FRANTIC
by
katherine Howell.

There are worse things than death, though Paramedic Sophie Phillips doesn't think so. She and her work partner constantly revise a list of the worst ways
to die, holding the number 1 spot vacant for the death so terrible even they can't imagine it. But Sophie is sure it will cross her path on the streets
of Sydney one day. When Sophie's police officer husband Chris is shot and their baby is kidnapped, Detective Ella Marconi has to fight to get to the truth.
Is it revenge by a bereaved father for Sophie's recent failure to save his wife and newborn baby? Or was Chris somehow involved in the police corruption
that appears rife in the city? When the police fail to trace Sophie's son, she takes matters into her own hands and now that she's realised there are worse
things than death, nothing will stop her from finding him.  

Katherine Howell is a former ambulance officer. Frantic, featuring Detective Ella Marconi, is her first
novel. Katherine lives on the New South Wales north
coast.

www.katherinehowell.com.
For Phil H. and Phil G.

First published 2007 by Macmillan an imprint of
Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Limited, Sydney

First published in Great Britain 2008 by Pan Books
an imprint of Pan Macmillan Ltd
Pan Macmillan, 20 New Wharf Road, London Nl 9RR
Basingstoke and Oxford
Associated companies throughout the world
www. pan ma c millan. com

ISBN 978-0-330-45241-0


Copyright © Katherine Howell 2007

The right of Katherine Howell to be identified as the
author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance
with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be
reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or
transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical,
photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written
permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorized
act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal
prosecution and civil claims for damages.

13 5798642

A C1P catalogue record for this book is available from
the British Library.

Printed and bound in the UK by
CPI Mackays, Chatham ME5 STD

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not,
by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out,

or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior consent
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Acknowledgments.
Thanks to Graeme Hague for much help over many
years.
Thanks to Selwa Anthony and her assistant,
Selena Hanet-Hutchins, for advice, belief, and
unending encouragement.
Thanks to Cate Paterson and Kylie Mason at Pan
Macmillan, and also to Julia Stiles, for fantastic editing
and support.
To my friends in the job, thanks for the paramedical,
pharmacological, and firearms insights, 'war
stories', and, of course, friendship: Col Benstead,
Allan Burnett, Jenni and Steve Flanagan, Garry 'Syd'
Francis, Warren Leo, Justine Petit, Alan Smith, John
Wood, and, in particular, Mel Johnson. Thanks to
Adam Asplin and Esther McKay for police procedural
advice. All errors and stretching of truths are
mine.
Thanks to UQ staff DrVeny Armanno, Amanda
Lohrey, and Jan McKemmish, and to my friends in
the MPhil and sf-sassy groups.
Thanks to Varuna - The Writers House: Peter
Bishop, Mark Mcleod, Leigh Redhead and Alice
Nelson.
Thanks to Tanya and all the great staff at Angus
and Robertson, Tweed City.
Thanks to my family, especially my brother.
And - saving the best for last - my most heartfelt
thanks to Phil.

ONE

Monday 5 May, 2.21 pm

Seventy-four to Control.' The paramedic's voice
tight. Sophie Phillips leaned forward and
turned up the volume of the ambulance radio.
'Seventy-four, go ahead,' Control said.
'We've got two children code two, post house
fire. Request urgent back-up.'
Sophie grimaced. Two kids in cardiac arrest. Jesus.
Seventy-four was a Randwick ambulance and
unless the crew were out of their area and somewhere
in the CBD it was unlikely she and Mick
would be called on to go, thank God. Serious kid
jobs were never good. Since she'd had Lachlan ten
months ago they were even worse.
Although most people didn't know it, every
moment of every day catastrophe slammed its heavy
boot into the face of some poor Sydneysider. On a
day like this it seemed particularly unfair.The sky was
the crisp and endless blue of late autumn. The wind
snapped in the flags along Circular Quay and the
smell of salt water and fried foods filled the

ambulance. They were parked in a bus stop on Alfred
Street. Mick was across the road in a Quay takeaway
fetching kebabs for a late lunch, listening in on the
portable radio in case they got a call. Sophie watched
for his return and thought about the parents of the
code two children, and the small, still, smoke-stained

faces.
'Thirty-one, what's your location?'
Sophie grabbed the microphone. Not the fire,
please. 'Thirty-one's at the Quay, picking up twenty.'
'Thanks, Thirty-one. I have a person shot at the
Civic Bank on George Street. Police are on scene
and CPR's in progress.'
Adrenaline jolted her. 'Thirty-one's on the case.'
She rehooked the mic and yanked a pair of latex
gloves from the box stuffed between the seats. Mick
ran back empty-handed from the kebab stand and
threw the portable radio into the cabin, then leapt
into the driver's seat and cranked the engine. He
turned off the hazard lights and hit the beacons and
siren as he pulled out of the bus stop. There was a
squeal of brakes and the blast of a horn behind them.
Mick didn't so much as glance back.
'Bet it's another robbery,' he said.
'Think so?'
They hit the red at Bond and Sophie checked
the traffic on her side. 'Clear.' Mick floored it and
punched the horn to change the siren from yelp to
wail.
'Yeah. Another gang job,' he said.
Another red.'Clear.' Every time the gang of four
struck, the newspapers went nuts over the continued
Frantic

