Not far away from where I type this, just at the bottom of the hill, there's a motorway which is empty and clogged by turns. Heading west, it's a morass of grumpy drivers, stuck in their hot metal boxes in the sun. The city-bound side is car-less from a point defined by flashing lights and the beginning of a carpark, just at the edge of where I can see to with any clarity. After that the motorway disappears around a bend.
Somewhere out there, assumedly where all the police cars are, someone has been shot dead. We don't know yet who was shot, or who shot them, just that it's a man. And probably not a cop, or the police would have said that by now.
I'm sitting in this windowless office with the sounds of the helicopters overhead as background music, and thinking about how this might have started. Probably a domestic dispute or a custody battle, I think. One of my colleagues suspects it was a traffic infringement. The Herald report indicates it began when a vehicle was stolen, and maybe it is as simple as that.
Whatever was the trigger I don't imagine that anyone thought, five minutes before this all began, that anyone would be dead by mid-afternoon.