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Chapters (60)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. 1
  4. 2
  5. 3
  6. 4
  7. 5
  8. 6
  9. 7
  10. 8
  11. 9
  12. 10
  13. 11
  14. 12
  15. 13
  16. 14
  17. 15
  18. 16
  19. 17
  20. 18
  21. 19
  22. 20
  23. 21
  24. 22
  25. 23
  26. 24
  27. 25
  28. 26
  29. 27
  30. 28
  31. 29
  32. 30
  33. 31
  34. 32
  35. 33
  36. 34
  37. 35
  38. 36
  39. 37
  40. 38
  41. 39
  42. 40
  43. 41
  44. 42
  45. 43
  46. 44
  47. 45
  48. 46
  49. 47
  50. 48
  51. 49
  52. 50
  53. 51
  54. 52
  55. 53
  56. 54
  57. 55
  58. Acknowledgements
  59. About the author
  60. Copyright

A smile broke loose, a smile that seemed to hide something behind it. Chandler caught a glimpse of the old Mitch for a moment, the Mitch forever with a trick up his sleeve to shimmy his way out of trouble.

‘The battle hasn’t even started, old friend.’

16

As predicted, within fifteen minutes the phones started to sing. Nick quickly became swamped and started diverting calls through to Chandler. Most were from locals riding the biggest commotion the town had witnessed in years; anxious mothers and protective fathers, affronted retirees and giggling teenagers, all curious about the sinister black saloons slowly trawling the streets.

Some wanted to know if they were the Secret Service or a spy convention, their theories wild. As soon as he had calmed one resident down another would ring in, wondering if they should get dressed up and form some kind of vanguard for their obviously illustrious visitor. Some wanted to know who it was just to be the first to spread the gossip around. Others because they didn’t want it to be the prime minister or one of those fucking crooks. To each Chandler offered the same advice, words that stuck in his throat and had to be forced out: that nothing was happening, that they should stay inside for the time being and that if something happened he would let them know personally.

He had fielded maybe ten calls before someone hit upon the question he feared the most, one about the roadblocks and why Jim, Tanya and Luka were actively searching cars. The query arrived from a furious source, Reverend Simon Upton, who couldn’t believe that the police would stop a holy man and search his car, complaining a little too much for someone who was normally rather placid. As if he did have something to hide. Something to confirm the whispers around town that his past was less than holy.

‘Did they search your car, Reverend?’ asked Chandler.

‘No, but they stopped me on my way to Georgina Patterson’s house and she’s very ill, you know.’

‘I do, Reverend. Please send my sympathies.’

‘Why are you searching, may I ask?’ the reverend demanded, his voice now as imposing as it was on the pulpit every Sunday.

Before the notoriously gossipy holy man had a chance to spread even more – not entirely undue – panic, Chandler admitted that it was just a precaution.

‘Come on now, Sergeant Jenkins, you wouldn’t have roadblocks in place for a precaution. You cannot withhold this information from the town.’

Chandler paused. He would have to give the reverend something. ‘You’re right. We have a shoplifter that we suspect is trying to get out of town.’