failure of the police to catch them, and Sophie's husband,
Chris, took the insult personally. He'd been a
police officer in the city for nine years. His shell
should have grown harder than a turtle's, but things
like this always struck home.
'Chris working today?' Mick said. 'He might be
on scene.'
Sophie hoped not. If he was there, his partner,
Angus, Arendson, would be too. It was only five
weeks since Sophie had made The Biggest Mistake
Of Her Life, and ever since then, whenever she saw
Angus, she felt as though she'd forgotten how to
arrange her face in a normal expression, how to
speak casually like an ordinary person. It was worse
when Chris was around. If Chris wasn't so caught up
in his PTSD or whatever it was, Sophie felt sure he'd
have realised long ago what she'd done. He'd have
known that very night.
The closer they got to the bank the more the
traffic clogged up. Sophie tried to focus on the case,
not the people who might be there. Shootings had
become more frequent in the city in the last couple
of years but they still couldn't be called commonplace.
They translated into scenes of high emotion
where you could really do your stuff and make a difference
to a person -- if the bullet missed vitals and
you got there quickly enough. Eight years ago as a
trainee she'd been to a shooting where the bullet had
lacerated the victim's aorta. The guy was dead inside
a minute. She always remembered her senior officer's
words: 'If he'd been shot on the operating table, he
might just have made it.'
Mick swung onto the wrong side of the road.
The siren was on yelp and the headlights on high
beam. He leaned on the horn. Cars coming from a
side street swerved out of their way. Mick charged
down the clear path toward a marked police car
parked sideways across the street. He veered around it
and to the front of the bank. Police were everywhere.
Sophie's hands were sweaty inside her gloves.
'Thirty-one's on location,' Sophie said into the
radio microphone. Before Mick had stopped the
engine she was out on the roadway. She yanked open
the side door into the rear of the ambulance to grab
the Oxy-Viva and drug box, and Mick came around
from the driver's side to pull out the cardiac monitor
and first-aid kit. They hurried across the footpath
towards the wide glass doors. A police officer held
them open, his face pale, his eyes fixed straight ahead
onto the street. 'It's bad.'
The bank was big and marble-floored. Their
steps echoed. Four metres inside the door a police
officer stood guard over a blood spatter on the floor.
Sophie looked around for the patient. 'This one got
away,' the officer said. 'That's your man there.'
He lay on the floor at the far end of the roped
off queue area. Three police officers and two bank
staff stood around him in a huddle while two more
police did CPR.
Sophie's stomach lurched.
Chris was leaning over the guard with his elbows
locked, counting loudly with each compression.'One
and two and three and four and breathe.' Angus was
kneeling at the guard's head. Neither he nor Chris
were wearing gloves. He bent to blow into the oneway
valve on a plastic resuscitation mask he held on
the man's face.
Sophie made herself breathe deeply before putting
down the equipment and looking over Chris's
shoulder.
The guard was dead, that much was clear. The
bullet had hit him in the throat and a pool of blood
lay like a halo around him. A blood-soaked dressing
was taped roughly to his neck. Every time Angus
blew into the mask, air bubbled out of the wound.
Mick knelt and attached electrodes to the cardiac
monitor's three leads. He reached around Chris's
hands and opened the guard's grey uniform shirt. He
stuck two electrodes to his upper chest then pulled
the shirt out of the guard's black trousers, placing the
third electrode over his lower left ribs.
'Keep going?' Angus said, businesslike. His
bloody hands gripped the dead man's jaw and his
knees were in the halo.
'Stop for a second,' Sophie said. Chris froze, his
hands still touching the dead man's chest. Sophie put
her hand on his shoulder.'Raise up a little.' He leaned
back so his hands were clear of the guards shirt front
but still maintained their position. Through her
gloves and his shirt Sophie felt the warmth of her
husband's skin, and she squeezed his shoulder gently.
He didn't move, didn't glance around. She guessed he
was still angry about that morning's argument.
She exhaled and let him go, then crouched by
the body and eased back the guard's eyelids. This
was always hard. Not for the dead man -- he was

long gone - but for the people who'd tried to save
him. Sophie knew Chris had struggled with things
like this before. The bank staff would take it even
harder. She glanced over and saw the blood on their
hands was dry. They'd obviously started the resuscitation
effort, maybe when the man was still alive
and gasping.
The guard's pupils were fixed and dilated. Sophie
released his eyelids and took the six second ECG
strip Mick printed out. It showed the flat fine of asystole,
as she'd expected.You checked these things not
so much to confirm what you already knew but to
make the people involved feel they'd given the man a
chance.You couldn't walk in, take one look and say,
'Stuffed.'You might think it but you couldn't say it.
Maybe if he'd been shot on the operating table . . .
She got to her feet.'I'm very sorry but he's gone.'
The bank staff turned to each other in helpless
fright. The three police standing by murmured words
of comfort and gently herded them away. One officer
carried the guard's gun in an evidence bag. They left
behind a little first-aid kit, the top open, and various
small dressings scattered about the polished marble
floor. A roll of medical tape lay on its side three
metres away, covered in bloody fingerprints.
Angus put down the plastic mask. His knees
came free of the pool of clotted blood with a small
wet sound, and his bloodstained hands hung by his
sides as he looked down at the guard. Chris still knelt
at Sophie's feet, his hands over the guard's chest.
'You gave him the best possible chance,' she said.
Angus blew out a breath of air, and went to put
his hands on his hips then stopped himself. Mick
pulled the monitor leads off the electrodes, leaving
the electrodes themselves in place and the guard's
shirt open. For a non-suspicious death, Sophie's next
move would be to get a sheet from the ambulance
and drape it over the body, but this was a crime scene.
Nothing more could be touched.
Chris was motionless at her feet. She picked up
the Oxy-Viva and touched the back of his neck.
'Come outside and we'll clean you up.'
George Street was in chaos. The police had sectioned
two lanes off and queues of cars, trucks and
buses were stuck behind the blue and white tape
strung between police cars. Horns blared and people
shouted. Flashing red and blue beacons glinted off
the windows of shops and banks across the street.
Curious workers watched the scene, talking with
their arms folded.
At the ambulance Sophie put the Oxy-Viva back
into the equipment shelves and took out a bottle of
alcohol handwash. 'Hold out your hands,' she told
Chris. She squirted it onto his palms. He held them
clear of his body as he rubbed. The bloodstained liquid
dripped to the roadway.
Mick leaned into the ambulance to radio
Control and say the victim was code four.
Sophie turned to Angus and squeezed the bottle
over his bare hands. The legs of his blue uniform
trousers were dark with blood and the right one was
hitched up from sticking to his knee. 'So the guard
got one, did he?' Sophie said, trying to sound normal.
'That's what they reckon.' Angus met her eye.

'Shot the guy in the bum.The tellers said he let out a
hell of a yelp.'
'More,' Chris said.
Sophie coated his hands again. The alcohol smell
was strong. Chris scraped at the edges of his fingernails
where the blood had gone deep. Sophie could
see his short nails weren't up to the task. 'Here.' She
reached for his hands but he pulled back.
'I can do it.'
He still didn't meet her gaze. She lowered her
voice. 'What's the matter?'
He shook his head.
She shook hers in return, annoyed but unsurprised
at his reticence. Since he'd been assaulted two
months ago he'd become silent and moody. It was
sometimes hard to shake the thought that it was actually
because he knew what she'd done, that Angus
must've slipped and said something, but oft-checked
logic told her he was moody before that. Shit, it was
the reason she'd gone and done it. No, that wasn't
fair. It was only partly the reason. A small part. A very
small part.
Guilt bubbled in her stomach like gas in a stagnant
swamp.
She eyed him.'Where were your gloves?'
'There was no time,' he said.
'There's always time.'
He didn't answer.
'Make sure you both go to the hospital and get
tests done. So should the bank staff.' She'd had to do
that once, when a psychotic patient bit her on the
arm. Chris's chances of contracting a disease through
the unbroken skin of his hands were tiny, but still the
security guard was going to be a small and silent
ghost in their house for the next three months. More
tension. Great.'You should've worn your gloves.'
More police arrived.They walked past with camera
cases and equipment boxes. Behind the police
tape a growing crowd of people watched. Some held
up mobile phones and took pictures of the gathered
police vehicles. Overhead, against the bright blue sky,
two news heHcopters hovered. The chopping of their
blades was a familiar background to much of Sophie's
work.
A lanky female detective in a black pants-suit
came over. 'Phillips, you were first on scene?'

