‘I know,’ I said. ‘Please give me five minutes with him. I need to get close to the door. I can help.’

He looked sceptical. I thought about confidentiality and realised this was one of those moments that qualified as extenuating circumstances.

‘Peter broke up with his high-school girlfriend recently and moved into this apartment to live alone. He has bipolar disorder and a history of suicidal thoughts and ideations.’ I found I was speaking quickly but I needed him to understand. ‘He has no history of violence, nor has he shown any indication that he would hurt anyone else, but there is a very high likelihood that he will hurt himself. I’m asking you to let me through. I don’t need to see him but just to be close enough to speak with him. He won’t answer the phone anymore; this is the only chance.’

A knot appeared at his jaw, I could see a decision being made. Sparks of metal on metal behind his eyes as two opposing ideas clashed: he knew he couldn’t just wait it out, but he also knew he couldn’t risk me or anyone else getting hurt. ‘He told the negotiator you’re the only person he would speak to, but he’s armed. So I’m not letting you too close. You can go up there with a vest on.’

‘Right, that’s fair enough,’ I said.

A cop lead me into the building. We climbed the stairs and the vest was so heavy that by the time we reached the door of his apartment, I was short of breath. It was busted inwards; the lock bolt had passed through the wood like an exit wound.

I paused. ‘Is he definitely alone?’ I whispered.

The cop nodded.

‘Alright.’

I stepped into his apartment, it was dark and clean. I saw the bathroom, a bar of light escaping from beneath the door. There were more cops, head to toe in armour, wearing helmets with Perspex visors. Rifles in their hands at the ready. They were close, but just out of earshot.

‘Peter?’ I said. ‘Peter, I’m here, it’s just you and me.’

A murmur. I couldn’t make out the words.

I was there, talking with him, but suddenly there was an explosion in the bathroom.

The air around me was hot and full of noise. A hand ripped me back, and I was pulled out of the room and thrown to the floor. I remember voices yelling, the sound of boots on wood. A crashing sound, wood splintering. The cops rushing in and aiming their guns.

I let out a scream, with my wet face in my hands and my entire body shaking. I tried to steady my breath.

Even now I can see Peter’s face in my mind. I imagine the gun, the bullet.

Chapter Sixteen

SIXTEEN

THAT NIGHT IN bed, I open my work laptop and email Adam Limbargo.

Hi Adam,