9

‘Shut the door,’ Aidan said as Brigitte walked into the bedroom.

She tilted her head. ‘Kids are out there, you know.’

No smile. He was wearing grey trousers and a business shirt — work clothes.

‘Why are you dressed like that?’

‘Night shift. Bloody Ray called in sick. Reckons he’s still recovering from some dodgy fish at the farmers’ market.’

She looked at her feet.

‘Can’t get anybody to cover him.’ He crouched in front of something next to the wardrobe.

She stepped closer to see what it was. ‘What the —’

He put an index finger to his lips.

— fuck is an ugly steel safe doing in our bedroom?

‘The combination’s Ella’s birthday,’ he said as he twisted the lock. ‘30–10–9.’

From the safe, he lifted a blue plastic case the size of a family-value cereal box. ‘We’ll keep the ammunition locked away in the shed later on —’

‘What ammunition? What are you talking about?’

‘But for now, it’ll be on top of the wardrobe.’ He stood, placed the case on the bed and opened it.

She drew in her breath when she saw the coal-black pistol nestled in the foam interior. ‘Is that your work gun?’

‘No.’

‘Where did it come from?’

‘Doesn’t matter where it came from, and it can go back once this investigation’s —’

‘Oh my God.’ She put her hands over her mouth. ‘Maree Carver didn’t drown, did she?’

He glanced at her, lines knitted between his brows, and then looked back at the gun in its case. ‘It’s a semi-automatic, just means it’s self-loading. See here.’ He pointed to something on the gun.

She didn’t want to see, turned her head slightly and looked at it from the corner of her eye.

‘Harry’s coming over in a minute to watch the kids, so we can have a little go at shooting it round the back of the island before I go to work.’

‘Aid, you’re scaring me.’

‘It’s OK, Brig. It’s just gunna stay in the safe for a bit.’

‘Tell me what’s going on.’

‘Just being careful.’ He closed the case. ‘Now go put on a jacket and some boots.’

She shook her head. ‘No.’

‘Yes.’ He spoke firmly — his policeman’s voice — and touched her cheek. She did as he said.

Aidan walked around from the back of the car, holding two pairs of industrial-looking earmuffs. ‘Ear protection. Guns are louder than a jet engine. Can cause permanent hearing damage.’

He was serious, no joking — no Say hello to my little friend. He handed her a pair of safety glasses. Let me guess, she thought, loose shrapnel could take out your eye.

They were at the back of the island, where the roads were dirt and the houses were few. Ferns grew in the shade of eucalypts, pines, and tea-trees. The sky was wolf grey and the water was the colour of the gun, a white-lace trim of foam edging the wavelets.

‘Always assume the gun is loaded.’ The wind whipped through Aidan’s hair as he pulled back the slidey thing on top of the pistol. ‘Whenever you put the gun down, make sure the slide is locked open, so you can tell it’s empty.’ He placed the gun next to a box of ammunition on the car’s bonnet. ‘And never point it at anything you don’t want to shoot.’ He swivelled it to point at the water.

Brigitte folded her arms under her breasts and hunched her shoulders forward. Aidan told her to pick up the gun. She shook her head and took a step backwards.

‘It’s OK. It’s not loaded,’ he said.

‘But you just said to always assume the —’

‘Just hold it for a sec, Brig.’ He loaded ammunition into a rectangular metal container.

She sighed, unfolded her arms, moved forward, and picked up the gun with two fingers, holding it at arm’s length, like a raw fish.

‘Hold it properly, Brigitte. It’s not a toy, you don’t want to drop it.’

She scowled and gripped it, hurting her burnt hand. It wasn’t as cold or as heavy as she’d imagined.

‘And remember what I said about never pointing it at anything you don’t want to shoot?’

She pointed it away at the water; she’d had it aimed at him.

He took the gun and showed her how to insert the metal container, the ‘magazine’, into the base of the grip. She started to zone out as he explained how the slide springs forward, loading one round into the chamber. ‘Now the gun’s ready to fire.’ He glanced at her.

She nodded and swallowed, her mouth dry. He wasn’t seriously expecting her to fire it?

He demonstrated how to grip the gun, thumbs on the same side. ‘The slide flies back with each shot, so never cross your thumbs behind it.’

‘Would it break your thumb?’

‘Cut it right off.’

Was that supposed to be encouraging?

He took a few steps forward onto the coarse, sandy beach. She followed. He stood with his feet shoulder-width apart, arms extended, gripping the gun in both hands.

‘What if you hit a boat?’

‘There are no boats out there.’

‘Or a dolphin?’

‘Stop being silly.’

He explained how he was lining up the sights — the front sight should be centred in the rear-sight notch. She had no idea what he was talking about now, could barely hear him through the earmuffs and above the wind and her heartbeat. ‘See that green shopping bag out there in the water?’

No. She squinted. ‘Oh, yes.’ She lowered her chin to her chest and hugged herself as he placed his finger on the trigger.

‘Imagine you’re placing your finger against something delicate like glass,’ he said. ‘Gently. Don’t jerk the trigger.’

She held her breath.

Bang! She jumped, and a tiny, strangled scream escaped her throat. The shopping bag disappeared.

He shot four more rounds, and then turned to her, still pointing the gun at the water. ‘Now it’s your turn.’

She felt hot and cold like she did when she was on the water. She took some shallow breaths and her legs started to shake. ‘I can’t.’

‘Yes, you can.’

‘No, Aid.’ She shook her head.

‘You’re a brave woman, Brig.’

‘No, I’m not.’

‘Survived all that shit when you were young. Had three kids. This is nothing.’

The ground seemed to rock beneath her, like a boat. She ripped off the earmuffs and safety glasses; the glasses caught and tore out some of her hair. She didn’t care — just had to get them off.

Aidan frowned. ‘You OK?’

‘No!’ The wind almost blew her over as she turned and marched back to the car, crunching pine cones under foot.

She sat in the passenger seat, shivering, as she watched Aidan removing the ammunition from the pistol. Angry with herself for being silly, angry with him for trying to make her do this, the gunshots and the isolation of the island rang in her ears.

When he got into the car, he reached across and hugged her, kissed the top of her head, stroked her hair. ‘It’s OK. We’ll try another time.’

‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘We won’t.’

He held her tighter, his breath hot against her cheek.

‘What’s going on, Aidan?’

‘Don’t worry, I’ll send the divvy van to patrol the island tonight.’

Don’t worry! ‘What for?’

‘Nothing else for them to do.’

‘What for?’

‘I told you — just being careful.’