‘I’ll call the Accord Hotel and check on Edmunds, but I doubt there’ll be much to report there either.’

  Kendall nodded. It would be a turn-up for the books if the hideaway was breached. Mahoney’s call was transferred through to the hotel room.

  ‘Hello?’ a hesitant voice answered.

  ‘Mr Edmunds, it’s DI Mahoney here. How are you?’

  ‘Oh right, it’s you. I didn’t want to identify myself, just in case … you know.’

  ‘Of course. Good thinking. The early report from our constable at your flat confirmed nothing went wrong in the night. Just checking how you slept and if you mind popping in to make a statement.’

  ‘Yeah, sure. I can come round with my minder pretty soon, okay?’

  ‘That would work. How do you feel?’

  ‘Bit washed out. It sort of hit me late on how lucky I’d been. I got a bit stressed and didn’t sleep too well.’

  ‘That’s understandable.’

  ‘How’s your fella?’

  ‘The suspect?’

  ‘No, your guy. David. He was a huge help sorting the bookings out and stuff. Funny how he’s from back home and everything. It’s a small world.’

  It was as if a jolt of electricity shot through Mahoney, but he kept his voice as level as he could. ‘Right, I’m pleased you’re all good. We’ll arrange for you to be escorted to HQ and then another plain clothes officer will tag along with your movements during the day.’

  ‘If you think so, okay. I’m right to go into the restaurant later, I assume.’

  ‘Yes, no problem. We’re done with the site.’

  ‘Will you be there when I come in?’

  ‘Perhaps not. I’ll get a good person here to take everything down.’

  ‘Alrighty. Thanks again for yesterday.’

  ‘Least we could do. Have a good day.’

  Mahoney hung up and turned to Kendall.

  ‘Where’s David from?’

  ‘Launceston.’

  ‘Good at sport?’

  ‘Sure. Was very good as Herrick tells it.’

  ‘Loving parents?’

  ‘As far as I know … oh, shit.’

  ‘Yes, a whole bucketful.’

  

  The first thing Gibson noticed was the stiffness in his knees. As he came round, he shook his head—it was a bit wooly but not too bad. He blinked his eyes open and worked out where he was; he was parked square in the middle of his lounge room floor, strapped in his favourite comfy chair. His wrists and elbows were secured with plastic ties to the cushioned armrests. Not a smidgeon of give. The same with his ankles which were tethered to the front legs of the chair. This did not bode well.

  Gibson kept his breathing slow and steady. The whole place reeked like a mechanic’s bay at a petrol station. He felt dry, but the carpet looked stained. He had been meaning for some time to ask the agent if it would be alright to lift the carpet and expose the floorboards. The odour was acrid in his nostrils. He kept his breaths shallow to minimise the burn and lessen any hallucinogenic effect. What felt like gaffer tape covered his mouth and chin and there was almost no give as he tried to waggle his jaw. He dropped his eyeballs as low as he could and glimpsed a flash of blue beneath his nose—how appropriate. Bluey: the vernacular moniker for a redheaded bloke. Someone had a sense of humour, and Gibson had a good idea of who that someone was.

  A sound to his left caught his attention; the balcony door was clicking shut. A tallish stranger with a shaved skull stood several feet to his side—except he was hardly a stranger at all.

  ‘Surprise,’ Fowler said in an enthusiastic Sesame Street voice. ‘Can you believe your eyes?’

  Gibson rolled his eyes. Attitude would be everything. He knew that giving any sign of how shit-scared he was wouldn’t help.

  The lithe figure advanced on him, leaned into his ear and whispered, ‘Cocky little bugger, aren’t ya? Well if you’re so smart, how come you’re the one trussed up like a chicken ready for the roasting tray?’ Fowler flicked Gibson’s ear. ‘Now, I’m going to take this face tape off you, but if there’s any noise I’ll join your ear canals up with a skewer. Nod for yes.’

  Gibson nodded as instructed and there was a flash of movement as the tape was torn away from his lips—quick and painless. The intruder stepped round and stood straight in front of his captive.

  ‘You look just like a fella all strapped in for some stag night shenanigans. Afraid the stripper won’t be able to make it though.’

