Charlie took a deep breath before the words started tumbling again.

‘My own sister … I know, right? Can’t be certain, I guess. You must think I’m some nut-job … But you were there when that lawyer guy called, saying he was an attorney and that JJ was going to surrender? You heard that, right?

‘If I get a public defender it will be exactly like the fire-extinguisher thing. They’ll see the evidence stacked up and tell me to plead guilty. And my eighty-six dollars in Wells Fargo won’t get me a real lawyer. So I’m up to my neck, Harry. And, as pathetic as this seems, you’re probably the only person in this world who might give a damn …’

There was a stifled sob, then Charlie hung up.

• • •

The red Nikes weren’t as comfy as the ones Harry had binned, but a scraped heel was just pain and pain was part of what he liked about running: the feeling of pushing your heart and lungs, nothing in your head but the next gulp of breath as sweat floods your eyes.

Harry ran a slight hill, on a street between two gated developments. It was no-man’s-land. Rooftops and palm trees, glimpsed over twenty-foot block walls. He’d often amused himself with the thought of suburban kids tunnelling out, but today all thoughts were fixed on the gun.

As the street came to a dead end, a smell of trash wafted through a service gate in one of the walls. Beyond was a parking lot, busy with the type of cars you cram full of kids and a public space centred on four softball diamonds and a play area.

Harry ran past a dad holding a sleepy toddler, then slowed as he cut between two tall SUVs, parked under a row of palms. The kerb here had a big slot-drain to catch runoff from the parkland.

He put one Nike up on the kerb, like he was stopping to tie a lace, glanced around to make sure nobody was in sight, then slipped a drawstring pouch off his back. Breathless and dripping sweat, Harry opened the collar of the pouch, careful not to touch the package inside as it slid out on to the kerb.

He’d used white spirit to scrub the clip and gun for fingerprints and now they were in a Ziploc bag, disassembled and swimming in neon-blue bleach gel to kill DNA. He’d only touched the bag while wearing rubber gloves. Now he flicked it down the hole with his heel and hooked the drawstrings back over his arms as he resumed his run.

There was often a bunch of Venezuelan refugee kids around when Harry ran through the park. They’d always ignored him, but two hands-down-pants tenth graders swaggered over as he stopped at a water fountain.

‘You Smirnov?’ the bigger of the two stated accusingly.

He straightened up, sweeping away dribbles down his chin. ‘Yeah.’