Chris nodded. 'We were on Broadway when the
call came in.'
'See anything?'
'The gang was gone before we arrived,' Angus
said. 'All we saw was the guard.'
'Okay,' the detective said. 'Come and find me
when you're done here.'
There was a commotion and raised voices in the
crowd, then a woman in a grey skirt and white shirt,
her red hair tied back in a bun, ducked the police
tape at a run. Her face was bloodless. 'My husband,'
she gasped. She wrenched open the ambulance's rear
door. Chris went to her and she grabbed his arm.
'Where's my husband?'
'Who is your husband?'
'He works security in the bank. They said on the
TV he was hurt.' The woman's eyes brimmed with
tears. 'Please tell me he's already gone to hospital.'
Chris put his hands on her shoulders.'I'm sorry.'
'No.'
'We did everything we could.'
'No, no.' She began to weep into his shirt, half
collapsing against him. Mick hurried to help, and
between them they walked the sobbing woman away
from the mesmerised crowd.
Sophie was aware of Angus coming up close
behind her. 'Your husband's a good guy,' he said. His
breath was warm against her neck.
She turned to face him. He smiled at her. His
blond hair shone in the sun. His blue eyes flicked
down to her mouth for a second, then up again.
'Don't you reckon?'
'You haven't said anything, have you?' she said.
He made a zipping motion across his lips.'Never.'
'He's so angry.'
'Depressed,' he said. 'I think it's post-traumatic
stress.'
'So do I. I tell him to go and see someone, but he
won't listen.'
'It's the culture,'Angus said. She could smell toothpaste
and the same cologne she'd inhaled that night.
He took the handwash from her and she watched
his broad hands squeeze the plastic bottle.
'It'll take time,' he was saying.
Sophie raised her gaze. She'd promised herself
she would stop thinking about it. Wasn't each
thought another betrayal?
She felt guilty. She always felt guilty.
Mick came back and said to Angus,'That detective
wants you.'
Angus handed the bottle back to Sophie. It was
warm.'You guys going to the Jungle tonight?'
'Betcha,' said Mick.
'Good,'Angus said.'I'll see you there.' He walked
away.
Sophie had forgotten about the night's fundraiser
at the Southern Jungle Bar. She pictured herself sitting
at a table, Chris on one side, Angus on the other.
Oh Jesus.
'You're still okay to give Jo and me a lift home
after, right?' Mick said.
Sophie had been abstinent since That Night. It
was the only sensible response, and it came in handy
for other people too.'I guess.'
She tossed her gloves in the ambulance bin. She
rinsed her hands then put the almost empty bottle
back. Mick climbed into the driver's seat. 'What's
that, the fourth robbery?'
'If it is the gang,' Sophie said,'it's their fifth.'
'And the third person they've shot dead.'
'Only the second.The other one's still comatose.'
'Good as.' Mick started the engine.
Sophie picked up the mic. 'Thirty-one is clear
the scene.'
'Copy that,Thirty-one,' came the crackling reply.
'You can return for your twenty.'
'Hallelujah.' Mick aimed the ambulance back
towards the Quay.
In Alfred Street he parked in the same bus stop,
took the portable radio and got out of the ambulance.
Alone, Sophie stared at the case sheet and
considered what she'd write.11
She wanted to make it clear that the police had
done everything possible. It was ridiculous, but a
defence barrister might suggest that the guard's death
had resulted from their ineptitude rather than from
the actions of whichever scumbag was paying his bill.
Sophie had seen it done before; hell, she'd been
accused of similar incompetence herself. No matter
how solid she made the case sheet, there was still a
chance that accusations would fly, especially with one
of the police officers being her husband. She could
just imagine it: 'Isn't it true that you are covering for
your husband? Isn't that why you pronounced the
man deceased right there and then? Because you
knew he had no chance, because these officers
weren't doing their jobs? Because their mistakes
would be picked up if a doctor was able to examine
the victim at hospital?'
God forbid they found out about Angus too.
She shook herself and focused on her wording.
She scribbled some notes on a scrap of paper and was
just starting to write when Mick came back with the
food.
He drove them around to their station in The
Rocks.The old brick building stood on the corner of
George and Gloucester Streets, right under the
southern end of the Harbour Bridge. Mick hit the
remote to raise the roller door and backed into the
narrow plant room. Traffic rumbled overhead on the
Bridge as it did twenty-four hours a day, and closing
the roller door made no difference to the noise.
Taped to the muster room's noticeboard were packets
of ear plugs. It was a running joke: on nightshift at
The Rocks you were never on station long enough
to He down, let alone fall asleep.
Sophie left the unfinished case sheet on the
bench in the muster room and they sat in the lounge
to eat.
'That ranks in the top ten worst ways to go.' She
spoke through a mouthful of kebab. 'It's got it all.
You're in pain, you're going slowly, you can't breathe,
and you're totally aware.'
'Did you see his hands were all bloody?'
It was too easy to picture the dying man grabbing
at his own throat. 'Number three, I reckon.'
'No, it's worse than the steamroller,' Mick said.
'This guy knew.'
'Didn't we decide the steamroller guy knew too?
You get caught legs first, you've got a second or two
to figure things out.'
'A second or two is quicker than this guy had,'
Mick said. 'Muuuuch quicker.'
'Okay. This goes in at two. The steamroller goes
to three.' Number one was kept vacant for the awful
death even they couldn't imagine.
Lettuce fell out of Mick's kebab. He collected it
in a pile on the coffee table. 'Mind me asking -- you
and Chris okay?'
Sophie looked down at her food. Where was this
going? Had he guessed something? If he asked her
straight out was there something going on between
her and Angus, could she look him in the eye and He?
Well, hang on, she thought. There wasn't anything going on. There had been one incident. One.
'Chris just seems really down,'Mick said.'He had
tears in his eyes when we were helping that woman.'
Sophie relaxed, just a fraction. 'It's since that
assault. I think it's PTSD.'
'He should get some help.'
'We argue about that every day.' Sophie felt tears
come into her own eyes. She was grateful when
Mick looked away, intent on an OH&S poster on the
wall.
After a moment he looked back. 'It'U be okay,
Soppers.'
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

