psychological assessment.
He needed help.
Larry should have taken his gun away from him, Alistair thought. But to take his firearm… Well, it obviously hadn’t occurred to Larry. Barry wasn’t a criminal. He’d been far too over-zealous, and there was no way he could stay in the force after yesterday, but to strip him of uniform and gun straight away probably wasn’t in Larry’s jurisdiction.
And maybe it hadn’t seemed necessary.
But now… Now Alistair made a choice. He wouldn’t call out. The way Barry was moving scared him, he decided. The way he held the gun.
What on earth was he doing?
Alistair watched.
The big policeman seemed to be searching the cliff face, moving swiftly over the shale towards a cleft just above him.
Alistair frowned, growing more uneasy by the minute. What did Barry know that they didn’t?
Where was Sarah?
Making a swift decision, he pulled back, out of sight behind a rock face. Lifting his cellphone, he dialled Larry. Okay, Larry was involved in an urgent police search, south of town, but Alistair didn’t like what was happening here one bit. There were things that didn’t fit.
What was Barry doing out here? The man was suspended. He had no business wearing his uniform. He had no business holding a gun.
‘Larry?’ he said into the phone, keeping his voice low. ‘Larry, I think I need help. I’ll tell you what’s happening. Listen…’
Behind the cliff face, things were easier.
The last half-hour had been spent establishing trust. Azron seemed to have stabilised. His breathing was easier, his pulse was strengthening and he seemed naturally asleep in his mother’s arms. Sarah felt that her decision not to push things had been justified.
And Noa?
She’d listened as Sarah had told her story. It was a pathetic tale, Sarah decided-a story of loving one twin too much and one too little-but it had served its purpose. Noa’s body seemed to have relaxed, some of the awful tension easing. At the end her questions had been thoughtful and sympathetic, and Sarah had thought, Who was treating who?
But it was good. It had turned the tables just a little, giving Noa back a trace of her dignity. It was a tiny taste of normality in a world that was no longer normal.
And then there was the sound of footsteps. Shale slipping down the cliff face. Someone approaching.
Sarah was sitting by the cleft. She couldn’t see.
But Noa…Noa could see. Noa could hear. The fear which had blessedly eased over the last few minutes came flooding back. Her gun jerked upward, waving from Sarah to the cleft and back.
‘Move. Sideways.’
‘Noa, I don’t know who this is, but it’ll be a friend.’ Sarah’s voice was urgent. ‘Please. Let me see who it is. Let me stop them.’
‘Move.’ Noa was on her feet, clutching her son hard against her, her hand somehow still controlling the gun. She glanced behind her to the north face, where the shale of the cliff face rose at an almost forty-five-degree angle. ‘Move away from the entrance.’
Sarah moved. About a foot. Her eyes didn’t leave Noa’s gun.
‘Whoever it is, stay where you are!’ Sarah called out. ‘We’re fine. Noa’s fine. Don’t come closer.’
That’d stop Larry, she thought. He’d get her urgency. He’d stop.
The footsteps paused.
Then… ‘Whoever’s in there, I have you covered. Get out now. Come out now with your hands up.’
Barry.
It was Barry. His voice was deep and low and unmistakable.
Sarah’s gaze flew back to Noa and she saw that Noa knew exactly who was out there. The man who had shot her husband.
She was holding her injured son.
She was trapped.
‘No,’ Noa whispered. She cast an anguished look at Sarah-as if for just a moment she’d learned to trust and that trust had been dreadfully betrayed-and then she turned to the cliff.
‘You can’t climb-’ Sarah took a step towards her but the gun whirled back.
‘Don’t stop me. We must.’ The woman hauled the ends of her gown around her son and tied them hard, hauling the little boy into her body with a skill that must have been learned from generations of women who suffered with children in terror-torn countries. And then she took her first steps up the rock face.
The shale slipped.
Noa held. Her feet, in flimsy rope sandals, gripped the shale. She moved upward.
How could she hold on?
‘Noa, no!’
‘Stop or I’ll shoot!’
Barry was standing in the cleft in full uniform, his two hands holding his gun. Whether he meant the threat or not, he was pointing it straight at Noa.
Noa turned back to face him. Wavering. It was impossible for her to climb. Impossible.
So she did the only thing left to her. Leaning back against the shale, somehow balancing, she raised her gun towards Barry. ‘No!’
Sarah screamed. One yell that split the morning. She dived straight across, launching herself at Barry’s gun hand. He whirled.
She grabbed and pulled. ‘No!’
A searing, white-hot pain.
‘No…!’
From where he stood behind a rock face Alistair heard Sarah call out.
Alistair dropped the phone and started forward. He saw Barry move into the cleft.
In the background he heard Larry’s voice, urgent over the phone, but he ignored it.
Dear God…
All he could see was Barry’s back. Then he was running, covering the yards to the foot of the cliff. Starting to climb.
Sarah! He was flying. He hadn’t known his body could move so fast. But not fast enough. Not-
Sarah’s scream froze his heart. And then the crack of a pistol shot.
No!
He launched himself forward in a rugby tackle that he hadn’t known he remembered.
He hit Barry square on and they flew forward together in the dust. Barry’s hand still gripped the gun, but Alistair had him, tackling him to the ground with a strength born of terror. As they smashed into the ground his fingers found what they so desperately sought. They found the gun. Wrenched. Barry turned. Alistair’s knee came up in an age-old method of self-defence that was pure instinct.
Barry grunted in agony and the pistol flew.
