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arm produced as I crawled. “Red thinks he hit me, but he missed me by miles. He’s rubbish at shooting. Don’t listen to him.”
    “You’re a fucking liar, Tessie Fuller. And a terrible one too. Tut, tut – what would the saintly Nana Fuller have said about such deliberate dishonesty?” Red laughed again. “Why do you have that towel wrapped around your arm if I didn’t hit you? And what’s that red stain on it? You’re bleeding to death.” He shouted out suddenly, cruelly. “Do you hear that, copper? Your precious little piglet is dying . And I shot her.”
    Silence from me. I was almost at the keys and concentrated all my energy on reaching them.
    “Tessie?” the Sarge shouted again, not sure who to believe, maintaining his constant eye contact with Red, but becoming fidgety with his overpowering need to reassure himself that I was all right – to set eyes on me, to talk to me, to touch me. He was a naturally protective man, and teamed with a female partner who had significant relationship issues with a family of rapists and murderers, all of his instincts had ramped up exponentially. Especially after I’d shared my scrapbook with him. He’d read all the newspaper cuttings and crime scene reports relating to the long-running Bycraft-Fuller feud that I’d carefully collected over the years. I hadn’t shared that depressing album with many people in my life. Not even with Jake, for obvious reasons.
    “Sarge, he’s lying to you,” I lied to him. “He wants you to look away. He’s trying to distract you and then he’ll shoot you. Don’t listen to him. I’m not dying. Do I sound as if I’m dying to you?”
    “I hope you’re in a lot of pain, lovely,” Red taunted, keeping up the pressure. “Just as much as I was when you shot me all those months ago. Hope your last thought is of me when you die.”
    “Tess?” the Sarge wavered. He wanted to believe me, but he also knew that I’d say and do anything to win against the Bycrafts.
    “ Sarge! He’s trying to psyche you out. Don’t listen to him. Please!” I implored. It could prove lethal to him if he was distracted by his concern for me right now. I would be devastated if something happened to him because of me.
    I turned my attention to Red, and if we’d been under heat-sensitive lights, my whole body would be glowing red with anger. “Red Bycraft, if I’m dying this morning, I’m bloody well taking you with me, matey,” I yelled back at him.
    And despite the rain, his resultant laughter was freakily echoed by the sudden raucous and hilarious call of a pair of kookaburras from a nearby gum tree. It was as if nature had taken up against me in this town as well , I thought sourly. Red laughed even harder at the unexpected avian support. As usual, he was having a great old time.
    I stretched out to grab the keys, pulling them towards me with my extended fingers. Clutching them in my hand, I quickly crawled backwards, not sure what Red could see through the rain. In a normal police situation, this would be where I radioed from the patrol car requesting urgent back-up from our colleagues. But our nearest support was that ninety minute drive away in Big Town. And to be perfectly honest without being disloyal, that support was always grudgingly given and slowly delivered whenever I’d been desperate enough to ask for it in the past. They had important cases to deal with, didn’t we know, and it was a nuisance for them to be called away to deal with our ‘petty little town’ problems.
    ‘Big Town’ as we locals in Little Town called it, was actually Wattling Bay, a regional coastal centre. It had a population of 25,000 spread out around a beautiful deepwater bay that offered great fishing for professionals and amateurs. The police station there was well-staffed and resourced, with a watch house, radio centre, detective force, showers, gym, a couple of staff kitchens and expensive coffee-machines. For the Sarge and me, it was like going on