A/N: Well, we reached the end of the story! I hope I wrapped up everything satisfyingly and that there are no loose ends anywhere. If so, I apologize. I wanted to thank everyone who read this long fic and an extra thank you to all who found the time to review. I appreciate each and every one. Now off you go... enjoy the last chapter. Hope to see you at the next story soon :)
It was over. Finally.
Charlie had stepped out of the court building, feeling as if the weight of the world had slipped from his shoulders. Thanks to Ben's statement and Johnson's hard work at collecting evidence and managing to find several other witnesses, most people were acquitted on the charges served. Even Dr. Kendrick, which probably made Charlie the happiest, as weird as it might sound.
It also helped that after all the pressure, Richard had turned against Douglas and Kenneth.
What made his mood darken a bit was the fact that the wealthy and influential parents of the trio hadn't been charged with anything. They were slick and used all their pull to try and clear their names. The fact they owned two thirds of the business in the town was pretty clear as soon as they were called to the stand. While there wasn't much they could do about their children, their lawyers did all to preserve their own image. Thus it was a bit of a bittersweet win, but a win anyway.
People at least knew and with the Chief Superintendent Fernandez in charge of the police force, accompanied with Johnson, Charlie was pretty sure sooner or later those bad apples will get taken care of as well.
With a sigh, he leaned against the railing, overlooking the nearby park. The trial was over. Most of everyone had left the building already... Charlie had waited out the first wave of people leaving, wanting to keep out of the flashes of the journalists. There was nowhere to rush either.
The trial had taken over a week to finish. While Lawson did drive him up to town and waited for the first day of the trial, once he made sure Charlie was in good hands and under the watchful eyes of Chief Superintendent Fernandez and Johnson, he returned back to Ballarat. Charlie had been spending the week at Johnson's place, under constant guard.
That of course meant once again giving up his own freedom for the next few days. No lonely runs.
Charlie accepted that with a sigh. He had to admit that the head injury he suffered in the car crash few days prior was still giving him trouble and the memory of the gun pointing at his face the one time he decided to forgo the precautions made him think twice about repeating the mistake.
So that was why he was now standing there, breathing in the fresh air, letting the sun shine on his face and waiting for Johnson to join him. They were meant to stop for a celebratory dinner, Charlie planned one more night in town and come morning, he would hop on the bus and head home.
It was funny how that idea filled him with peace now. Before... when all of this started, thinking of home meant uncertainty. About his place there... about his capabilities. Was Ballarat where he should focus his career? Or was there somewhere else he was more fit for? Right now the idea of leaving was more daunting than the idea of staying. Charlie still wasn't sure whether he wanted to stay the rest of his life in the town that seemingly adopted him, but then... he didn't have to decide that now. Staying still and figuring things out slowly seemed the best course of action.
Especially knowing there was still someone out there for his blood.
Charlie sighed, his fingers idly clapping against the railing.
Unfortunately, Ben didn't give them enough answers and it would take time and more work to find out who was pulling the strings. If they ever did. Charlie just hoped that it ended there. Truly, he wouldn't have cared for who started all this, even if the man's intentions were less than innocent. But he could hardly ignore the fact that the same person who sent him undercover was the one who leaked the information about Charlie's identity and location to Kenneth, even going as far as putting a price on his head.
Charlie squeezed the railing in the anger that thought raised. Someone actually wanted him dead. Why?
"Why the long face? I thought you'd be happy to have this over with," Johnson had stepped up next to Charlie, one eyebrow raised in question.
Charlie shrugged.
"Just tired of it all I suppose," he said, not wanting to burden the man with his own trouble. It was enough Lawson and Blake were involved. He knew that meant just one thing... they wouldn't let go until the danger was truly over.
"Well then it's good you can take a vacation now," Johnson said with a smile and a friendly pat on Charlie's shoulder. Charlie snorted.
"I wish," he muttered. "I think I took out all my vacation days and sick leave for the foreseeable future."
Johnson rolled his eyes.
"I'm sure your Boss will let you get a bit of a vacation. Or you know... you can just stay a few days longer and we can do some pub crawls."
Charlie laughed at that.
"I'm not that kind of a guy," he said with an easy smile. Johnson smirked, but his eyes flicked to the side and he grew a bit more serious. Charlie frowned, following his gaze.