6.58 pm

Chris was in the kitchen of their Gladesville home
when Sophie got in. She dumped her bag on the
floor and looked into the living room. Lachlan pulled
himself up on the side of his playcot when he saw
her, and she went to him and picked him up.'Hey, my
boy, who's my lovely boy?'The sight of him, the feel
of him in her arms, took away every bad thing the
day had thrown at her.
She carried him into the kitchen. Chris was bent
over a dish on the bench. She held Lachlan on her
hip and smiled at the child. My wonderful son.
'There was a load of washing still in the
machine.' Chris's tone brought her back to earth.
'Dammit, I forgot to hang it out this morning
before work,' she said. 'Will we put it out now?' She
nudged Lachlan's forehead with her nose. 'Will we,
huh, will we?' He grinned at her.
'It's done,' Chris said.
'Oh.Thanks.' She raised her eyebrows at Lachlan.
'At least we're speaking.'
Chris didn't look at her. 'When were we not?'
'What would you call it?'
'We were at a job. I had work to do. Things to
think about.'
'You've been doing a lot of thinking lately.'
'I told you how busy I am.'
'Yes, I know, and the robberies bother you, and
the media pressure, and everything else.' He didn't
answer. She wondered at her own behaviour, the
way that without even planning to she poked at him
with her words, trying to make him talk. Part of her
swore it was for his benefit, that if he could talk
about what was on his mind, even through provocation,
he'd feel better. At the same time another part
of her was terrified he'd turn to her one day and say,
'You want to know the truth? The truth is I know
what you did!' A small cynical voice suggested
maybe she wanted this to happen. She couldn't stand
the pressure, the secrecy, the guilt, and needed it in
the open in the same way that she wanted his problems
out there.
She noticed he was making lasagne. 'Aren't we
eating at the Jungle?'
'I don't feel Like going,' he said. 'I spent most of
the afternoon doing a statement about the bank job
and my head's killing me.'
'But it's for Dean.'
'I rang him. He said he didn't mind that we
wouldn't be there.'
'I promised Mick and Jo a lift home.'
'You can still go.' He spooned sauce into a baking
dish.'If you want.'
She didn't know what she wanted. Going meant
getting out of the house, away from the uncomfortable
silences and the awkwardness that now filled the
space between them. Being around Angus would feel
less weird if Chris wasn't there, and although every
time she saw Angus her cheating behaviour slapped
her in the face like a cold wet fish, there was something secret and deep inside her that wanted to see
him again. Wanted to remember what they'd done.
No. She hugged Lachlan gently to her. I am not
going down that road. It's dangerous. And wrong.
Chris continued to layer the pasta sheets and the
meat. Sophie studied his face. He didn't even glance
at her to see if she'd made up her mind.
He doesn't know, or he wouldn't be quite so blase about
letting me go out without him, to a place he knows Angus
will be.
'Maybe I will go,' she said.
Chris shrugged. 'Whatever.'
She took Lachlan into the lounge room and sat
down. Marriage was a minefield sometimes, and for
the past five weeks she'd been stumbling through it
blindfolded.
She sighed. At least she had Lachlan. He lay on
her chest, still for a rare moment, his head against her
neck. She inhaled his sweet baby scent. She'd been
living her life flat out, running frantically from one
thing to the next, with no time to sit and breathe.
Lachlan must feel the same, passed continually
between his parents and grandmother, depending on
who was working and when. She should try to go
part-time, if the mortgage would allow it - no, even
if it wouldn't - and make more time for him. She
rubbed her cheek against the top of his silken head.
He clutched at her throat and she stood him up, facing
her, his feet stamping in her lap and his tiny
starfish hands reaching for her face. She brought him
closer. His fingers groped along her chin and came to
rest on her lips. His deep brown eyes stared into hers,
unblinking. 'I love you more than anything, and I
always will,' she said around his fingers, and his face
beamed with joy.
Fifteen minutes later, in the shower upstairs, she
squeezed the shampoo bottle hard. Nine weeks ago
their house had been a happy place. Coming home
had been a delight. She and Chris had willingly
shared household tasks and looking after Lachlan.
They'd had small disagreements -- who didn't? -- but
they had always made up before the day was out.
Then two months ago he had been bashed. Sophie
remembered his bruised ribs and throat, his torn uniform
shirt, and the story of how he and his mate
Dean Rigby had fought with a suspect in a back lane
in Surry Hills. Dean came out worse and was permanently
off the road now: hence tonight's fundraiser.
Chris had changed that day. He'd become preoccupied. Much less communicative. As for their sex life,
well. He was quicker to anger, and they fought. Did
they ever fight!
The night she'd done The Stupid Thing they'd
had a big one. She'd tried again to get him to agree
to see a counsellor. He'd said some things couldn't be
helped by talking. She challenged him to explain
himself but he wouldn't, and she took that to mean
that he couldn't. It was a bad move, she knew that
now, because next thing he was accusing her of needing
to control everything in their life, not just him
but Lachlan too, and that their son would grow up
under the thumb and hate her for it. She had walked
out the door and went to the Southern Jungle,
started drinking, and then Angus introduced himself.
She'd thought about it a lot since, and sometimes she
decided that what she'd done was due partly to alcohol, partly to anger, and partly to her wish to prove
that she was not obsessed with control, that she could
go with the flow as much as the next person. See,
Chris? she'd thought, squashed into the back seat of
Angus's car, her head bumping the roof. See how uncontrolled I can be?
Sometimes she decided even that could not
explain it.
It was the worst mistake of her Life. But it was also

-No.
She stepped from the shower and dried herself as
though she could wipe the memory from her skin,
and turned her thoughts back to her husband. The
problem was that the robberies and the assault, on
top of all the things Chris had seen and done in his
years of service, were piling up around him Like a wall
he could find no way around. He was so lost he
needed someone on the outside waving a big flag,
calling in a loud voice, helping him discover the way
through. And as his wife, wasn't that her job?
She dressed in jeans and a red shirt then dried her
long brown hair and tied it up again. Being on the
road was no good for Chris, the way he was. The
sooner he got a transfer into the Academy, the better
for all of them.
The smell of baking pasta greeted her as she
returned downstairs. Chris was perched on the
lounge in front of the TV. Lachlan was on the floor
nearby, looking at a cardboard book. Sophie stood in
the doorway and watched the Police Commissioner
speaking about the robbery on the news.
'Secondly, I want to ask every person with medical
experience to be aware they may be approached
for assistance by this man. Do not accuse him or
attempt to apprehend him yourself. He is armed and
very dangerous. Call the police immediately.'With
all those microphones in his face, Commissioner
Dudley-Pearson looked like a man being held up
himself. 'Finally, I want to assure the city that its
police service is working extremely hard to catch
the perpetrators of these robberies. And no, I will
not be resigning.' His bulldog jowls wobbled as he
spoke. 'Now more than ever the service needs strong
leadership.'
The newsreader spoke about the victim. The
screen displayed a photo of the security guard in happier
times. The red-haired woman smiled into the
camera over his shoulder. They had twin boys, three
years old. 'Tragic,' Sophie said.
Chris jumped.
'Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you.'
'You didn't.' Chris stood up abruptly. 'Mum's
coming over.You'd better go before she parks you in.''Is that the real reason you're not coming to the
Jungle? You should tell her '
'I'd already decided not to go before I asked her
over, okay?'
'Fine.' Sophie crouched to kiss Lachlan's forehead.
'You have a good night too.'

