The mythical cup of hot tea never materialized. No sooner had they shut the front door than a plethora of cop cars squealed into the circular drive with their lights flashing and sirens wailing. When Sarah peered out the window, an officer’s voice came blaring over the PA system, ordering her to “step outside with her hands up.” She complied. However, Mick and Auntie Jane exited with her, complicating the matter. She didn’t know where to look. There were so many police officers. They were spread out, their guns yanked from their holsters and trained on the three of them. Another cop was in ready stance, supervising Mick’s helicopter pilot’s descent from the aircraft. The pilot nonchalantly swung out of the helicopter cabin as if gun-wielding police were a daily occurrence. “Are any of you armed?” The policeman’s voice boomed over the PA system, startling Auntie Jane, who emitted a little shriek, her hands fluttering like autumn leaves into the air.

“No,” Sarah said, her voice clear and strong. Determined not to be scared, to never cower before a member of the police force again. “None of us are.”

“What about you, sir?” came over the PA, as if Sarah’s answer was suspect.

“I’m unarmed,” Mick replied, all three of them keeping their hands in the air. “What is this about?”

“And you, ma’am?” the police on the PA asked, as if Mick hadn’t asked a question.

“No. I’m not packing a gun,” Auntie Jane quavered. Under normal circumstances, Sarah would have found that statement from her sweet little aunt hilarious. “Or anything else that could do bodily damage.” And suddenly Sarah’s mind flashed to Phillip’s body with its bashed-in head, and the humor of the situation vanished. She and Auntie Jane were in deep shit.

“We received a report that shots were fired at this location. Which of you fired the shots?”

“None of us fired any weapons,” Sarah replied. “Officer, we called 911. Maybe someone else called in as well—”

“Is the shooter inside?”

“No,” Sarah said. She refused to be scared even with all the saliva in her mouth having beaten a hasty retreat. “He’s in the back garden—”

“Secure the area,” the head cop yelled with a jerk of his head. Some of the cops started moving; others stayed where they were, guns still trained on the three of them.

“The shooter is—” Sarah started to explain, but the front doorknob rattled. “There’s a child inside. Please, put away your weapons. You’re going to scare her!”