She hadn’t seen him. She ran to the Volvo, ducked her head in for a quick look, then climbed behind the wheel. The keys must have been in the ignition: a puff of exhaust and the car shot towards the shed and slammed into the roller door. She reversed: the door was badly buckled, lifting at one corner. She rammed it a second time, reversed again with a tearing-metal sound, and now the gap was large enough to crawl through. The driver’s door swung open. One foot hit the ground.

Hirsch sprinted. Coming in behind Roesch, he tucked the tip of his pistol behind her ear. ‘Stay right there. Throw your—’

She yanked on the door. It cracked his forearm; his nerveless fingers opened; the pistol dropped to the dirt. Then she was tumbling out, shoving him in the chest, kicking the gun under the car, kicking him, and running for her rental car.

She got in and looked at him, an odd, opaque expression, then sped away, up and over the rise. A few seconds later, he heard a shot. Then another. His tyres? He glanced at the Volvo. It was barely driveable.

He approached the shed. ‘You can come out. She’s gone.’

They were nearly silent. Some kind of muttered debate. His body was too drained—not a supportive bone in it—to crawl in and show them a reassuring face.

‘It’s okay,’ he said.

It was a long time before they straggled out. All four of them seemingly intact.

34

34

WHEN HE LEFT them five minutes later, they were arranged along the edge of the veranda, backs to the house, feet in the dirt, the girls in a fresh set of clothes fetched by Nan from their bedroom.

They didn’t want him to leave them for even a minute. ‘Be careful. She could come back.’

‘She won’t,’ he said. ‘She’s blown her cover—nothing to gain by coming for you now.’

He was itching to check the damage to the Toyota. Clearly, with Hansen’s body stretched out along the back seat, he couldn’t take the whole gang with him. ‘A couple of minutes,’ he said.

Finally Nan Washburn made a shooing gesture and he ran up the incline and down the other side. The HiLux was listing. Roesch had put a bullet through each passenger-side tyre.

He ran back to the house, watching the relief flow through all of them. He’d been gone for less than five minutes.

‘Did you see her?’

‘No sign of anyone,’ Hirsch said.

‘She shot your tyres?’ Craig said.

‘She certainly did,’ Hirsch said.

They were still lined up along the veranda. He swung a garden chair around to face them. ‘I’ll need to borrow the phone again.’