7.50 pm

Sophie drove to Annandale through the autumn
night, trying to excuse Chris this latest episode of
irritability. Everything else aside, he'd been covered
in the guard's blood and couldn't save him. While paramedics were used to fighting in vain for people's
lives, she sometimes forgot that for others it wasn't a
routine occurrence. She felt bad that she'd been
abrupt, too, but you could blame guilt for that, along
with the cumulative effect of eight weeks of domestic
disharmony.
She found a place to park some distance up
Johnston Street and walked back to Parramatta Road.
She waited at the fights then crossed to the brick
fronted building with the neon toucan in the window.
The Southern Jungle was a cop bar. Six police
injured in the line of duty had pooled their payouts
and bought it a few years before. They served the
beers; they learned commercial cookery and ran the
small kitchen. Police and their friends drank there,
and this meant it was a haven. Any time an officer was
badly injured on the job, a fundraiser was held. If the
worst happened and an officer was killed, the wake
was held here too.
She pushed the door open and was accosted by a
police officer she recognised from the southern suburbs.
'Door tax,' he said with a smile. He held out a
firefighter's helmet half-full of cash. She dropped in a
ten dollar note and he gave her three raffle tickets.
'Lucky door prize. It'll be drawn at nine.'
'Thanks.'
The place was packed. She shouldered her way to
the bar through the crowd of laughing, cheering
people. On the wall behind the bar was a blown-up
photo of the man of the hour, Senior Constable
Dean Rigby.
'Buy you a drink?'
Sophie turned to see Angus beside her. 'Just mineral
water,' she said quickly.
He smiled.'Of course.'
When he had their drinks they moved to a space
near the front window.
'I had my blood tests.' He showed her the bandaid
on his arm.'And my butt's sore from those boosters.'
'It only lasts a week,' she said.'Kidding. Couple of
days.'
The light from the neon toucan turned Angus's
blond hair green. Sophie glanced around for Mick,
and her gaze fell on the table in the corner where she
and Angus had sat and talked for so long on that
night. It had all been about work, she remembered,
nothing personal was shared at all, but somehow with
a look, a touch - it had developed. She could
smell his cologne again now, and the laundry powder
he used, the scent rising from his clothes with the
heat of his body.

Angus looked at the table too, then back at her.
She said,'I want us to be clear about something.'
'You don't have to say it.'
'I need to.' She felt a wave of guilt and regret.
What a thing she'd done. She blinked back sudden
tears.'It was wrong and I can never do it again.'
'I know,'Angus said.'I feel the same way.'
'If Chris ever found out --'
'I know,' Angus said again. 'He won't find out
from me.' He touched Sophie's arm lightly, reassuringly.
She felt a thrill at the touch, and looked down
at his hand, remembering.
She started when there was a loud cheer by the
door. Dean Rigby walked in. He wore a soft foam
collar round his neck and she could imagine the
shiny pink of the recent surgical scars it covered. He
was immediately surrounded by well-wishers.
'Where is Chris?'Angus said, his tone casual.
'Felt like a night in,' Sophie said.'He's babysitting
and entertaining his mum.'
'Ah, the lovely Gloria.'
'You know her?'
'Chris and I knew each other when we were
kids,'Angus said.'He didn't tell you?'
Sophie thought back to when Chris had come
home from work a few days after the assault and
mentioned he had a new partner. Sophie had said,
'Good bloke?' and Chris had shrugged. 'Seems okay'
That had been it.
'Must have slipped his mind.'
'He dated my sister Belinda when they were sixteen,'Angus
said.'It was kind of funny when we met
again. He didn't recognise me at first. Only natural, I
suppose. I guess I was just a pesky fourteen-year-old
brother when he and Bee wanted time alone.' He
smiled. 'How well do you get on with Gloria?'
Sophie rolled her eyes.
He started to laugh. 'I see.'
'We have different ideas, about child-raising,
motherhood, you name it.' Sophie mashed the lemon
in her glass with the straw. 'Plus, she and Chris have
this ongoing thing about his dad.'
'Still?'
'It's as if she feels the bad fathering genes
might've been passed down and if she's not vigilant
Chris'll do something awful,' Sophie said. 'I think he
should stand up to her, tell her to leave him alone, but
he'd rather keep the peace.'
'She a matron yet?'
'She quit nursing to tell us how to live our lives,'
Sophie said. 'I should be grateful to her, because she
looks after Lachlan when we're both at work. And
she adores him. But I can't get over her attitude.'
'Hey, Soph!' Mick grabbed her from behind. 'Did
you hear, the youngest kid from that fire in
Randwick's still hanging in there?'
His wife, Jo, carried glasses of red wine. The contrast
between them was stark: Mick's white-blond
hair and easily sunburned skin looked all the more
pale beside Jo's black hair and fine features. The only
thing that matched were their blue eyes. Mick introduced
Jo to Angus, then swigged half his wine and
looked about. 'Deano!' he called and pushed through
the crowd to talk to the man of the moment.
At eight-thirty, they shared a jumbo plate of
nachos. At nine, Angus's number was drawn out as
the lucky door prize winner. The prize, a bottle of
Glenfiddich, he immediately donated to the
fundraising auction. By closing time Sophie was
yawning, Mick was wearing the NSW Blues rugby
league jersey he'd successfully outbid six other
people for, and Jo was dancing with Angus to the Bee
Gees"Night Fever'.
'Signed by the current team,' Mick said to
Sophie. 'Look.'
'You showed me before,' she said.
'All of them.' Mick stared down at the front of
the jersey and ran his finger over the names.
Angus and Jo came back laughing. The barman
shouted for last drinks. The four of them stood up to

go.
Angus walked them to Sophie's car. 'See you on
the streets tomorrow?' Mick asked him.
'Not likely,' Angus said with a smile.'Few days off
for me.'
'Lucky bastard.'
Angus bent to look in Sophie's window. 'Say hi
to Gloria.'
'Ha,' Sophie said.
It was only a five-minute drive to Mick and Jo's
place in Chippendale but Mick was asleep before
they got there. Sophie double-parked and leaned
into the back seat to punch him in the leg. He
opened his eyes. Jo climbed out of the car and pulled
on his arm, and he struggled, grumbling, out onto
the footpath.
'Don't you dare ring in sick tomorrow,' Sophie
called.
Fifteen minutes later she parked in her own
garage and let herself into the house. Lachlan was
asleep on his stomach in his cot. She gently rolled
him onto his side. He snuffled and made a face then
relaxed again. She stroked his head and kissed him.
Chris lay in their bed in the dark. 'Hi.'
'I didn't mean to wake you.'
'It's okay'
To Sophie's relief he sounded friendly. When she
climbed into bed Chris moved close to her and they
hugged. 'Sorry about before,' he said.
"Me too.'
'You smell of cigarette smoke,' he said. 'How was
it?'
'Good.' She tried to sound casual. 'Angus was
there. He told me about your disreputable past with
his sister.'
She felt him smile against her cheek and her
spirits rose.
Chris answered, 'It was totally innocent.'
'Yeah, right. I remember being sixteen,' she said,
smiling herself. 'How was dinner?'
'Same as ever.'
He was quiet. She propped herself on her elbow
and ruffled his short dark hair. 'Still thinking about
that guard?'
'And his wife. And his kids.' He pressed his head
into her hand. His eyes were open and he looked at
the ceiling. 'That gang needs stopping.'
'So far they've just been lucky' she said. 'They've
never been spotted stealing or torching their getaway
cars, they don't leave their prints, and nobody's come
forward to identify the CCTV pictures. But that
guard might have done the trick.Your guys will test
that blood left behind and, who knows, the DNA
might match up. The name will pop out and that
huge strike force will absolutely swamp him and his
mates.' She ran her hand across his bare stomach then
snapped the elastic of his pyjama trousers against his
skin, but he kept staring at the ceiling.
'Chris?'
'The DNA database isn't that big,' he said.
'Chances are it won't match anyone.'
'But he's been shot, he'll have to get some help,
right? He'll turn up at a hospital or doctor's surgery
sometime soon. All you guys have to do is wait.'
'Maybe it's not a bad wound though. Maybe the
gang will treat it themselves.'
Sophie rolled onto her back.'Or maybe it's really
bad and he dies and you find his body with the bullet
still in it, but at least then you'll know who he was
and you can start checking out his mates.'
'I just worry.'
His tone made her soften. 'I know you do.' She
pressed against him, absorbing his warmth. 'You will
catch them.'
'I know.' But there was doubt in his voice and
tension in his body, and Sophie wondered what he
really thought.

