Gavin was correct; after a minute or two several of the guests turned and slipped away. And then there was Karen Hope, her face lifted to the sky as she followed each wave of fireworks with an ‘ooh’ or an ‘aah’. Silva shifted slightly and allowed her finger to hover near the trigger. Brandon was slightly off to the left of centre, the crosshairs of the scope pointing at thin air, Karen Hope to the right. Silva waited. She would let Karen Hope walk into the line of fire. Hope moved a little to the left, the crosshairs now brushing her shoulder.

‘Oh fuck!’ Itchy moved beside her. ‘Hold your fire.’

‘What’s up?’ Gavin said.

‘Do you see him, Silva? The boy?’

‘What…?’ Silva pulled her head back for a moment. Itchy had his eyes to the spotting scope, his arm flailing in the air. She bent to the rifle again and saw him. A boy of two or three. Karen Hope had picked the young lad up so the kid could get a better view of the firework display. ‘I thought Karen didn’t have children?’

‘She doesn’t, it’s Bandon’s son, Karen’s nephew!’ Gavin shouted. ‘Just take the fucking shot. You’re running out of time.’

The way Hope held the boy meant a chest shot was now impossible. And the boy had pressed his cheek against his aunt’s face, staring with her out over the water at the fireworks. Silva shifted a fraction, moving the reticle up to target Hope’s head. Her finger slipped onto the trigger as the crosshairs jumped, the boy’s face now right in the centre. Her body tensed at the same time as a muscle in her right hand twitched.

‘Steady.’ Itchy’s voice came soft and low. ‘The bullet will take well over a second to get to the terrace. If Hope moves in that second, you’ll hit the boy.’

‘Damn it.’ Silva made a tiny adjustment and centred Hope’s face once more. She drew in a breath and held it. She just needed to concentrate.

‘The display will be over in the next couple of minutes.’ Gavin loomed behind her. ‘You have to take the shot now.’

‘Not a good time to talk, mate,’ Itchy said. ‘Keep schtum.’

Silva focused again. Blinked. Her finger curled towards the trigger but didn’t touch it. She could hear a pulse of blood in her ears, realised she needed to breathe, realised she was shaking.

‘The boy,’ she said, letting out a puff of air. ‘I can’t.’

She moved her right hand from the stock. She kept her eye to the scope, but the situation was now hopeless. Lashirah – Haddad’s wife – had moved up close to Hope and she reached out and stroked the boy’s cheek. The three of them occupied the centre of the scope.

‘Shit.’ Itchy shifted. Uncomfortable. Fidgeting. ‘It gets worse.’