"He wanted to have a few words," Johnson spoke almost apologetically. "I hope you don't mind."
Charlie blinked, then gave a slight shake of his head. In front of him stood Caleb.
The boy looked hesitant as he took a few steps forward. The cop that was guarding him stayed in place.
"I'll give you few minutes, then you need to head out, alright?" Johnson spoke to Caleb, then joined the cop and started some small talk. Caleb slowly walked up to where Charlie stood, his eyes cast down. Charlie sighed. It was like looking at a kicked puppy. He once again leaned against the railing, trying to look relaxed even though he wasn't. Then he nodded at Caleb invitingly. The boy let out a breath he was obviously holding and copied Charlie's stance, standing only a few steps to his right.
"Hey," Charlie was the first one to speak.
"Hey," Caleb muttered, his gaze focused on the bench in front of the building and the woman feeding the pigeons.
Charlie wasn't sure where to start... or if he even should. He wasn't sure he had anything to say to Caleb. While he saw him on the stand twice already, they haven't spoken yet. Caleb never looked at him though. After a moment of thick silence Charlie figured that he will throw a bone to the kid.
"So uh... how's the recovery going?" he asked the first thing that came to mind. He tried to keep his tone friendly. Caleb shot him a look of surprise then shrugged.
"Good I suppose. I'm... I've been clean for few weeks now. The shakes are gone too."
Charlie nodded.
"Good. So... any plans?" he kept up the jovial tone, unsure where this was headed. Did Caleb just want to chat? Or was he trying to say something?
"I'm sorry," the boy said, so low that Charlie barely heard it.
"Huh?"
"I..." Caleb cleared his throat, then cast a glance towards Johnson who was obviously trying hard to pretend he wasn't watching them. "I'm sorry. For you know..." Caleb nodded towards Charlie's side.
"Stabbing me?" Charlie finished and Caleb winced.
"Yeah. That."
Charlie shook his head. He wanted to say that it was alright, that in the scheme of things that was actually the least of his worries, but that would have been a lie. While the wound wasn't serious, he still couldn't get the image of the kid's face when he plunged the knife into him. What was worse were the nightmares where Caleb's face was for whatever reason replaced by the face of one of his brothers. But the scariest dreams weren't those where Caleb hurt him, no. The scariest dreams were the ones where it was Charlie holding the knife, when it was one of his little brothers lying in some dark alley, shooting up heroin.
"Why did you?" Charlie asked out of a sudden.
Caleb worried at his lips, giving another shrug.
"I was drugged," he muttered as if that was an answer.
Charlie shook his head.
"No. That wasn't it. The cops were there... I wasn't a threat anymore. You had no reason... except that you wanted to."
Caleb didn't argue, didn't move a muscle. He just kept staring ahead and Charlie fought down the urge to grab his shirt and shake the numbness out of him.
"Why? Why were you so pissed at me?"
Caleb's head jerked to the side and he knew he gave the right question.
"I thought you ruined it."
Charlie frowned.
"Ruined what?"
Caleb shrugged.
"Everything. I... I thought I was happy the way I was," he tried to explain, although it was apparent he had trouble coming up with the right words. "I had roof over my head. Ben was a decent bloke who seemed to care. I had food and drugs. It was heaps better than the alternative."
"Oh. So... the fights for life were what... just a fun past time?" Charlie asked, feeling suddenly angry.
The idea that Caleb was actually okay with that part of the arrangement made him doubt whether it was wise to let him go. But then, Caleb shook his head, shame colouring his face.
"No, I didn't mean that part!" he quickly recounted. "I never wanted to fight. Hell, I hardly remember the ring... I was high as a kite. For me, it was just... like a dream. Nothing else."
Charlie looked at him. A dream... but one that involved at least one dead person. True, Caleb could hardly help it. He was under the influence and Charlie was pretty sure that if it hadn't been him, the other guy would have finished Caleb instead. That was just how the whole damn thing was set up after all.
"Look, I just wanted to say sorry," Caleb spoke up, nervously sidestepping, running one hand over his hair. He looked like a nervous kid in front of his principal, instead of someone who was forced to fight for his life. Charlie felt a twinge of compassion for the kid.
So he let out a sigh and gave a nod.
"Alright," he said simply.
Caleb blinked, looking at him with wide eyes.
"What?"
Charlie huffed.
"Apology accepted," he said and rolled his eyes. "As long as you won't mess up again."
