A Time to Run by J.M. Peace Page B

and heavy arms when it was too dangerous for the general crews.
    Bill half shrugged. ‘I don’t know if it’s really a job for SERT. It’s still early days for a missing person.’
    â€˜I don’t agree,’ Janine said. ‘If this is the real deal, we have to act quickly and we have to go in hard. This guy is a piece of shit. Even if he’s got nothing to do with Sammi, it doesn’t matter anyway. He deserves to have his door kicked in any day of the week.’
    â€˜You follow your instinct. It’s your investigation,’ Bill said. ‘Start typing up that warrant. We’re going to need it sometime soon. I bet by the time you finish it, we’ll have more to go on.’
    Saturday 11:12 am
    Sammi jogged doggedly on. She was focused inwards, trying to make plans, and didn’t notice a tree root jutting upwards. She tripped and fell. Again. She had lost track of how many times she had fallen. It wasn’t important. As she pulled herself to her feet, something caught her eye. There was a medium-sized rock on the ground in front of her. It was almost smooth and round, about the size of a tennis ball. She picked it up. It fit snugly in the palm of her hand, her fingers nearly closing around it. It wasn’t too heavy, but had the potential to injure if thrown with force. Sammi didn’t rate herself as an accurate thrower, but at close range, even if her aim was off, it may distract or confuse. It also gave her an idea.
    She jogged on, scanning the ground till she found what she was looking for – a long, fairly straight stick. She put it against her knee and snapped off a piece about the length of a walking stick. She tested its strength, leaning on it, satisfied it wouldn’t easily snap further. It hadn’t broken cleanly, and one end was jagged. Sammi squatted in the dirt and rubbed the jagged end with the rock, quickly honing the end into a crude spike. She was armed now. It was better than nothing.
    Saturday 11:22 am
    It was a half-hour drive into the city for Jake to follow up the pub footage at their head office. A grumpy middle-aged man met Jake at the door and ushered him in. He was wearing a stained T-shirt that claimed he was a tripod. This made Jake smile a little and he started to think how he might chip through the other man’s cranky exterior. By his demeanour and dress, Jake guessed he didn’t usually work on Saturday mornings.
    â€˜They didn’t get you out of bed for this, did they?’ he asked.
    The other man grunted.
    â€˜So,’ Jake said, ‘why do women rub their eyes when they wake up in the morning?’
    The man looked perplexed. ‘Huh?’ he said.
    â€˜Because they don’t have balls to scratch,’ Jake replied with the punchline.
    The man stared at him for a second, his brow knitted in puzzlement. Then he burst out laughing.
    â€˜Well, you tell me why women have sex with their eyes closed?’ the man countered, the scowl now replaced by a broad smile.
    Jake had heard this one but played along. ‘Dunno.’
    â€˜They can’t bear to see a bloke having a good time!’
    The man laughed again. Jake hoped this man would be a little more obliging now about locating the footage.
    â€˜Come on through, mate,’ he said, leading Jake into the small security room. ‘I’m the only one who can drive this god-awful system properly. We always try to keep you guys on side. Works both ways, hey,’ he answered.
    Jake nodded his agreement. ‘Really appreciate it. This one’s important.’
    â€˜OK, so what time are we looking at?’ the man asked.
    â€˜Between three and four this morning. One chick, blonde, wearing black pants and a white top, walking out by herself from the Lion’s Head.’
    The man hit some buttons and a camera showed a wide shot of the front entrance to the Lion’s Head. He spun a dial and fast-forwarded the footage, making