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I PICKED Avessel close to the end of the pier and shuffled the old couple who were having tea on the back deck off it. The water police in Sydney Harbor were gearing up, and the coastguard was sending a chopper. The radio I’d taken from a patrol cop at the bank was roaring with dozens of voices coordinating things here and there. A hostage negotiator teaching young criminologists at the University of Sydney was being pulled out of a lecture and driven at top speed toward the coast.

I stopped Tox on the back deck.

“Maybe you should stay,” I said.

“What?” he scoffed. “Fuck off.”

“Look,” I said, “this is our case. We don’t want it fucked up by idiot water police guys who insist on ignoring us because you’re on board. If you’re not around, I’ve got a chance of having some pull out there. I want control of the situation.”

“I’m not leaving this case.” Tox pushed me away. “Get on the helm and shut up.”

“They’re going to fuck with us out there, and lose us our suspect,” I said. “Tox, you’re a murderer!”

“I’m a killer, not a murderer!” he shouted. “There’s a difference, Detective Blue.”

I stared at him. He was ignoring me. He worked the helm like an expert, bringing the boat out of its mooring and turning it toward the sea in a seamless glide while its owners railed at us from the pier. I didn’t know what to say. He glanced at me.

“I don’t care that people don’t like me,” he said. “I deserve some punishment. But I don’t drop cases, and I don’t lose suspects.”

I opened my mouth to answer, but nothing came out. He gestured to the throttle.

“Get moving.” He looked to the horizon. “We’ve got to catch up and talk her down before she does something stupid and kills the hostage.”

The police radio channels separated. I got onto a channel with the water police and Chris Murray. The coastguard hung back and let us take charge, three boats behind a row of five police cruisers and Tox’s and my commandeered leisure yacht. We lost sight of land quickly. The freshly painted New Hope grew larger as we inched closer.

It was an hour of slow, restless following before Hope finally answered repeated pleas to talk over the radio. She came through loud and clear on the channel reserved for the police.

“I’ve got Jenny Spelling tied to a compressor,” she said. “She’s going overboard if you get any closer.”