"Oh. Thanks... " There was an awkward silence and Charlie suddenly felt tired. His stomach was growling from emptiness, his head was pounding and he was truly looking forward for some warm food and a cold pint for once. He took pity on the kid.
"So... what are your plans now?" he asked conversationally.
Caleb looked a bit stumped by the change of topic, but quickly recovered.
"Uh well... I still have to finish the program," he muttered and Charlie gave a nod of approval. Caleb seemed to perk up at that.
"What next?"
"Well... Gary actually offered to help me. He has a friend who has a farm in the north and needs some help. I would get lodgings and food... for the start. As for what happens later... my sponsor told me I don't need to worry about that right now. One step at a time," Caleb said and Charlie found that advice oddly fitting.
They had shared few more words and by the time Johnson walked up to them to remind Caleb he needed to go, the kid seemed pretty relaxed. He had no trouble looking Charlie in the eyes, head held high, a smile touching his lips as he waved his goodbye.
Charlie couldn't stop the smile tugging at his own lips.
If nothing else... this was the price of his effort. One kid... hopefully changing his ways for the better.
One step at a time. Yes. He could definitely live with that.
Matthew Lawson hated flying. It was thus then with great reluctance that he found himself on the plane to Sydney. As the plane shook once shortly after takeoff, Lawson truly regretted that he didn't just sacrifice two days off his schedule to travel by bus. Now he sat there, hands clutching the armrests in a death grip, eyes shut tight so as not to even catch a glimpse from the window. He also didn't want to see the amused smirk on the face of the brat sitting right in front of him. Really, what crazy person would bring a child into this death trap?
The plane gave another small shake and Lawson let out an involuntary gasp, eyes snapping open. The kid in front of him chuckled. Lawson's foot reacted on instinct really as he stretched it rather forcibly into the back of the seat.
"Hey!" the kid yelped, the smirk leaving his face.
"Ah sorry, needed to stretch my leg a bit," Lawson said, more to the kid's mother than the boy. He even raised his cane to show he was afflicted. The woman nodded understandingly and hushed her protesting son. Lawson let a small smile touch his lips. Maybe he could distract himself by poking the seat in front of him with the cane. It had to be better than looking outside and thinking about the hundreds of miles between himself and the safety of the ground.
Unfortunately, the boy seemed to learn his lesson or simply found different amusement, leaving Lawson to his thoughts. Which currently weren't the brightest of all. He kept returning to the reason of this flight.
Charlie Davis.
The man who was starting to cause almost as much trouble as Lucien Blake.
Well, maybe not as much, Lawson had to admit, even if only to himself. But the sergeant did manage to get himself into trouble a lot lately. There was just some restlessness about him in the last few months.
Lawson knew what that meant. Doubts and mistakes. This whole undercover case was a prime example of that. Charlie was taking risks, trying to prove something. While the recent conversation with Charlie brought some light into that, Lawson still didn't truly understand the man's fears. Because Lawson knew with all his heart that Charlie was where he was supposed to be, doing the job he was meant to do. Preparing to take over one day.
Which was exactly the reason why he fought down his fears and sat on this damn plane. Well, that and what they learned from Ben during the interrogation.
During one of his phone calls to check with his father on the situation Kenneth received a phone number to call at certain time of the day. His father didn't know who was the caller. The only thing the man on the other end told him was that he could give Kenneth the identity of the person who brought down their operation.
Kenneth took the bait. Of course he did, with his impulsiveness. Ben said he was trying to convince him against it, he swore up and down that all he wanted was to leave the country. But Kenneth still decided to call.
Ben wasn't there when the call happened, for safety reasons Kenneth drove to a phone booth several miles away.
'When he came back, I knew there was nothing I could do to convince him,' Ben said and when Charlie asked why, he shrugged.
'He learned you were a cop.'
That was really it.
Now there was the question of who was the person on the other end of the phone. All Ben knew was that the man gave Kenneth plenty of details on Charlie. Enough to make his blood boil in rage and send him on the road to his death.
'Do you know the name of the person?'
Ben shook his head.
'No. I know the phone number Kenneth called, but that's it.'
'No name, nothing? And yet your brother believed him?' Lawson was doubtful about that. 'Come on. He must've told Kenneth something to convince him!'
Ben looked at Charlie then a slightly confused look on his face.
