The sequence of events, as Morton gave them to me, was this: Glen had gone to the house to interview Gina Costi in order to discover whether she’d told Renato about Oscar Bach having raped her. At about the same time Morton got through to Sergei Costi on the telephone. He outlined the problem in general terms and asked Costi to come into town for a discussion. The next bit Morton had to reconstruct from a panicked and interrupted telephone call from Costi. Renato had overheard Glen talking to his sister. He had gone crazy and burst in threatening to kill the girl and Mark Roper. There had been a struggle and Glen had been shot. Costi Senior had quickly rung Morton with the gist of this before his son had cut him off.
‘No communication since then,’ Morton said. ‘We don’t know the condition of Sergeant Withers or the other people in the house. We don’t even know how many people are in there.’
A policeman came scuttling across towards us, bent low. He glanced hesitantly at me but Morton made an impatient gesture and he spoke up. ‘Sir, we’ve had a communication from the house. From Renaldo Costi.’
‘Renato,’ Morton said. ‘Go on.’
‘He says he wants Mark Roper brought to the house. If he doesn’t get here within an hour he’s going to kill Sergeant Withers, his mother and father,’ he glanced at his notebook, ‘Mrs Adamo and himself.’
‘Jesus,’ Morton said. ‘Is the line open to the house?’
‘He said he’d cut it off in ten minutes. That’s about four minutes ago.’
‘Ring it and patch me through from my car. Quick!’
‘Sir.’ The cop ran off, forgetting to bend over.
Morton looked at me. ‘Siege and hostage situation. Terrific’
‘What’ll you say to him?’
‘Stall him. What else can I do? I can’t deliver a citizen up to him like a sacrifice.’
‘Substitute?’ I said. ‘Decoy?’
We moved to one of the police cars and Morton snapped his fingers while an officer fiddled with the radio. ‘I was trying not to think about it. What’s this Roper look like?’
‘Tall, dark, thin, young.’
Morton stood about four inches shorter than me; both of us looked every day of our ages. ‘Lets me out, and you.’
‘This time of day he’d be wearing a blue overall. He’s a pest exterminator.’
Morton nodded. He spoke rapidly to a hovering sergeant who nodded and hurried away.
Then he picked up the radio. ‘Mr Costi. This is Assistant Commissioner Leslie Morton. Can you hear me?’
The voice came through loud and clear- young, slightly sing-song, although very Australian. ‘This is Ronny Costi. Who’d you say you were?’
‘I’m the senior policeman here. We should talk… ‘
‘Nothing to talk about, mate. Everything’s fucked.’
‘It doesn’t have to be like that, Mr Costi. Now…’
The voice went up into a scream. ‘My sister’s been raped and that little cunt Roper’s told everyone about it and this family’s buggered. It’s history. I’m going…’
Morton must have figured he had nothing to lose. His voice cut across the raving. ‘Listen to me! We’re getting Mr Roper here. We can talk some more. We’ll get your brother too…’
‘No! Leave him the fuck out of it!’
‘Mr Costi! Let me talk to your father.’
Renato let out a stream of curses in Italian and English; I caught only the obvious Italian ones about the Madonna and violating her; the English ones were in the same vein without the religious associations. Morton’s knuckles went white as he gripped the radio handpiece. He glanced across at the marksman who was still in position. The marksman shook his head and signalled that he didn’t have a target.
Morton tried again. ‘Renato, Ronny, listen…’
The voice went suddenly calm. ‘Shut up, cunt. Roper better be here fuckin’ soon, or we’ll all be dead and I just might get a few of you cunts out there as well.’
The connection broke. Morton handed the radio to the policeman who’d operated it before. He called the central communications room, spoke briefly, waited and shook his head. ‘Line’s dead, sir. He’s cut it.’
A shot from the house. The windscreen of the Honda Glen had driven disintegrated. Another shot screamed off the roof of the car and whistled away into the trees.
‘He’s back at the window,’ the marksman said. ‘But I still can’t get a big enough piece of him. I could try… ‘
‘No,’ Morton said. ‘He’s just crazy enough to start killing if he gets scared or wounded. We’d better get things straightened up around here. Sergeant Crowther!’
Morton issued instructions for the road to be closed and enquired about progress on bringing Mark Roper, Bruno Costi and a priest to the scene. Sergeant Crowther told him that everything was done that could be done. I could see Morton’s eyes drifting over the physiques of the dozen or so cops as he requested shields, bullet-proof vests and more weapons to be brought up.
Sergeant Crowther said, ‘Should we call the heavy squad, sir?’
Morton looked at him. ‘Do you think I’m an idiot, Sergeant?’
‘No, sir.’
‘You’re right, I’m not. I’d rather try it myself than let those bloody cowboys loose. It’s brains that’ll get us out of this, Sergeant.’
‘Yes, sir.’
