ROSS: I’m no killer. I didn’t join the force to kill people. [A sudden idea] Let’s leave a suicide note and blast his head off with a shotgun. They won’t find the bruises then.

SIMMONDS: [yelling] Shut up, you crazy bastard!

KENNY, battered and bleeding, crawls into the room, unseen, and hoists himself onto one of the few remaining chairs, lighting himself a cigarette and taking a deep draw.

ROSS: [yelling back] Well, good God, wouldn’t you be depressed if your wife just walked out on you without a word of warning? If we blow his head off with a shotgun, I won’t have to lie about who killed him!

SIMMONDS: For Christ’s sake, shut up and pull yourself together! It isn’t going to do you any good to lie. They’ll find bloodstains on your uniform and things like that. The best thing you could do would be to own up. The worst you’ll face is manslaughter—officer in the course of his duty—and I wouldn’t mind betting you’ll get off on the grounds of inexperience. Yes. Loss of control due to inexperience. I’ll testify to your inexperience. They probably won’t let you stay in the force, but if you play your cards right you’ll get your full superannuation entitlements on the grounds of psychological instability, and they can’t take that away from you, boy, even if you get another job, because being unsuited to the force doesn’t mean you’re not suited to something else and they—

ROSS: [shouting] Don’t crap!

SIMMONDS: It’s no crap! There’s a young bloke over Clifton Hill—

ROSS: That was a different case altogether.

SIMMONDS: Almost exactly the same!

ROSS: It was nothing like it!

SIMMONDS: Same sort of thing exactly!

ROSS: Don’t crap!

There is a pause. ROSS and SIMMONDS stare belligerently at each other. KENNY takes the cigarette out of his mouth and exhales. They look around. They look at each other.

KENNY: [speaking with difficulty] Did you two pricks think you did me?

ROSS’s relief is profound. He runs over to KENNY and practically kisses him.

ROSS: Thank Christ! I thought you were gone, boy. Jesus, am I glad to see you. Shit. Was I worried. Was I ever. [Apologetically] Dunno what happened to me in there, Carter. Went berserk! No other word for it! Went right off me head. [Pause.] Jesus, was I worried. I tell you what—feel my forehead—talk about sweat. I was in a bad way.

SIMMONDS: You bloody idiot, Ross!

ROSS: [defensively] You thought he was gone too! You went in there.

SIMMONDS: You’re a bloody idiot, Ross!

KENNY: Get me a bloody quack!

ROSS: You on the phone?

KENNY shakes his head.

KENNY: There’s one down a couple of blocks.

ROSS: Which way?

KENNY points. ROSS goes to leave. SIMMONDS restrains him.

I’m going to get a doctor!

SIMMONDS: Just hold it a minute!

ROSS: [urgently] He’s got to get to a doctor!

SIMMONDS: He’s not all that bad!

KENNY: Look, fair’s fair. Get me a doctor.

SIMMONDS: You’re all right. Just a bit of bruising.