They listen to the conversation. The negotiator begins.
‘Frank? My name is Bruno Severini, I am a police negotiator. I am here to help you. We want to resolve this without any further bloodshed. How are you feeling?’
‘Feelin?’ A harsh laugh. ‘Fuckin great man. Fuckin outstanding.’
‘How is Jenny?’
‘Oh, she’s lookin good man, real good. Tasty. Maybe not for long though.’
‘Frank, I want you to sit down and take a deep breath and relax. Okay? Can you do that?’
‘Yeah, sure.’
‘I want you to think hard about what I’m going to tell you, because it’s important. Okay?’
Nothing.
‘Frank? Are you there? We have plenty of time here to get this sorted. We all just need to be calm.’
There’s a sudden sound of heavy breathing in the mouthpiece. ‘Listen, I want that mongrel Belltree up here, alone. Got it?’
‘Is that Detective Harry Belltree, Frank?’
‘Jesus, how many Belltrees ya got?’
‘I’ll have to speak to my boss, Frank, but I don’t think that will be possible. He was badly hurt in the explosion. But you can come and see him for yourself. Just put down your weapons and walk out through the front door and we’ll take you to him.’
‘Listen arsehole, I want Belltree up here. He can crawl on his fuckin belly for all I care. But if he wants to see his little blind woman again before I cut her fuckin head off he’s gotta come up here, alone. Got it?’
In the background, faintly, a shout. ‘Harry, don’t come here!’
The phone goes dead.
Severini tries to ring it again, but it goes straight to voicemail.
Harry takes out his own phone. He brings up Jenny’s mobile, and after several rings Capp answers. ‘Harry.’
‘Yes, Frank.’
‘Get yer fuckin arse up here. Alone, no guns, hands in the air.’
‘Okay.’
The others try to stop him, Fogarty with a direct order, but when he starts to walk no one holds him back. It should be a long haul up the dirt road on his aching leg. He hardly feels it. He has no plan and no weapon. Only the knowledge of how Capp will want to kill him.
He reaches the front steps, stomps loudly on them as he gets to the front door, which swings open at his touch. He’s in a narrow hallway.
‘In here, Harry.’
He turns and sees through an open door—Jenny seated on a kitchen chair facing him, Capp standing behind her, a pistol in his left fist, aimed at Harry, the other holding a hammer.
‘Come on in, Harry.’
Harry steps through the doorway, sees Capp aim the pistol at his stomach.
‘On your knees.’
Harry kneels.
‘Hands flat on the floor in front of you.’
Capp comes round to him, swinging the hammer in his free hand. ‘Waited a long time for this, mate.’
Harry thinks, now, I have to do something now. But the muzzle of the pistol is steady, less than a metre from him, point-blank range, as Capp raises the hammer high above his head.
Beyond him Harry sees Jenny rise silently from her chair and move to the table, where, as easily as if she could see it, she picks up the axe. She steps quickly up behind Capp and swings the blade down hard upon his head.
His whole body convulses, a leap and a twist. He falls to the floor, writhing, and the gun in his hand goes off. Then abruptly the flailing stops and he lies still.
Harry looks down at Capp’s body, the bloody axe lying by its side. He notices a splatter of blood on his own shirt and wonders if he’s been shot. No, it’s Capp’s blood.
Shouts, boots, black figures crashing into the room. He goes to Jenny and wraps his arms around her. ‘Thank God,’ he whispers. ‘Thank God.’ The smell of her hair, the feel of her against him.
‘I thought you were dead,’ she says. Then, ‘Harry, I have this pain.’
‘Where?’
‘In my side.’ She shows him, the left side of her belly, and he sees blood.
‘Ambos! Here, quick.’
Two paramedics run in and pause to stare at Capp.
‘No, over here!’