TWO

Tuesday 6 May, 4.10 am



Detective Ella Marconi both loved and hated
being on call at night. People thought they
could get away with things in the dark, and there was
always the potential that it would be interesting. But
while someone outside the job might think it was a
fifty-fifty shot that when her pager went off it would
be something decent, something worthwhile, Ella
knew the odds were actually very different. Boring
and stupid beat interesting almost every single time.
Like this case: a fire in a takeaway shop on
Victoria Road in Gladesville. The passing traffic,
steady even at this hour, meant that it had been
quickly spotted and reported. The fire brigade had
soon had the place covered in water and foam. The
firefighters had told the uniform cops that there was
evidence of a Molotov, and so Ella's pager had gone
buzzing off her bedside table onto the carpet.
Ella stood on the footpath outside a newsagent
three shops up from the burned takeaway. She held
back a yawn.The fire truck was still on the scene and
fat hoses lay across the wet footpath. Firefighters

walked around, doing Ella couldn't figure out what.
The air stank of burned plastic and smoke. Every
time a car went past the smell was stirred up even
more.
So far the owner of the takeaway business had
not given Ella any facts she didn't already have from
the constables or the firefighters. 'I don't know who
would do this,' he said again. His name was Edman
Hughes. He was a skinny white guy in a brown
T-shirt, dark blue jeans and dirty Dunlop Volleys. His
arms were bony and when he talked he scratched
one or the other of his elbows.
Ella held her pen over her notebook and looked
at him. 'How's business?'
'It's okay'
'Rent must be high on this stretch.'
He shrugged and glanced along the line of shops.
'It's a tax deduction.'
She said nothing. He scratched his elbow again.'I
don't know what this city's coming to, that somebody
would do such a random thing as this,' he said.
The good old Molotov. Such a handy, random
thing. She flipped the notebook closed.'I'll need you
to come to the station during the day and make a
formal statement.'
'Sure, okay' He took the card she held out.
'Thank you.'
The front windows and door of the shop were
smashed. Ella looked in at the blackened, dripping
mess. A firefighter picked through debris on the
floor. The case was such a washout she could feel
it sapping her strength already. Paperwork,
identification of the accelerant -- she was guessing
petrol -- talk to Edman again, put a little pressure on,
but in the end what for? If he admitted to the insurance
fraud it'd only mean more paperwork. Days
hanging around court waiting for his hearing, which
would probably end in a suspended sentence. If he'd
been a bad boy before, maybe a few months inside.
Whoopee.
Ella watched the firefighters roll up the hoses,
and sighed. Where was the big case, the one that
would envelop her, the one she could attack with
passion and drive? Over the last few months her
enthusiasm for the job had leached away like water
through Sydney sandstone. She found it hard to
know whether she still loved the job or only the
potential it held. She sometimes felt a little of the old
thrill when she drove in to work, or when she was at
home and the pager went off, but lately all the cases
were such crap. Stupid people did stupid things to
other stupid people and she had to sort it out and
clean it up. She was like one of Pavlov's dogs in
reverse. When the bell rings but there's no meat, you
soon stop salivating.
She heard a thump and looked around to see
newspapers being dropped at the newsagent's door.
She walked up as a man came out of the shop. A few
coins later she was reading about yesterday's bank
hold-up and shooting.
Now that was a decent job. Strike Force Gold -- so called because the thieves were scoring pots of it,
the joke went -- was a huge team made up of detectives
from the Metropolitan Robbery Squad plus a
few from various city stations. They and the other
squads in Crime Agencies had everything: resources,
money, profile, interesting cases and genuine bad
guys.They never had to deal with assault complaints
where Girl A accused Girl B of throwing an avocado
at her, while Girl B said Girl A threw it first.
Ella ground her teeth. Over the past three years
she'd applied regularly to move into Crime Agencies
-- preferably Homicide Squad, but she'd take whatever
she could get -- yet never scored so much as a
week's secondment. Forget what her mate Detective
Dennis Orchard said about the process being fair;
someone was white-anting her.
Oh, it was fine for Dennis. He was already in
there. It was easy for him to say nobody remembered
the time on her first homicide case when she'd
barked at the Assistant Commissioner to get the fuck
out of the crime scene before she had him arrested.
It wasn't entirely her fault: the man wore civvies and
it had been really dark at the time. His name was
Frank Shakespeare and he was retired now, but it was
clear he still had friends in the job.
Ella watched Edman Hughes stare into the ruins
of his shop. The world was chock full of weasels like
him determined to pull the wool over her eyes, and
it would always be so, but she wished it could at least
be for a big and juicy reason.