'Well... I asked Kenneth if this wasn't a trap.'
'And? What did he say?'
Ben shrugged.
'He said he had his reasons. Personal ones.'
Both Charlie and Lawson raised an eyebrow at that.
'Anything else?' Lawson pushed.
'He said something about payback... for family.'
And that was all Ben could tell them.
Lawson had him write down the phone number at least. Following a hunch, he found out it was the number of a phone booth in Sydney. While that lead them back to Deputy Commissioner Andrews, it was hardly the evidence they needed to act.
Charlie had also told Lawson about O'Leary's warning and thought that Andrews wasn't acting on his own accord.
It took some time, a few more calls to O'Leary and a lot of digging. Until finally things clicked. Lawson had a list of people on his desk, who worked closely with the Deputy Commissioner in Sydney, courtesy of O'Leary. It was all really only luck that his eyes spotted a familiar looking surname.
He wasn't familiar with the man per say, but he had seen that surname before. Not that long ago actually.
It hadn't taken much to find out that indeed there was a connection and then everything made sense.
The plane finally landed and Lawson let out a breath of relief. He survived the flight. Now he just needed to survive the following encounter.
The man lived in a building with multiple apartments. It wasn't the worst part of the town, but it wasn't the best either. That made Lawson wonder. He would have thought that someone who had enough pull to orchestrate all of this would be able to get a decent housing for his family. Which begged to think whether this was the right person.
Standing in the shadows, leaning against the brick wall and waiting for a face he only saw on a photograph from an employee file O'Leary sent him two days ago, Lawson tried to ignore his doubt. Second guessing himself and evidence would do him no good. And he was there for a reason after all. To find out the truth.
If the situation changed, well. Lawson patted his pockets, figuring he had all he needed.
The wait wasn't that long. He knew when the man finished at work, once again courtesy of O'Leary. And seeing as it was the middle of the week, he doubted he would go for a pub crawl.
His assumptions were correct. Twenty minutes later a car parked in front of the neighbouring building. When Lawson saw who stepped out, he felt fate itself was playing his cards. His initial plan was to follow the man and confront him at the front door, maybe even try to find some excuse to follow him inside. Now though his suspect had to pass in front of the alley Lawson was hiding at to get to his front door.
Lawson took a look at the mostly empty street. He had to be quick, but it was doable.
He let the man pass him and faster than one would've thought, he stepped out from the shadows and grabbed the man by his shoulder. Before he could turn around in surprise or take some protective actions, Lawson kicked his leg out from under him. As the man lost his balance, Lawson half pulled half showed him into the alley, then slammed him against the wall. If anyone saw it, no one called out.
Just to make sure though, Lawson pressed his arm against the man's throat to stop him from shouting for help.
"What the hell?" the man uttered, his voice shaky as he struggled to get the arm off his neck.
"Shut up!" Lawson hissed. "What's your name?" he asked, wanting to make sure he had the right person. Despite the resemblance with the photo, this guy seemed somehow... smaller. Not at all the threat Lawson expected him to be.
"D-dennis Bancroft," the man stuttered, eyes wide.
Lawson nodded.
"Well then, Dennis. I just want to talk, so I will... let up a bit. But make no mistake. You make a wrong move..." Lawson threateningly patted his jacket and the slight bulge that hinted at the presence of a gun.
Dennis clearly swallowed, then gave a small nod.
"Good."
Lawson let up the pressure, moving his hand instead to Bancroft's shirt so that the man didn't get any ideas about running off.
"Besides... I already know where you live. I can just as well wait for you next time."
Dennis shook his head.
"N-no need," he croaked, clearing his throat. "W-who are you? What do you want from me?" Dennis asked, obviously trying to appear less bothered than he was. Lawson didn't mind in the least. He wanted to drive the fear of God into the man if at all possible. Even though it was really hard to imagine this paper pushing man who most likely haven't faced danger a day in his life was the source of his trouble. Looks could be deceiving Lawson knew. And some people were more dangerous by mere words than actual actions.
"You don't need to know my name," Lawson replied coldly. He shot a look towards the street, but no one seemed to be paying them attention, the setting sun casting enough shadows to make them lost in the darkness. "What I want is to hear the truth."
"What?" Dennis frowned, puzzled.
"Does the name Kenneth Barnes ring a bell?" Lawson asked, waiting for a reaction. He got one.
