He nodded. She made him lie across the sofa. ‘Stay where you are or I spray you.’

With his hands cuffed behind his back she didn’t expect trouble, but still she kept her eyes fixed on him as she edged backwards to the entrance of the apartment.

‘Did you touch this?’ she said, for the first time noticing the smudged patches on the glass ornament’s surface and the daubing of black fingerprints on the glossy white paintwork of the shelf.

He lifted his head from the armrest of the sofa, not answering. No longer empty, his pale eyes gleamed with hatred.

She kept him in sight as she phoned Central for a paddy wagon, trying to keep her excuses straight in her head for the inevitable questions about her presence in Michelle’s flat.

But before anyone arrived, she had to check the safe.

She took the ornament from the alcove and placed it on the floor behind her. Turning back to the shelf she slid it aside to reach the slender metal box. She repeated the combination to herself as she balanced the box across the wall cavity and twirled the dial. The lid snapped open. She saw immediately that it was full to the brim with documents and photographs. With her heart pounding, she lowered her hand and pulled out a fistful.

A gasp from her prisoner made her look up.

She saw his expression of shocked surprise turn to one of cold terror.

***

She must have died and gone to hell. Why else would she be lying in Tye’s arms, looking up at him? No, wait, that wasn’t Tye; it was Wayne.

Shit, she really was in hell.

The light pierced her slitted eyes, setting her head on fire. There was activity all around her, she heard the clack of equipment, voices, puffs and gasps. She scowled at Wayne, but could tell from his look of concern that it had come out as a grimace.

‘She’s waking up.’ Wayne stated the obvious to one of the lurking, shadowy figures at the edge of her vision.

Angus came into focus and bent down by her side.

‘What the hell,’ was all she could manage as she tried to shake herself out of Wayne’s hold and pull herself up through the gauzy levels of consciousness.

‘Hold still, Stevie,’ he said. ‘You’ve got a nasty gash on the back of your head.’

Her hand crept to her head and came away sticky with blood.

And then a thought hit her with almost as much force as the blow that had knocked her out. In a panic she twisted herself around to look in the direction of the sofa where most of the noise and activity was coming from. She saw an ambulance crew, a gurney, oxygen canisters and various other pieces of lifesaving equipment.

‘Sparrow...’

‘He’s in a bad way, Stevie,’ Wayne said. ‘You were lucky. They’re not sure if he’ll make it.’

Sparrow’s limp form was being eased onto the gurney as Wayne spoke. Someone was pumping air into an oxygen mask on his face. Blood seeped through the bandage on his head. Pools of blood on the floor were coagulating into the consistency of treacle, filling the air with a sickening metallic odour. Stevie noticed a pattern of smeared bloody footprints trailing and skidding their way across the honey-coloured floorboards. She pointed to them and cried out, ‘For God’s sake, stop them! They’re messing everything up!’

Wayne would have had to be a mind-reader to understand what she was trying to say.

It appeared he was.

‘Calm down, what’s done is done. Just let the medics do their job.’

Jesus, how long had she been out of it?

‘Sparrow was here when I came,’ she said. ‘I came to check out Michelle’s safe. He was hiding in the wardrobe. What happened?’ Despite her determination to stay strong she heard her voice unravelling.

‘You and Sparrow both seemed to get yourselves on the receiving end of a glass ornament.’ Angus pointed to the bright shards of glass strewn across the floor like scattered jewels.

She tried to keep calm as her stomach churned, and fought the feeling of sudden nausea.

‘Sparrow was cuffed, he didn’t stand a chance.’ She looked at Angus desperately. ‘The files, did he take the files?’

‘If that’s what was in the safe, yes,’ Angus said.

Her nod sent her brain lurching from the back of her skull to the front. ‘I didn’t get a chance to look at them.’

‘What about him?’ Wayne twitched his head towards Sparrow who was now being wheeled out.

‘He must have broken in after our guys searched the place. But he hadn’t opened the safe, I did that.’

Another gurney squeaked over to her side. She found herself eased onto it before she could find the words to protest.

‘Shit, Wayne, I’m not going on this.’

‘Stop your bellyaching and do as you’re told,’ he said.

‘Does Monty know?’

‘He rang us when he didn’t hear back from you,’ Angus said. ‘We got here at the same time as the paddy wagon. Baggly’s not going to be too happy when he hears Monty’s been interfering with the investigation.’

‘I need to speak to Monty. And De Vakey.’

‘You can see De Vakey in the morning,’ Angus said in soothing tones, ‘but you have to keep Monty at arm’s length.’

‘Jeez, can’t you just put the book aside this once, Angus?’

Angus raised his eyebrows. Fortunately he didn’t seem to have understood a word she’d said.

‘De Vakey, then.’

‘In the morning, like Angus said. You have to be checked out at the hospital now. You need to rest,’ Wayne told her.

His gentle pat on her hand was such a surprise she forgot to recoil.

saturday

17

Often some sort of a negative trigger starts off the murder spree: a death in the family, a relationship break-up, the loss of a job.

De Vakey, The Pursuit of Evil

The doctors had refused to give Stevie anything for the pain in her head in case it masked the symptoms of a serious head injury. She’d spent an uncomfortable night pricked by stitches and punctured by IVs, her eyes pierced by probing torch beams every fifteen minutes. When the X-rays and neural observations had finally ruled out brain damage, she’d been allowed a couple of small white tablets and a light breakfast. The effect of the tablets was almost instantaneous. Now, trying to focus on her visitors, it was a fight to stop her eyeballs from rolling back in her head. Monty was angry with her. Exactly why, she couldn’t remember.

He was standing in the middle of the hospital room, his large hands clamped around a tangle of greenery.

‘Monty,’ Dot said, interrupting his ranting, eyes narrowed with suspicion. ‘Where did you get those from? The Geraldton wax is exactly the same shade as the one in my garden. And those ferns ...

He looked down at the bunch of assorted vegetation. ‘My local florist, if you must know.’ He avoided eye contact with Dot, turned his glare back to Stevie. She moved her head to the side in an attempt to cool the heat. The tactic worked; one look at the shaved patch of hair and the neat row of stitches had the anger leaching from his face.

‘You’re lucky I’m off the case. I’d have you busted for this,’ he said, although his tone lacked conviction, as if the reprimand was only for appearance’s sake.

Now she remembered what it was all about. ‘You asked me to go, remember?’

‘Yes, but as soon as you realised there was someone there, you should have called for back-up.’

‘I wasn’t sure if someone was there or not.’ She pulled herself into a sitting position and leaned back on the pillows with her arms folded. ‘I have a headache. I don’t want to talk about this.’ Her head didn’t hurt all that much, but the conversation was reminding her of another one, years before, and she felt a sudden, urgent need to withdraw.

‘I can see that. You’ve always been good at avoiding the pertinent issues.’

She knew he was alluding to the other time in her life she’d had concussion and he’d visited her in hospital. It was after the event she hadn’t even been able to tell De Vakey about. She closed her eyes, hoping to be swept away by the drugs, only to be visited by an action replay of that last night with Tye printed on her brain.