5.05 am

Ella's bank owned half an unrenovated Federation
house in Putney, a small suburb sandwiched between
Frantic

Victoria Road and the northern shores of the
Parramatta River, and let Ella live in it for an exorbitant
amount of money each fortnight. The house was
built of dark red brick with a red tile roof, the kind
of place where you expected to see a swan made
from an old tyre on the front lawn and the lawn itself
to be thick and springy and mown once a week right
down to the white. The lawn around her house had
neither a swan nor springiness. It was thin and weedy
and grew rank along the edges where unused garden
beds lay like the mounds of simple graves.
She parked the unmarked car on the street, leaving
the windows down a bit to let out the smoke
smell. Her part of the house was the back. The front
was owned by a thin young man by the name of
Denzil, who was deaf and worked as a computer programmer
from home. He kept hours as odd as hers;
even now the light in his study cast a glow on the
path down to her door.They had a nodding relationship
and kept an eye on each other's places when one
went away. Well, she kept an eye on his place when he
slid a note under her door saying he was off to
another conference. She herself didn't go away. That
was what piddling wages and a Sydney mortgage
could do to you.
She unlocked her front door and went inside,
snicking the deadbolt behind her. She'd bought the
place not long before Dennis left Hunters Hill
Station for the bigger, brighter world of the
Homicide Squad. On one of their last shifts together
he'd brought her home after a scumbucket had deliberately
vomited on her, and had waited to take her
back to work. When she'd come out of her room,
freshly showered and in clean clothes, sniffing at herself
for any lingering hints of semi-digested
hamburger, he'd been all around the place and made
a helpful list. 'Your shrubs are too close in the back
there.'
'I've bought an axe and a hoe and Dad's booked
in for next weekend.'
'The locks on the side windows are flimsy'
She pulled a plastic bag full of clinking steel out
of the pantry to show him.
'The front door--'
'Is not solid core, but will be replaced.'
He'd nodded and flipped his notebook shut.
'Good.'
She'd made coffee. Dennis had talked about what
he hoped to achieve in the squad and Ella had felt
like a little sister being left behind. The more enthusiastic
Dennis had become the darker her emotions
had turned.They'd joined the job together, been probationers
at Newtown together and helped each
other through some pretty tough early days. He'd
become a detective before her but that was no reason
why his application should have been accepted while
hers was turned down. She'd finally jogged the table
with her leg to tip over Dennis's coffee and make
him shut the hell up.
Ella opened a window and leaned on the sill.The
sky over the city turned brighter as sunrise
approached. The air was cool and clear, as yet
unspoiled by the breath of thousands who would
spend their day creating annoying cases for police.
The house was her refuge. After a day spent listening
to people bitch and moan it was wonderful
to return to the clinking of mast cables on the
yachts moored in Kissing Point Bay. With the shrubs
gone from the wall no perp could fie in wait or try
to jemmy the windows without being seen. The
doors were solid and deadlocked, the window
frames were equally secure. Even the manhole into
the roof space was padlocked from the inside. Her
mother said she was paranoid but Ella had seen too
many crime scenes to feel comfortable in a house
with less security.
Besides, her mother said many things. When
would she settle down? How could a nice girl get a
man if she was always at work? Perhaps if Ella took a
desk job in Traffic or in the courts she'd have time for
a family. What her mother couldn't grasp was that
Ella was happy with her life. She didn't need a man to
make her feel complete. She had no desire for children.
Going to work each morning, or night, or
whenever her pager went off, and doing the job she'd
looked forward to her whole life was plenty.
She picked peeling paint from the windowsill.
Had been plenty.

