28

THE FIRST ROOM at the top of the stairs contained a couple of single beds. The bed linen was clean, and the pillows and doonas were fluffed-up and ready for use. But there were no bedside tables, and the walls were bare. There wasn’t even a coat hanger in the built-in wardrobe.

The second bedroom was much bigger, and the king-size bed that filled it looked like it had been slept in recently — the bottom sheet was creased and slightly discoloured, and the doona was bunched up against the wall. There were even some men’s clothes in the wardrobe, and an easel and a clean palette were stacked next to the bed, along with a box of brushes and tubes of paint.

A damp towel hung behind the door in the ensuite bathroom, and a toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste sat on a ledge above the sink. In the cupboard under the sink, I found a red plastic bucket containing everything that Joe had taken from me. I fished out my Glock and my phone. The Glock was loaded and ready for action, and I felt much more secure with it in my hands. I tried my phone, but the battery was dead. I pocketed Joe’s revolver and my phone, but left everything else in the bucket.

Downstairs, I crossed the lounge room, unlocked one of a pair of glass doors that led outside, and stepped out onto a large paved area. I felt an instant lift just from standing in the late-afternoon sun, breathing in fresh air.

The noise from dozens of police sirens was building in the distance. Then a cocky squawked nearby, and I was aware of everyday sounds coming at me from over the top of the siren noise. The unbroken drone of nearby traffic was probably Adelaide Avenue. Some kids were shouting a few houses away. Then someone fired up a leaf blower.

How would these people react when they heard that they’d shared their street with a bunch of killers? For some, it would be a major jolt to their sense of personal security. It would make others worry about their family’s safety. And still others would fret about the value of their real estate. There’s nothing like a major crime scene in the street to depress property prices.

The sirens were very close as I stepped back into the lounge room. Then I heard a loud grunt echo from the front of the house, followed by a scuffling noise. I moved quickly through the room, and when I was a metre from the corridor, I pressed my back to the wall, edged forward, and peered around the corner.

It was Jean and Rolfe. He had one arm draped over her shoulders, his legs looked very rubbery, and she was only just managing to stay upright as she dragged him down the corridor towards me. I raced to them and took Rolfe’s free arm.

‘You did it, Glass!’ he said, slurring his words like a drunk. ‘Well done, man! Not that I doubted you. But, by God, I am surprised to be alive. Happy, but surprised. And, Glass, you should know — my feelings for you at this moment go well beyond mere gratitude. Nothing carnal, mind you. Not like my colleague here. But I love you, Glass. Like a brother.’

‘Thank you, Rolfe,’ I said. ‘For your gratitude and your love.’

Jean and I burst out laughing, and Rolfe looked at each of us in turn and then joined in. The ordeal we’d shared had sealed a bond between us, and I knew that they felt it, too. I was about to put this into words when there were a few tentative knocks at the front door.

I’d expected to hear the squeal of rubber when the lead car arrived. I’d also been prepared for Special Operations to break down the door and wave their weapons around. So what was this timid knocking?

‘That’ll be the boys,’ said Jean, hauling us faster towards the door.

‘For you?’ I said.

‘The Live Cam crew. They took a short cut. I wasn’t going to miss the biggest story of my life!’

‘You called them?’

‘While you were in the garage.’

‘Amazing,’ I said, and it was.

‘I hope their laptop’s got an uplink,’ said Rolfe, suddenly much more alert.

‘I’m sure it has, Rolfey,’ said Jean, patting his back. ‘And if you’re really quick, you might even get your story up before me.’