There was no point in mobilising an armed response team to protect Caz Moon. By the time a team had geared up, found its way from the city to this corner of rural Victoria and been briefed, Josh Brownlee would be long gone.
And so, as Pam raced them down and across the Peninsula to Waterloo, Ellen put contingency plans into motion. First she ordered a chopper from Frankston and then ordered the police station at Waterloo to send a couple of cars down High Street to HangTen.
‘Our person of interest is driving a red Impreza and should be considered armed and dangerous. Received?’
‘Sarge.’
‘If you can, evacuate the nearby shops and divert traffic at each end of the block.’
‘Sarge.’
Then she called HangTen, Caz Moon grasping the situation swiftly, not asking Ellen to repeat who she was or her connection to Pam Murphy.
‘I’m using the cordless phone,’ she told Ellen, sounding breathless. ‘I’m at the back door now, locking it…done. I’m moving to the front door…done. Are you sure he has a gun?’
‘Highly likely. Are you alone?’
‘No customers. Chloe’s with me, the other sales assistant.’ There was a pause. ‘Are you sure he’s coming after me?’
‘Pretty sure.’
‘If we stay here in plain view, he could shoot through the glass.’
‘Yes.’
‘If we leave the shop, he could ambush us.’
‘Yes.’
Ellen had a sense of wheels turning, and asked, ‘Is there a secure room you can hide in? A storeroom, maybe?’
‘Storeroom. It has a steel door and no windows.’
‘Hide there now,’ Ellen said.
Something then, a sixth sense, a shift in the quality of the connection, an intake of breath, told Ellen that they were too late. ‘Caz?’ she said, trying not to convey the panic she felt. Paddocks sped past her window, trees, a dam, a horse with a couple of birds upon its back. They were still several kilometres short of the town. Traffic was sparse. ‘Caz?’
Caz’s voice came then, sounding steady enough. ‘He’s here. Outside, two wheels up on the footpath. Nearly hit someone. He’s getting out. Yep, a gun.’
‘Caz, for God’s sake, take Chloe and run to the storeroom.’
Ellen heard scrapes, breathlessness and whimpering, as though the two women were duck waddling to the rear of the shop behind the only available cover, glass-topped counters and racks of clothing. ‘Are you nearly there?’
‘Nearly. He just rattled the door.’
‘Are the lights on or off?’
‘Off. First thing I did.’
‘So he might think you’ve closed the shop and gone home?’
‘No. I didn’t have time to wheel the sales racks in from the footpath.’
‘Please, Caz, hide in the storeroom.’
More sounds and then Caz said, ‘He’s pounding on the window and yelling.’
‘Caz-’
‘I know, I know, hide.’
A radio transmission cut in. It was John Tankard. ‘Suspect sighted. I can confirm that he’s armed. A shottie. He looks agitated.’
‘John,’ said Ellen, as Pam Murphy floored the throttle and expertly flicked past a delivery van, never once glancing at her passenger, ‘be very careful. Did you evacuate the area?’
‘Didn’t have time, but people started evacuating themselves when they saw the gun.’
‘No shooting, John, not if there are people about. Not unless it’s absolutely necessary. We’ll try to talk him into surrendering. Received?’
‘Sarge.’
‘Are you alone?’
‘Andy Cree’s with me. We’ve got a second car at the roundabout.’
Ellen put a face to the name: the good-looking rookie, Pam Murphy possibly sweet on him. ‘Impress on Constable Cree and the others, no shooting. I don’t want any headlines.’
‘Sarge.’
‘What’s our person of interest doing?’
‘Pounding on the window of the surf shop.’
‘Where are you?’
‘Other side of the street, waving people to get out of the way.’
‘Get them well out of the way.’
‘Sarge.’
‘Check his car-any other head on board?’
‘He’s alone, Sarge.’
Switching back to her mobile phone, Ellen said, ‘You there, Caz?’
The reception was scratchy suddenly, the young shopkeeper’s voice fading in and out. ‘In…locked…’
She’s in the storeroom and the walls and steel door are interfering with the reception, Ellen guessed. Then John Tankard cut in again: ‘He’s spotted us.’
‘Keep your heads down.’
‘Don’t worry.’
‘What’s he doing?’
‘Getting back into his car.’
‘Be prepared to follow, but don’t panic him. I’ve called for a chopper.’
‘He’s already in a panic, Sarge.’
‘Don’t aggravate it, John, okay?’
‘Okay, Sarge.’
‘You drive, not your partner.’
‘Sarge.’