  The constable looked as nonchalant as he could; it was a facial expression he had learned to adopt over time when facing a mouthy bloke. Appear as if you couldn’t care less and the bluster usually blew away. Gibson jutted his chin towards the kitchenette. ‘White and one sugar if you’re making any.’

  His visitor laughed, a deep cackle. He pulled over a free chair and sat himself down a couple of feet from Gibson. ‘I like your style, but how about we have a little conversation?’

  ‘Sure. Chinese foreign policy?’

  ‘I don’t think you’re taking this seriously. By now you must know who I am.’ He pulled a tarnished zippo lighter out of his pocket and flicked a flame alive. ‘And what I can do.’

  ‘Yeah, all right. You’re Mike Fowler and this is the next episode in the series.’

  ‘That’s better.’ He ignited the zippo again and reached the bluish flame towards Gibson’s crotch. He smiled briefly and retracted his arm. ‘No need. Reckon you’ll talk. You look like a chatty guy. And if you’re talking, you’re still alive.’ Fowler gave Gibson a quick wink.

  ‘I can’t argue with that. Guess you’d like to find out what we know?’

  ‘Spot on, my boy.’

  Calling him out as a sick, twisted fucker was probably not the way to go. ‘Well, I’m pretty new to this game but those with more experience reckon this case has been a tough nut to crack.’

  ‘By those you mean Mahoney?’

  ‘Yeah. You’ve been agitating his thought processes, with the how and very much the why.’

  Fowler sat back in the chair. ‘Good. It’s taken some planning, I can tell you. Between you and me, I’m a bit pissed off that you’re onto me this quickly. I thought there’d be more time.’

  ‘Bit of luck. Hell of a lot of work.’ Gibson shimmied his backside. ‘Maybe a lot of luck.’

  ‘Yeah, how so?’

  ‘The speed camera at Longley.’

  Fowler’s eyes narrowed and then he nodded. ‘You’d already traced that old bomb to me?’

  ‘Yep. That was the hard work bit.’

  ‘You’ve got the van I take it?’

  ‘The boss appreciated that part. Clever move ditching it at Sala­manca so it was all taken care of for you. Trawling through the car dealerships joined a few dots.’

  He flicked the lighter almost absent-mindedly. ‘So, you were on my tail from then. But how’d you hit on Lenah Valley?’

  ‘How do you know we did?’

  ‘I get around. Don’t suppose you noticed a lycra-clad cyclist riding past the other day?’

  Gibson shook his head. They couldn’t be expected to take everything in. ‘Finding that hidey-hole was a long shot. We were simply looking for a tennis hitting wall and we ended up out there. You’d been noticed and we ploughed on from that. A bit more luck.’

  ‘Well, it saved one bloke’s life. The clock started ticking faster then, otherwise I would’ve done Edmunds hands-on. Doing the MasterChef wannabe was always in the plan, but once you guys turned up at the restaurant, I couldn’t finish the job personally. Pity, but there you go.’ This time the flick of the lighter was very deliberate. ‘And here we are.’

  For the first time Gibson became aware of his bladder. Fear was working his insides. This had all the makings of a finale. Fresh tape was stretched across his jaw.

  ‘Don’t panic, boy. The fat lady’s not even warming up yet. It’s your boss I really want to meet.’

  

  Dunstan switched his focus from the screen as Mahoney approached.

  ‘No Gabster?’

  ‘Not as yet. Kate called him but it went to voicemail.’

  ‘Not like him. Usually up and at it.’

  ‘I know.’ Mahoney dropped his voice a touch. ‘That’s why I’m worried. Can you trace his phone?’

  ‘Assuming it’s on, yep. If not, I can give you a pretty accurate location from where it was last active.’

  ‘Right, do it now.’ He swivelled in the chair and called out in what he hoped was his everyday voice. ‘Kate, got his home address yet?’

  Kendall came across with a laptop. ‘Gore Street in South Hobart. Looks, according to Google Maps, like one of a couple of buildings yet to be part of the Vaucluse Retirement complex.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s it,’ said Dunstan. ‘He told me the landlord is holding on to the block until Vaucluse make the sort of offer you can’t refuse. From what Dave’s said before it’s a double-story house divided into four flats, right by the rivulet that runs down from the mountain. He goes hiking from his place up past the Cascade Brewery every few days.’

