It was dim in there and so bright outside that Scott didn’t see me. His focus was on the window. More glass crunched as he chopped at the shards still caught in the frame, using the rifle butt like a hammer. By that time I’d reached the back door; I was flattening myself against it when he thrust his hand into the room and turned the window latch. Slowly, cautiously, I slid up the door, my knees straightening, my fingers still clamped to the nail gun. Scott wrenched at the lower frame of the window, trying to raise it. But the sashes were old and the wood was swollen; there was lots of grunting and squeaking and rattling.

At last the lower frame was rammed up as high as it would go. Scott used the gun to brush away some stray bits of glass. Then he planted his left palm on the windowsill.

That’s when I leaned over and nailed his hand to the wood.

2009

2009

HAMISH STAINES WAS a short, pudgy fireball of a lawyer with thinning blond hair. He came to my house on Thursday afternoon and we discussed various things: the Rooneys, the police, apprehended violence orders. Then we went to the local station, each of us driving our own car. His was a gleaming grey beemer. I wasn’t surprised; we’d discussed his fee by then.

As we walked into the station, Kate Canning walked out. Her eyes flickered for a moment, but she didn’t break her stride. She brushed past me as if I wasn’t there.

I felt a twinge of alarm.

Rick Waring was on duty, but he didn’t stand a chance against Hamish. Soon we were all huddled together in a dingy little room, discussing my statement. Hamish had advised me not to apply for an AVO through the courts because they referred all applicants to mediation ‘unless you’ve got an axe sticking out of your head’. The last thing I wanted, he said, was to sit down and listen to Joyce trashing me for forty-five minutes. ‘We’ll get you a provisional AVO,’ he promised, and proceeded to do so, though not without a lot of pushback. Rick Waring eventually summoned Paul Ries, who read my signed statement with a sneer on his face. But even Ries was no match for Hamish.

The lawyer treated information like ammunition. He had my plumber’s bill. He had photos of my fallen hems. He pounded Ries with questions about Scott’s history of violence, then asked if the two men were ‘very close’. In response, Ries brought up Aaron’s abduction. Was my AVO an attempt to smear the Rooneys after they’d accused me of being involved?