She knew that Tankard had done an advanced-driving course; she didn’t know about Cree and didn’t have the time to find out. But when Pam Murphy gave the briefest recriminatory flicker just then, she guessed she’d trodden on toes. Couldn’t worry about that now: ‘All we do is track him, okay?’
‘Received.’
‘Where is he now?’
‘Heading for the roundabout.’
‘Tell them to let him through.’
‘Sarge.’
Pam and Ellen were no more than two minutes away from Waterloo now. If Josh Brownlee headed for home, he’d pass them going the other way. But there were other possible exits from the town: further south toward Penzance Beach, or directly across the Peninsula to Mornington, on Port Phillip Bay. Pam said, ‘All we need to do is get him on a straight stretch of road, Sarge. Take him when there are no cars around.’
‘But how?’
‘Mobile take-out.’
‘You know how to do that?’
‘Yes.’
Ellen knew that the younger woman had received pursuit car training. ‘Does Tank know?’
‘Yes.’
Ellen switched to the radio, saying, ‘John?’
‘Sarge.’
‘Where is he?’
‘Heading for Jamieson’s Road.’
Pam and Ellen were on Jamieson’s Road. It was quiet and straight for long stretches. Pam braked immediately and did a U-turn. Ellen looked back over her shoulder. ‘We’re on Jamieson’s now.’
‘Facing which way?’
‘We turned around so he should be coming up behind us any minute. Where are you?’
‘Just behind him.’
‘Are both Waterloo cars on his tail?’
‘Affirmative.’
‘We do a mobile take-out. You up for that?’
‘Am I?’ Tank said. ‘Just say the word.’
Ellen visualised the gleam in the eyes of the beefy young cop. ‘By the book, John. This isn’t the Grand Prix.’
‘Sarge.’
The voices were quieter after that, calmer but more tense, as Pam Murphy mapped out the strategy and Ellen relayed instructions to the pursuit cars. ‘He’ll come up behind us. Pam will keep her speed down. Before he pulls out to overtake, your two cars need to come up fast behind him, one on his rear bumper, the other beside him. He’ll be boxed in and have nowhere to go.’
‘Sarge.’
‘John, you need to be the one to come alongside him.’
‘Sarge.’
‘If we meet oncoming traffic, drop back and let it through.’
‘Sarge.’
‘I’m hoping the chopper will give us plenty of warning if there is other traffic ahead.’
Then there was silence, only the rush of their passage through the air and the muted howl of their tyres. Pam Murphy was driving at 110 km/h. She dropped back to 90, then 80, her eyes on the rear-view mirror, finally murmuring, ‘There he is.’
Ellen had made radio connection to the helicopter by now, a spotter advising, ‘You have a clear stretch ahead.’
‘Start taking your positions, John.’
‘Sarge.’
They said nothing. Pam dropped speed, then accelerated a little, keeping Josh Brownlee on their tail while the other cars came into position. The little Subaru was close behind the CIU car now, itching to pass. Then John Tankard’s voice crackled, ‘Permission to draw alongside.’
‘Permission granted.’
Ellen, head craned to watch through the back window, saw the police car swing out from behind the Subaru and draw abreast of it. Brownlee glanced at it wildly, then at her, and then into his rear view mirror, for the second police car was now riding his rear bumper.
She sensed his panic and shrieking fury. He had nowhere to go. Pam began to brake, slowing to 70, 60, forcing Brownlee to brake. He was firmly boxed in now, cars on three sides, a grassy bank on the fourth, and Ellen saw him thump the steering wheel with his fist. Still the tight knot of cars continued to decelerate, and then Josh Brownlee flicked the wheel and bounced the Subaru against John Tankard’s car. The Subaru yawed, overcorrected, and shot off the road, slamming into the bank. It bounced back onto the road, side-on, and metal crumpled as the trailing car smacked into Brownlee’s door.
It was one way of concluding the pursuit. There was damage done, cuts and bruises, but no one was seriously hurt. No one died. The police cars could be put together again. Ellen and Pam tumbled out of the CIU car, feeling exhilarated. They joined Tankard and Cree, Cree calling tow trucks and an ambulance using his mobile phone, Tank securing the shotgun.
‘Everybody okay?’
‘Sarge.’
Ellen, still exhilarated, put the issue of the paperwork out of her mind. She put her actions in Adrian Wishart’s house out of her mind. Instead, she hugged Pam Murphy, and then she proceeded to arrest poor, pathetic Josh Brownlee, who was sitting there in the grass, weeping and holding his bleeding scalp.