Bancroft's face twitched, one of his hands curling up into a fist. Though it was apparent he was trying not to show it.
"I don't know who that is. Listen man... I think you mistook me for someo-" he didn't get to finish. Lawson once again slammed him against the wall, this time so hard he heard the man's teeth rattle.
"Stop bullshitting me!" he growled. "I know very well who you are, Bancroft. I know you were the one who contacted Kenneth's father and who put a price on the head of sergeant Davis. What I don't know is bloody why!" Lawson practically roared the last word, spit flying.
Bancroft's face turned darker and darker by every word and now it looked almost crimson.
It wasn't fear though. It was rage.
"If you know all that you bastard, you should already have your answer!" he spit out, for the first time seeming to find some fight in him. He pushed at Lawson's arm, trying to dislodge it, but Lawson was prepared. He increased the pressure on Bancroft's windpipe until the man stopped struggling from anger and started gasping for breath. Only then did Lawson relent his grip and took a step back.
"I warned you not to fight. Next time you try, you will be waking up on the ground right next to that garbage bin. Right where you belong," Lawson said coldly.
Bancroft shot him a glare, his hand curled around his own throat, massaging the skin while taking in lungful of air. He spat out a string of curses but didn't seem to attempt any escape. For now.
Lawson wasn't about to let his attention slip.
"I ask again. Why?"
"Why what?" Bancroft asked, almost petulant.
"What's your bloody issue with Charlie Davis that you were willing to hire a killer for him?"
Bancroft had the guts to roll his eyes.
"I did no such thing."
Lawson growled taking a threatening step closer. Bancroft winced, raising a hand to stop him.
"No! I... didn't hire anyone, I swear! Look around man... do I look like I have the money for a hit? Really!"
Well, Lawson had to give him that. While the man's clothes seemed pristine and pricey, just what a paper pusher at the highest ranks of the police force would need, his car looked like it was at the end of its wits. Definitely of the cheapest range.
"You didn't have to pay him though... after all, you just needed to let a name and address slip. Nothing else. The need for revenge did all the rest."
Bancroft's eyes flashed.
"I don't know what you're talking about," he let out through gritted teeth. Lawson was losing patience. So far he didn't get to hear what he needed and time was running out. Any moment some good meddling soul might come here and offer Bancroft a chance to slip away.
He wasn't about to allow that.
Shaking his head in disgust, Lawson took a step towards the street.
"Oh well. Maybe you are right. Maybe it wasn't you, but your wife who did all that. After all... wasn't it her brother you were trying to avenge?"
The words seemed to hit Bancroft with the force of a sledgehammer. His eyes went wide and he shook his head.
"No..." he hissed. "You're not going after Mary! I won't allow that!" There was apparent panic in his eyes and Lawson thought good. Just what he needed.
He paused where he was.
"Well then. Tell me. What the hell did Davis ever do to you and your wife?" Lawson asked, knowing well what the real issue was. But he had to hear it... know he was right.
Bancroft's whole body shuddered in disgust and anger and Lawson was taken aback by the amount of hate that appeared in them.
"You are one of them, aren't you?"
Lawson frowned but didn't say anything. He could see Bancroft was working himself up and that fit him just well.
"One of those bastards in Ballarat who helped take him down. What's your name... Blake? Or Lawson? I bet you're one of them... the cop?" Bancroft growled, then spat on the ground as if the mere mention of the names caused a bad taste in his mouth.
Lawson raised a brow.
"Yes, that is me. Excellent job. Now pray tell, who do you think I helped take down?"
Bancroft snorted in disbelief, waving his arm around.
"You're here. Don't tell me you haven't worked it out you bloody pig!"
Lawson growled and took a threatening step forward. This time Bancroft didn't step back though. He seemed to be on the roll.
"Watch your mouth. After all, aren't you one of us?"
Bancroft shook his head.
"I would never stoop down to your level. Causing the death of a good man!"
"Are you talking about William Munro perhaps? Your wife's brother?"
Bancroft's eyes flashed again.
"Leave my wife out this you bastard! You had already cost her too much. Do you even have an idea what it was for her to lose her only brother? Her only living relative? You made her a wreck!"
"I did nothing of the sort!" Lawson answered, trying to keep hold of his own anger. "I'm sorry for the loss your wife suffered, but that is hardly the excuse to try and get an innocent man killed in some twisted plot of revenge!"