I’d been hanging around, listening, and keeping an eye on Ted Withers. A paramedic had arrived and said the wound was clean. The marksman asked him about the calibre of the bullet and the medic just stared at him. We were all operating on different wavelengths and I wondered how long Morton could hold it all together. He was doing a pretty good job, so far.
‘Hardy,’ he said, ‘you look as if you’re thinking. If you’ve got any bright ideas you might let me know.’
I shook my head. ‘I was working out something about the Costis. I think I’ve got it, not that it’s any help. Why’s the father at home?’
I asked to try to get a line on how Morton felt about Sergei Costi. Whether he regarded him like Ted Withers, as expendable. But he just grunted which told me nothing, ‘Semi-retired. Not too well.’
‘I’ve got a number I was given by an Italian down south in the same line of business as Costi. He’s the one whose daughter went missing. He said he had influence up here. He might have some ideas…’
‘If you’re thinking you can get him here to talk to Ronny the way you promised, forget it. This’ll all be over long before that.’
‘No,’ I said, ‘I’m just grasping at straws, like you.’
He shot me an evil look. ‘Go with Sergeant Dexter. He’s dropping in on the neighbours to tell them to keep their heads down. One of them’ll let you use the phone if you ask nicely.’
He was dismissing me from the scene of action and we both knew it. There was no point in resisting; I wasn’t going to personally attack the house with my. 38 in my fist and a handkerchief wrapped around my head. It was a waiting game and we both knew it.
‘He’s tense,’ the marksman said. ‘Give me another three inches, mate. C’mon, two inches!’
I heard Morton say ‘Wait,’ again as I went off to find Sergeant Dexter.
The Sergeant wasn’t happy with his assignment. He was a big-bellied cop, youngish for his rank but on the way to looking older. He didn’t like me for being a civilian but he liked to talk and it balanced out. As we walked along the track towards the first of the houses, he told me that we should rush the Costi place now.
‘He might kill everyone if we do that,’ I said.
‘Wouldn’t get them all. He will if we leave it much longer.’
‘Know him, do you?’
‘Ronny? Sure I know him. He’s as crazy as they come. I mean right across the board- bikes, booze, dope and religion.’
‘They’re getting a priest,’ I said.
Dexter kicked a stone with his highly polished boot. ‘Ronny’s crazy enough to shoot him.’
‘D’you know Sergeant Withers?’
‘Yeah. She’s all right. She can’t help having that bastard as her old man.’
We reached the first place, a mock French farmhouse, all sand-blasted brick and narrow windows. There was a small vineyard and orchard near the house with a lot of watering equipment. A four-wheel-drive stood outside. The owners, a nervous looking elderly couple wearing tailored overalls, stood on the front porch watching us as we approached.
‘The police at last. Thank god,’ the man said. ‘Can you please tell us what’s going on up there?’ He inclined his old, bald head in the direction of the Costi house.
Dexter told him, with a minimum of detail, and advised him and his wife to keep inside. He also said that some men might have to come through their property.
‘I don’t know about that,’ the woman said. “We’ve got some very delicate plants in here.’
‘We’ve got a wounded officer in the house,’ Dexter said, ‘and three other people in danger.’
‘Italians. Dreadful people,’ the woman said, ‘They shouldn’t be allowed…’
‘Where’s the phone?’ I snapped.
The man pointed and I went down the hall past the bowls of flowers on stands and the framed family pictures. I grabbed the phone and dug out the card with Fanfani’s number on it. Fanfani himself answered. I gave him a sketch of the situation, with the very briefest indication that Schmidt/Bach had committed more crimes than anyone had thought, and asked him if he had any ideas.
‘The priest…’
‘He’s on his way.’
‘I don’t know these people. Where are they from?’
‘I haven’t a clue, Mr Fanfani. I just thought you might have something useful to contribute.’
‘No. I could get a helicopter and…’
‘It’ll be finished by then. And I don’t think you’re going to be able to talk to the man who killed Werner Schmidt.’
‘You mean the police will kill him?’
‘No, Mr Fanfani. I don’t mean that at all.’ I rang off and hurried back to the front of the house. The old couple were still standing on the porch, looking up the hill towards the Costi house. I pushed past them.
‘Aren’t you going to pay for the call?’ the man whined.
‘No,’ I said, ‘and it was long distance, too.’
Dexter was out of sight when I got back to the road. I realised suddenly that I was tired and drained of physical and emotional energy. I sucked in deep breaths of the clean, country air and tried to pump myself up. I even pulled out the Smith amp; Wesson and checked its action. I did not feel better. I had a vision of Glen Withers lying on a white shagpile carpet with blood oozing from her and the young man I’d seen in the photograph at Mark Roper’s house-the dark, snake-like man with the hooded eyes- standing over her with a rifle. My city shoes were stirring up the dust. I coughed and felt useless as I trudged back up to where all the other useless men with guns were. I knew I’d solved a problem but the solution was about as useful as a condom to a eunuch.