

She does not attract benevolent smiles or offers of assistance.

Looking at her does not make you think of how much you miss your grandmother.

Looking at her does not make you think anything at all.

You could not guess her profession, personality or star sign.

You could not be bothered.

You wouldn't say she was invisible as such, maybe semi-transparent.

...