"Innocent?" Bancroft sputtered. "I read the files! I know well enough it was Davis who helped to accost William!"
"Well, perhaps there was a valid reason for that?"
"You and your little friends took his job, tarnished his reputation and in the end cost his life!" Bancroft shouted in anger, spit flying from his mouth as he was waving his arm, jabbing an accusing finger into Lawson's chest. Lawson smacked the hand away, an equally cold and disgusted look crossing his face.
"First off, he managed all of that on his own, don't you think?" Before Bancroft had a chance to retort, Lawson continued. "And while I am no fan of the man... in the end, it was Munro who decided to take that bullet and make amends. The man might've been a stubborn fool, but he did the right thing. You are the only one tarnishing his name right now!"
Bancroft stared at him, seething but unable to find his words.
"Do you really think William would have thanked you for this? You're the type of scum he was trying to fight against. Do you think your wife would want this?"
Bancroft jerked as if hit and there was a flash of fear in his eyes.
"Leave... leave her out of this," he said, but it was more of a pleading tone than a threat.
Lawson stared into his eyes, unblinking.
"Just like you left Davis out of this?" he asked coldly.
Bancroft swallowed.
"You can't prove it. You can't prove anything..." Bancroft said and suddenly he perked up, realizing he was right. "Kenneth's dead. You have no evidence, do you?" he shook his head, answering his own question. "No. I would've been locked up already if you had anything." A smug smirk appeared on his face.
Lawson growled, his hand reaching into his jacket, threateningly.
The smirk slipped from Bancroft's face in an instant, replaced by fear.
Lawson snorted, then pulled something bulky out from under his jacket.
Bancroft frowned.
It wasn't a gun.
No, it was something else. Something much more damning than a loaded gun could be.
"Is that..." Bancroft stuttered.
"Yeah. A tape recorder. Not that hard to get when you have friends in the right places," Lawson said, secretly thanking Rose for that brilliant idea. "Now that I have all of that on the tape... I think I will take my leave."
"What? No, you can't! That... that isn't admissible in court!" Bancroft hissed, trying to keep his voice down but at the same time desperate to shout. He grabbed for the recorder, but Lawson expected it and moved away. He tutted and put the recorder back into his pocket.
"Now now... do you think I am stupid?" He reached under his jacket once again, this time pulling out a gun.
Bancroft growled, but backed up quickly.
"Here's how this will go, Dennis. I'm going to walk away and return to Ballarat. You can go home to your lovely wife or go for a stiff drink, I bloody don't care. You are right in one thing. I can't very well use this recording at court..." Bancroft's shoulder sagged in apparent relief. Lawson didn't let him rest though. "But I bloody well can make sure it will get into the right hands if I decide so."
Bancroft once again stiffened, then came to a decision.
"What do you want?"
"Pardon me?" Lawson asked, appearing not to understand.
"What do you want... in exchange for the tape?" Bancroft let out through gritted teeth.
Lawson appeared to be thinking about it.
"Ah... what I want is for you to forget Charlie Davis ever existed. Actually... I want you to forget Ballarat exists. And just a little warning... if anything would happen to someone I know..." Lawson patted his pocket with the recorder. "Well. We would find out just how much dirt my friends can pull up on you, won't we?"
Bancroft swallowed.
"Is... is that it? You... you just walk away and we forget all of this?" he didn't seem keen to believe it would be so easy. Lawson didn't want him to either. He shrugged.
"Perhaps. Perhaps not. Only time will tell."
With that he turned and swiftly stepped out into the street. It took Bancroft a second to get his head around it but then he followed, calling out after him.
"Wait! You can't just..." he stopped, unsure of what to say. He must've realized there were people around, looking at them. Curious neighbours.
Lawson smirked, tapping his pocket meaningfully.
"Have a good night, Mr. Bancroft," he said and without another backward glance walked away.
He flagged down the first cab he saw, heading for the airport. To hell with it. As soon as he sat in that plane, he would grab a glass of whiskey to calm his nerves. Once home, he knew just the person who would find good use for the tape. The noose was tightening. There was no way in hell Lawson would let someone like Bancroft off with a slap on the hand, not after he almost got his friend killed.
Charlie might've doubted his place in Ballarat. Matthew Lawson did not.
THE END