  Mahoney turned his gaze from Kendall’s laptop to the desk computer. ‘We’ll assume he’s not doing that now. Any pings yet?’

  Dunstan magnified the grid map on his screen. ‘Here we go. His phone is on and it’s at his flat. Shall I call him again?’

  ‘No,’ Mahoney blurted. ‘We don’t want to frighten the horses.’

  Dunstan had a puzzled look on his face. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘I think David’s in danger. I’ve realised too late that he too fits the victim profile.’

  ‘The bastard’s after one of us. You’re kidding?’

  ‘No, Andrew. It’s very real. You’d hardly label Gibson as privileged but he is making a good go of life. His upbringing is not unlike the others. He was good at sport, brought up well, from up north. Unfortunately, he ticks all the boxes for our man.’

  Kendall cut in. ‘How has he traced David?’

  ‘Well, I’m not being funny here but he’s hard to miss. If Fowler was anywhere near the Silver Ball yesterday, and he probably was to witness his handiwork, he could have tailed David. We assumed he’d get out of the vicinity but his motivation is to witness the destruction he causes. This is random thinking, but maybe the Silver Ball was set up as a prelim to trapping David. Edmunds was supposed to sniff the gas and get us in. We defuse the threat and then relax having saved a potential victim.’

  ‘And now he goes for the jugular,’ said Kendall. ‘Either that or Gibson woke up late and he’s in the shower.’

  ‘No, he’d be here by now, or at least have replied to your voicemail. Andrew, set yourself up as Intel co-ordinator here. Let us know if there’s any movement on David’s mobile. Kate and I need to get cracking.’

  ‘What’s your next move, Sir?’

  ‘We’ll be briefing the Armed Response Unit. Dennis Newton should be available.’

  

  The administrative hub for the Armed Response Unit was located two blocks from headquarters. Cheek by jowl with the Metropolitan Fire Brigade Centre was a double-storey warehouse: vehicles and equipment at ground level with some office space upstairs. In an open space that served as a tactical planning area, Mahoney and Kendall sat with two officers of the ARU.

  Sergeant Newton had included Communications Officer Angie Briant in the initial briefing. Fit, lithe and brown as a berry she didn’t look like an office type. When being introduced, an apology was offered for any whiff of chlorine lingering from an earlier swim session at Hobart Aquatic.

  Newton launched straight in. He had buzz cut hair and a firm jaw—no messing about in any respect. ‘Situation, at present, is one officer absent. Deemed irregular. Assumed position is own residence in Gore Street. Correct?’ Mahoney nodded. ‘Nil phone response to earlier call. Threat level is high because you fear it’s a hostage scenario.’

  ‘Or worse. I’m assuming our killer is there.’

  ‘Same, same. Absolutely right to involve us. Arrest is preferable, if possible?’

  ‘Yes, but Gibson’s safety is paramount.’

  ‘I agree, John. If someone’s to be taken out, it won’t be Gibson.’ Newton turned to his left. ‘Angie.’

  Briant held an iPad in her hands. She tapped a button and a live feed appeared on the screen. Front and centre was a rugged male face underneath a weathered green cap.

  ‘Tommo, it’s Angie. What’s it look like?’

  ‘No sign of a red-head, but I sighted a white male with a shaved head, on the balcony ten minutes ago. He opened a glass door and propped it open. There are curtains across the rear-facing window.’

  Mahoney tensed in his chair. ‘Can you send a picture?’

  ‘Already done. The bugger was half in, half out the door frame, puffing on a cigar. Like that Joe Hockey guy.’

  Newton cut in. ‘Evans and Gulline in position?’

  ‘Yep. Perfect line of sight. Tapp, Colegrave and Wright are here and ready. All set.’

  ‘Roger that. Sit tight until I arrive with the homicide detectives.’

  Briant tapped the screen and a photo materialised of the balcony. She zoomed in on a full profile of a muscular male staring at the cigar in his right hand.

  ‘This your suspect?’

  Mahoney narrowed his vision. They’d been chasing a shadow, and now here he was. ‘As far as I can tell, yes.’

