Esther had stayed quiet throughout all the violence, but when Giles wrestled Porter to the floor, she suddenly started as though shaken out of a dream. Her eyes darting, she began to move towards the doorway.

Every cell in Harry's body was feeling the effects of the beating Porter had administered; however, it seemed to have kick-started the adrenalin that was now coursing strongly through her veins. As Esther made to leave, she got swiftly to her feet and blocked her path. Then her eyes alighted on her gun - discarded on the floor where Dempsey had kicked it out of Giles's hand - and she managed to scoop it up as she moved.

"Stay where you are," she hissed, and the venom in her voice surprised her.

"You're not going to get away with this."

Esther stopped and measured the space between Harry and the doorframe, then looked at down at Giles, who had immobilized Porter and was now sitting on him.

"For God's sake!" she shouted at him. "What are you doing? Show some guts for once in your life, and help me!"

The sweat of his exertions ran down his face and his cheeks were blotchy. He shook his head.

"I'm sorry Esther, but I don't think I can. I don't think… this was ever going to work,"

'What do you mean?" she spat, then softened. The harsh bullying tone was gone.

"Do you mean the robbery? Or our marriage?"

He looked up at her dejectedly.

"Both, I think. Put the vase down. Let's stop this now before anyone else gets hurt." He glanced over at Dempsey, who was lying very still with his eyes closed, his face pale.

Harry was still blocking Esther's path. She didn't relax her stance but suddenly, she wanted to cry. She stamped down on that; stamped down hard. It wasn't over yet.

The gun was pointing straight at her aunt's chest, less than a metre away from it.

"Come on, Esther," she said coaxingly. "Listen to Giles. It's the most sensible thing to do – for all of us. It's not too late to salvage something."

She ignored the throbbing in her back and neck where Porter had struck her so viciously; ignored the thought of Dempsey crumpled in the corner. If Esther would give herself up, she would still be willing to try and sort this whole thing out within the family - for her Father's sake, if no one else's.

For a moment, Esther seemed to waver. She half-turned, and Harry thought at first that she was going to place the vase down on the table behind her. Suddenly though, she threw it hard, directly at Harry.

Harry's reaction was born of instinct; of all her years of police training and experience. Despite the point-blank range, she ducked, and the vase sailed over her head. There was a deafening crash as it shattered on the stone stairway behind her. A three hundred year old work of art – destroyed in an instant. The wantonness of the act stunned her. Despite everything she had witnessed this morning, she was still profoundly shocked that the woman had just done such a thing.

Esther took advantage of her stupefaction, and turned and ran from the room, heading deeper into the shelter. Harry watched her go in disbelief. Didn't she know she was trapping herself? Why wouldn't she admit to herself it was over?

She stood for a moment, un-decided as to what to do. Dempsey was very quiet, and that frightened her.

"Is she armed?" she asked Giles.

"I don't think so," he said. "But don't go after her, Harriet. She's trapped herself. Go and get help, I'll stay here with him," he gestured down to Porter, who was also quiet, his face pressed into the floor, gimlet eyes open.

She blinked, undecided. She wanted to trust Giles; wanted to trust him very badly, but after what had happened – she found that she couldn't, not completely. And the lack of trust meant she also didn't want to leave Dempsey here with him, in so very vulnerable a state.

But then something occurred to her, a niggling memory from childhood. The corridor lead to the one-time bedroom area, and in that room was a small window. Harry could always squeeze out of there when she was a little girl – it exited out into the woodland beyond. She was almost certain that the space was too small for an adult to fit through, but nevertheless, she knew she couldn't take the chance. It wasn't to do with the jewelry, it was Esther herself. She wasn't going to let her get away with this.

Porter seemed to have been drained of all fight. He lay limply under Giles, who continued to gaze intently up at her. He seemed to be willing her to trust him, desperately trying to re-build the bond that had been shattered in the last hour. Eventually, she made the decision.

"I'm going after her," she said.

"Giles, I trust you to stay here. We can sort this out I promise, if you just work with me now."

He nodded. "You have my word."

"Thank you."

She went to James and knelt down beside him. The gash above his eye was nasty. She knew that head wounds always bled a lot, and sometimes looked worse than they were, but that didn't stop the anxiety welling up and producing a sort of stifled panic.

She pushed his hair back to get a better look in the gloom, and at the feel of her hand, he groaned and half-opened his eyes.

To her relief, he managed to focus on her.

"You 'kay angel?" he mumbled.

"I'm fine. Don't try to move, I'm just going to do something, but I'll be back very soon. I… I love you." His hand was groping blindly and she caught his cold fingers, intertwining them with her own. She kissed him quickly on the forehead and her lips came away sticky.

Then she set off in pursuit of Esther.

It was nearly light outside now, which had made it easier to see inside the shelter, but as soon as she exited the main room into the corridor beyond, all the light was extinguished – the space was dank and gloomy. It crossed her mind at that moment that this had been a rather macabre playground for a little girl, and she smiled grimly. She never remembered it having bothered her, then. Small wonder she had ended up doing what she did, where dark, unpleasant places were an occupational hazard.

She reached the bedroom and entered. Memories of solitary afternoons spent playing here flooded back to her. The two rusty old sets of bunk beds were still here, and sure enough, so was the grimy window in between them. Esther had wrenched it open – no mean feet, since the frame was rotting and rusted into the surrounding wall – and was trying to maneuver herself out.

"It's no good, Esther. This is where it ends. Just accept it."

The woman spun around to face her, the bush of auburn hair standing out around her head in a way that suddenly reminded Harry of pictures of Queen Elizabeth I. Anger sparked from her eyes, and a pulse throbbed at her temple.

"That's the thing Harriet. I won't accept it."

"You have to. I'm sorry. I don't know why you felt you had to do this… but it's over now. "

For a long moment, the two women stared at each other. Harry had the feeling that her most inner core was being scrutinized, as though Esther was searching for an answer to something. And at the same time, she wanted to grab her and shake it out of her - what had really possessed her. But then Esther seemed to collapse, and actually grow smaller. Quickly, Harry came forward and put her hand on her arm.

"Come without a struggle – please."

"I suppose you'll allow me that little dignity?" she said bitterly. "Don't look for answers, Harriet. I can see you still want them, but you won't get them. I'm sorry about your american boyfriend, but he'll be alright. Types like him always are." She tossed her head contemptuously. "You and your Father - you're the lucky ones. You'd never understand. I picked the wrong husband that's all. The wrong husband and the wrong family."

Together, they walked back into the main room.

Harry made Esther get on the floor next to Porter. "Go to the house and get help, quickly," she told Giles. "I'll wait here with them. And call an ambulance while you're there."

She wanted to go to Dempsey so very badly, but instead, she stood and kept watch over her aunt and the accomplice, and tried not to listen to his ragged, irregular breathing.