BooksBarbecue
Back The Last Guests
Chapters (54)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. Epigraph
  4. PROLOGUE
  5. PART ONE
  6. ONE
  7. TWO
  8. THREE
  9. FOUR
  10. DEADLY SAS RAID IN AFGHANISTAN UNDER SCRUTINY
  11. FIVE
  12. SIX
  13. SEVEN
  14. EIGHT
  15. NINE
  16. TEN
  17. ELEVEN
  18. TWELVE
  19. THIRTEEN
  20. FOURTEEN
  21. FIFTEEN
  22. SIXTEEN
  23. SEVENTEEN
  24. EIGHTEEN
  25. NINETEEN
  26. TWENTY
  27. PART TWO
  28. TWENTY-ONE
  29. TWENTY-TWO
  30. TWENTY-THREE
  31. TWENTY-FOUR
  32. TWENTY-FIVE
  33. TWENTY-SIX
  34. TWENTY-SEVEN
  35. TWENTY-EIGHT
  36. TWENTY-NINE
  37. DANIEL MOORE: ‘A SINGLE BLOKE, HAPPY-GO-LUCKY, A BIT OF A DUNCE BUT WITH A GOOD HEART,’ BEST FRIEND SAYS.
  38. THIRTY
  39. THIRTY-ONE
  40. THIRTY-TWO
  41. THIRTY-THREE
  42. THIRTY-FOUR
  43. THIRTY-FIVE
  44. BREAKING: POLICE CONFIRM DANIEL MOORE ACTED ALONE
  45. THIRTY-SIX
  46. THIRTY-SEVEN
  47. THIRTY-EIGHT
  48. THIRTY-NINE
  49. SECOND ARREST MADE IN WESTAY HIDDEN CAMERAS CASE
  50. EPILOGUE
  51. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
  52. Discover More
  53. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  54. Also by J. P. Pomare

In the kitchen I find a pan. It’s light but sturdy. I take it back to the door, where I reach for the door handle, and gently twist it. The door pulls open slowly, whining. The crisp early morning air moves in around me, through my clothes, chilling me.

I pocket my phone, before stepping out with the pan in both hands. Through the door, down the first step, then the second. I pull the door closed, locked behind me. I’m prickling with fear as I peer towards the car. No one is there. Slowly, bending my knees, I find the key safe and push the keys inside. Locking it once more. I rise and start towards the gate, the street beyond. The car is so close now. The gate creaks, a horror film sound that sends my heart racing. I’ll have to explain I left a pan in the front yard, it might cost part of my deposit to replace if it is stolen but I need to leave. I squat and place the pan down. Through the gate now, two quick strides. I reach the sedan and am vaguely aware of another car door sounding, footsteps. The fear is overwhelming. He’s coming for me. I look up and he’s on me before I can open my car door.

I find the key between my knuckles. Turn and swing blindly.

‘Stop!’ a voice says.

I swipe out again, aiming for his throat. He’s turned me using the weight of my attack. My arm is up my spine, the key pried from my fingers and chinking against the concrete footpath.

I kick back and twist. Throwing my elbows.

‘Stop,’ the voice says. ‘Calm the fuck down.’

‘Let me go,’ I say. ‘Help!’ I scream for anyone on the street. The sunrise is just beginning to tinge the horizon. Joggers will be out soon. Someone will help me. I scream again.

He’s too strong, my arm wrenches higher and I’m pressed against the car. He’s going to kidnap me.

‘Help!’

His voice is loud, authoritative and close to my ear. ‘Mrs Phillips, I’m going to need you to calm down.’

‘Let me go. LET. ME. GO!’ I twist, kick, turn my head. If I could just bite his hand. If I could loosen his grip.

‘You’ve just assaulted a police officer,’ he says, with a firm, authoritative tone.

‘What?’ I say, twisting my head back. It can’t be. They’re not in uniforms. ‘You’re not –’

‘My name is Detective Senior Sergeant Ed Rata.’

‘No,’ I say, turning back to eye the man. I realise there’s two of them. ‘You’re not police, you’ve been following me. You’re –’

‘And this is my colleague, Constable Black.’

image

Peephole transmission