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

We barely leave the house for the next two days – deliveries for lunch, phone calls with friends rather than meeting at cafes. I’ve had a few missed calls from a random number but I don’t want to talk to journalists or police about what happened. Cain does burpees and chin-ups out in the yard, and spends hours working over the boxing bag, coming back inside with blood trickling between his knuckles despite the training gloves he wears. He postponed the PT sessions he had scheduled in. I take my prenatal vitamins and read in the sun slanting in through the windows in the lounge room. At times I have to read the same page four times before any information enters my brain. When I’m not thinking about everything that happened, I’m imagining this baby inside me swelling, then eventually out in the world; a child growing up. Even now at this early stage, I can barely find the words to describe the love I feel for her or him.

We’ve not heard from Rata about Scotty, and I’m not holding my breath. I would take the next couple of days off work if it was possible but there’s only so much leave I can take, and we still need the money despite Cain’s windfall.

When my next shift comes around, I drive to the station with the radio turned up, trying to mentally prepare. I’ve been feeling more fatigued of late, which I know isn’t uncommon with pregnancy but I was hoping to be one of those mums who gets through without the vomiting, the nausea, the anaemia – the sorts of complaints that make birth, or rather the time after birth, such a relief. I guess then it’s sore nipples, less sleep and no sex for a while. We will manage. Especially with a perfect little baby to dote over.

When I pull up, the gate is already wide open. I find a car park. I notice other cars there, not just the usual working-class fare I normally see at changeover but a silver BMW. I climb out of the car and start towards the entrance of the station. It’s cooler today. The station has codes for the gate and the door entrance. The only cameras are at the entrance of the building overlooking the car park. Even the drug lock-up and safe have their own codes. But today when I punch in my individual door code, those four familiar numbers I’ve used for all these years, the door does not buzz unlocked. The keypad beeps twice.

I try again. The door won’t open. I see someone coming from inside to let me in. But they’re not in an ambulance officer’s uniform, they’re in a suit. What would a suit be doing here at 6.30 am?

His face – clean shaven, mid-forties with sunken pores – doesn’t change as he approaches the door.