  Newton stood abruptly. ‘Right, we’re off. Angie, keep all channels open. Get the drone up. ETA for us is ten minutes.’

  ‘Right, Sir.’

  Newton started moving. ‘Come on, John. Sergeant Kendall, best if you stay so we’ve got a good set of eyes here.’

  Mahoney nodded to her. It was no longer solely his operation; Newton was the man.

  

  Mahoney thought he could drive well, but Newton’s ability to negotiate the crowded CBD streets had him awestruck. Lights flashing and siren on, they slalomed up Davey Street in no time at all, the old Army Barracks flashing by on their left. A bottleneck at Antill Street stymied progress temporarily, but Newton bullied the police vehicle through and they were into the grounds of Vaucluse. The siren had been killed a block back and now the lights went down as Newton eased into the kerb.

  Before they got out of the car Newton spoke. ‘Bottom line is Gibson’s life comes first. Best case scenario we save him and capture the suspect. But if it escalates, the guy gets it. You have to be okay with that because that’s the only way it’s going to be.’

  Mahoney nodded; there was no other way. He wanted the arrest, but he needed Gibson alive so much more. He imagined facing his parents if it went wrong and it could have been prevented.

  The man from the video call approached the car. Newton quickly introduced Thomas Casey. ‘Tom, any change?’

  ‘No, Sir. Gulline and Evans have a clear view of the balcony. Both are perched on roofs with an eyeline view of the scene. Tapp and Colegrave are on the west side in Gore Street if we need to batter our way in through the front. Wrighty’s this side watching through the fence. There’s nothing to indicate the target is aware of us.’

  Casey was one squared-away officer: clipped speech pattern, no panic, no emotion, here’s the situation.

  Newton spoke first. ‘Gulline and Evans are to keep crosshairs on the balcony. If it looks anything like our officer Gibson is threatened, they take the shot. Right?’

  ‘Yes, Sir. Are you going to initiate contact with the suspect?’

  As Newton took a long breath, a buzzing sound started: Mahoney’s mobile. He whipped it out from his pocket; the caller ID was Gibson. Newton nodded for him to answer and he affected a smile to help mask his voice. ‘Gabster, did you sleep in, boy?’

  There was a harsh chuckle in reply. ‘No, he’s wide awake.’

  ‘Who is this?’

  ‘Nice try, Inspector. You know exactly who this is. Either you’re gaming me or you’re an idiot. I doubt it’s the latter, so I advise you to stop the former.’

  ‘Fair play. Where are you?’

  ‘We are both sitting in David’s lounge room. If you waver at all from my instructions, the only way he’ll leave here is in a little urn. Can you hear this?’

  Mahoney heard the distinct scratch and hiss of a cigarette lighter. ‘Yes, Montag.’

  ‘I like it. Is that my assigned codename? Quite a literary touch.’

  ‘The Masked Avenger was taken. What do you want?’

  ‘Some quality face-to-face time, to brief you on what the authorities should be doing.’

  ‘Is Gibson unharmed?’

  ‘That’s for me to know. You’ll find out soon enough.’

  ‘Alright. Where and when?’

  ‘Here at his apartment. At your earliest convenience. I dare say that won’t be long.’

  ‘Give me ten minutes. What then?’

  ‘Text me when you’re in the street.’

  The call went dead. ‘Not much choice then.’

  ‘It seems there’s not, unless we take him out next time he ventures onto the balcony.’ Newton rubbed his brow with vigour. ‘I’ll walk with you round to Gore Street. We can’t be seen from Gibson’s flat and we can assess the playbook.’

  For the first few hundred metres, Newton briefed his officers on the situation. The summative directive was to the marksman; any opportunity for a clear shot was to be taken. The ground level personnel were to storm in immediately. It wasn’t Mahoney’s first choice, but it wasn’t his call. The ARU were trained for precisely this scenario, and the bottom line was to save Gibson.

  The pair turned into Gore Street and started down the slope. Ten metres short of the street entrance to the apartment block, Newton held a stiff arm sideways to halt his colleague. ‘Are you armed?’

  Mahoney’s mind went blank. Was he? He felt his jacket pockets: nothing. ‘No, just my phone. Shit, sorry.’