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go any further, to go back. Just as she was about to persuade herself not to be silly and go in, she heard a noise. It sounded like a footstep. Then there were more footsteps. Someone was running toward her.
    Terrified, she dived back through the door and ran the few steps to her car, locking herself inside it. Frantically, she pressed the button to open the automatic garage doors and got the car started. The roller door rose too slowly.
    A heavyset man in a balaclava came running at her car. She saw a claw hammer in his hand. He took a wide overarm swing. Her windscreen smashed violently. With a horrible wrenching sound, glass shattered and flew everywhere. Not caring about the roller door or the glass all over her, she slammed her Volvo wagon into reverse and jammed her foot on the accelerator pedal. The man jumped onto the driver-side footplate. Before he could reach around into the car to grab her, she shot backwards out of the garage, scraping the bottom of the roller door and throwing him off. Wheels spinning, Phoebe flew out onto the street. After shifting up, she raced away, heart pounding wildly. She had trouble seeing properly with the wind whipping into her eyes through her shattered windscreen and wrecked roof.
    Pulling over several blocks away, she rang Roman. She fell to pieces when he answered. She tried to explain, but became completely hysterical. The only coherent thing she managed to impart was her location.
    It seemed like forever, but Roman eventually arrived. She fell gratefully into his arms, crying inconsolably.
     
    *****
     
    Roman stood in Phoebe’s walk-in wardrobe, holding open a large bag while Phoebe threw random items into it. A police officer stood not far away. The house had been thoroughly trashed, with windows smashed open, and valuable items missing.
    Phoebe had been too distraught to give anything other than a notebook statement to police. She would have to go and give a full statement tomorrow at the police station. Roman decided he would take the day off and go with her. He had already called her insurers and organized for her windows to be sealed up and an assessment done on her car, along with the delivery of a suitable hire car for her.
    Scenes of crimes officers were combing the house, looking for any telltale incriminating signs, fingerprints, hair or even blood that might have been spilled when the windshield was shattered. They were taking photos of the house, the garage and Phoebe’s violated Volvo, which looked like a giant can opener had half-peeled the lid off it.
    Roman closed the bag when it was full and took it to his car. Returning to Phoebe he helped her pack up her bathroom items.
    The Detective in charge, Ross Linden, had tentatively said he thought Phoebe might have disturbed a burglary, but that her description of the attack didn’t quite fit the profile. It seemed too violent for a typical house breaking. It was more like a home invasion. Roman could tell he didn’t really know what it was about. It was obvious the police believed Phoebe’s description, unlikely as it sounded. Not because she was convincing, but because the evidence supported it. The state of her car and the pattern of shattered glass in the garage along with the abandoned claw hammer had fitted in exactly with her version of events.
    It was clear to Roman that someone had perpetrated a vicious attack on Phoebe. Only her quick thinking and sound instincts had gotten her out of it. As they finished packing the bag, Detective Linden contacted Michael. Roman was standing with his arm around Phoebe when the Detective got off his phone and said that Michael was on his way back from Noosa tonight. He would call Phoebe shortly. 
    Always sharp, Roman picked up immediately on Michael’s location even though Phoebe was too distraught to notice. Michael had told Phoebe he was at work in Papua New Guinea, not lounging around in Noosa. This whole situation is starting to stink , thought Roman. Her life has