9.35 am

'Thirty-one, you on the air?'
Sophie scrambled into the ambulance cabin to
grab the radio. 'Thirty-one's clear in Stanmore.'
They'd just delivered an elderly woman to her nursing
home following her discharge from hospital.
Mick leaned on the bonnet, taking a moment, chin
in his hand, face turned into the sun.
'Wonderful, Thirty-one,' Control said. 'I have a
woman in labour. Waters broken, contractions less
than five minutes apart. She's at 320 Glebe Point
Road, Glebe Point.'
'Thirty-one's on the case.' Sophie banged on the
windscreen.
'What?' Mick said.
'Labour, waters broken.'
He ran for the driver's seat. Sophie was still yanking
on her seatbelt when he gunned the engine and
swung onto the street. They raced down Percival
Road and screeched right through the green light
onto Parramatta Road.
Sophie knew that like many paramedics Mick
was apprehensive of maternity cases. He didn't have
much practice at them. They involved two patients
instead of one, and the potential for disaster always
seemed so great.The whole aim was to get in and out
and to hospital as quickly as you could before anything
happened.
Mick weaved through the traffic, blasting the
horn, then took the angled left into Pyrmont Bridge
Road. The engine revved hard. 'Go, baby, go,' Mick
said.
Sophie, on the other hand, was looking forward
to the case. It would be her first maternity call since
Lachlan's birth, and already it was bringing back
memories of the pain and euphoria. More than likely
the baby wouldn't be born until hours after they got
the woman to the hospital, such was people's
understandable tendency to ring early rather than
late, but she thought through the possibilities anyway,
knowing that being prepared equalled staying in
control. Cord around neck -- if loose, lift over head; if
tight, clamp and cut. Prevent tears by slowing and controlling
the delivery. Be sure to suction the baby quickly,
clearing the airways. Wrap warmly to prevent heat loss.
Mick roared left into Glebe Point Road.
'Numbers?'
Sophie looked for letterboxes as she pulled on a
pair of gloves.'Two-ten this side.'
Mick's head bobbed as he drove and searched for
a street number on his side of the road. Down at the
end of the street Sophie saw a man run waving into
the road. 'Starjumper dead ahead.'
'Got him.'
Mick turned the siren off and pulled up outside
a two-storey house painted in heritage colours. The
man ran past a dark blue BMW parked at the kerb
and went up the sandstone steps to the front door of
the house.'Please hurry,'he shouted.'It's coming!'
Sophie grabbed equipment and hurried to the
open front door. The foyer was large and spacious,
white walls decorated on one side with an oil painting
of the beach and on the other side with framed
degrees declaring that Boyd Sawyer was a plastic surgeon
and a member of some college. Sophie went by
too fast to read any more details.
In the living room the man crouched by a weeping
woman. He wore a rumpled white shirt and grey suit
pants.'She's six weeks early. She's booked into RPA and
our obstetrician wants her there immediately'
The woman wore a pink nightdress and lay on
her side on the carpet. She clutched her swollen
abdomen. The man tried to pull her up by the arm.
'Julie, they're going to take you to hospital now.'
Sophie knelt with them. She introduced herself.
'Is this your first?' She put her hands on Julie's
abdomen and felt the tension there.
'Yes.'
'How long have you had pain?'
'About an hour, but they're less than a minute
apart now,' Julie wept.
'When did your waters break?'
'Just when we rang you,' the man said. 'Our
obstetrician said--'
Julie cried out and clutched between her legs.
'Boyd, it's coming!'
He grabbed Mick's arm. 'Where's your trolley?'
'It's going to be okay, sir,' Mick said.
Sophie raised Julie's sodden nightdress and saw
the baby was crowning. Immediately she turned to
Mick.'Open the kit.'
As he tore the top off the maternity kit Julie
groaned and the baby's head was born. Sophie supported
it while checking that the cord was not
around the neck. The shoulders delivered; then, with
a rush of blood and fluid, the slippery purple body
was in Sophie's hands. She felt the newborn's wet
heat through her thin gloves and smelled the blood
and vernix that coated the tiny form, and in a split
second was taken back to her own delivery of
Lachlan, her first touch of his skin, the feather weight
of his body on her chest, the look on Chris's face as
he embraced them both. There'd been such magnificent
promise in that moment -- where had it gone?
'It's a girl!' Mick crowed.
Blinking back tears, Sophie wrapped a sterile
blanket around the baby. She glanced at her watch to
note the time. 'Congratulations, Julie. She's beautiful.'
She laid the baby, still attached by the umbilical cord,
on Julie's exposed abdomen. Crying, Boyd Sawyer
reached out and stroked the tiny face.
Julie cradled the small form while Mick worked
the thin suction tube into the baby's mouth then
nose to clear the fluid. Sophie rubbed the little girl
vigorously. Her arms and legs jiggled as Sophie massaged
her torso with the flannel blanket. Julie tried to
sit up. 'Why isn't she crying?'
'She will in a second.' Sophie paused in her rubbing
to make sure the baby's pulse was still strong.
'Better bag her,' she said to Mick. He grabbed the
paediatric resus bag and fitted the round silicone
mask over the baby's face. The little rib cage rose and
fell but when he stopped squeezing the bag the baby
didn't take a breath for herself. Nor did she move her
limbs or open her eyes.
Mick kept bagging while Sophie attached the
cardiac monitor. The three electrodes almost covered
the baby's tiny chest. Her pulse was fast and the high
blips filled the room.
Sophie and Mick exchanged glances. The baby
should have taken a breath by now. They'd had no
chance to cut the cord and Sophie saw that Julie was
bleeding. 'Get back-up,' she said. Mick handed her
the bag and pulled the portable radio from his belt.
Sophie felt her chest tighten in the iron grip of her
need to control the situation. She struggled to set up
an oxygen mask for Julie with one hand while continuing
to bag the baby and mentally mapping the new
course of the case. Once the baby started breathing
she'd still need to monitor her closely in case the tiny
girl went apnoeic again. They'd cannulate Julie and
pump the fluids in to replace her blood loss, monitor
her blood pressure, make sure she was stable. But this
was assuming that nature, the universe, whatever,
would play its role by having them both respond to
treatment. Sophie grimaced as tension pulled her neck
and back muscles taut. So far nature was failing. Badly.
Boyd crouched to connect the oxygen tubing for
her. He loosened the elastic strap on the mask and
slid it gently over his wife's pale face.
'Thanks.' Sophie hesitated. 'You're a surgeon.'
He nodded.
'Would you be comfortable trying for an IV?'
He pulled the drug kit open and found the alcohol
swabs and intravenous cannulas. His eyes darted
from his wife's pale face and flowing tears to his new
baby's motionless body He clipped a tourniquet
around Julie's arm.
'You understand why we had to stay here for the
delivery,' Sophie said. 'Even knowing she was premature.
At least here we have some room. The back of
the ambulance . . .'
Boyd Sawyer's hand holding the cannula trembled
over his wife's arm. Sweat hung in beads on his
brow. The tight brown curls at the back of his neck
were wet.
Mick hurried back in. 'Back-up's three minutes
away and Control's notifying RPA.' He followed
Sophie's deliberate glance and hastily exchanged the
cannula Boyd held for the sealed packet of cord
clamps. Boyd moved aside and wiped his eyes on his
forearm.
Royal Prince Alfred Hospital was only five minutes
away on the siren but at the moment it felt as far
as the moon. 'Julie, how are you feeling?' Sophie
asked.
'Tired.' Julie hardly opened her eyes. Her face
was paler than ever, and sweaty. Mick cannulated her
arm and started IV fluids. He took a blood pressure
reading. 'Ninety systolic, with pulse of one-ten,' he
reported, and opened the clamp on the IV fine to let
the fluid run in fast.
Boyd clamped and cut the umbilical cord. With
the baby separated from Julie, Sophie lifted the little
form onto the lounge and wrapped her more firmly
in the blanket. New babies lost their heat quickly and
there were enough problems to fight without adding
hypothermia to the mix.
In a moment the baby was completely encased.
Only her face was exposed for the mask. The monitor
leads snaked out of the top fold of the blanket. Sophie
knelt by the lounge, her forearms either side of the
baby, her hands starting to cramp with the continuous
effort of rapid bagging. Come on, she thought, leaning
close over the little girl. Open your eyes. Look up at me.
Scream, and we will know that you are all right.
Behind her she could hear Mick inflating the BP
cuff. 'Eighty-five.'
Boyd clutched his head. 'What are we waiting
for? They need to be in hospital.'
Sophie heard a siren in the distance. 'As soon as
the other crew arrives we'll get the baby on her way,
then we'll take Julie,' she said. 'We're doing everything
we can, Mr Sawyer.' She saw tears in his eyes
and quickly looked down at the baby. Before she had
Lachlan she'd thought she'd known fear, and joy, but
holding her newborn son she'd realised she'd known
nothing about either.
Mick searched Julie's other arm for a vein without
success. The siren stopped outside. Feet pounded
up the steps and across the small porch. Two paramedics
hurried into the room. Rob Nestor, shaved
head and almost two metres tall, kneeled beside
Sophie. 'Still apnoeic?'
Sophie nodded. 'Her pulse is strong.' The rest
didn't need to be said. One glance showed the baby
was unresponsive. She handed the baby and the
resuscitation bag over to him. Mick disconnected the
monitor as Rob's partner, Dave O'Brien, yanked the
oxygen tubing free. The uniform tie he always wore
swung madly. The crew rushed the baby outside.
'What's happening?' Boyd said.
'They're taking her to hospital,' Mick replied.
Outside, the ambulance motor revved, then the siren
began to wail again. 'She needs to be there sooner
than we can get Julie ready to move.'
'I wanted them both there from the start,' Boyd

said.
Arguing with him gained nothing. Sophie
changed her gloves and checked the pad between

Julie's legs. It was soaked with blood. The placenta
hadn't delivered. 'Julie, do you still have pain?'
Julie nodded slowly without opening her eyes.
Her lack of emotion was a bad sign. Sophie took a
quick blood pressure. Down to seventy. She replaced
the nearly empty fluid bag with a full one and started
pumping it in while searching for even the smallest
blue vein worthy of a second cannulation attempt.
Mick hurried in with the stretcher. They lowered it
beside Julie then lifted her onto it. Blood gushed to
the floor.
'Oh my God,' Boyd said.
'It's okay,' Mick said. 'It's probably just the placenta
delivering.' Sophie hoped her own anxiety was
better hidden.
Sophie shoved the Oxy-Viva under the foot of
the stretcher mattress to elevate Julie's legs and get
blood into her upper body. They loaded the stretcher
into the ambulance and Sophie climbed in.
Massaging the uterus could help it contract and seal
off bleeding vessels. She pressed the heel of her hand
onto Julie's lower abdomen and made firm circles.
Midwives could give an injection that did the same
job but there was no time to call one.
'Julie, I'll follow you in, okay?' Boyd called. Julie
murmured something but didn't open her eyes.
About to close the back door, Mick nodded at
the cardiac monitor. Julie's heart rate was up to one
hundred and forty beats per minute.
'Pedal to the metal.' Sophie made sure the straps
across Julie were snug and clipped her own seatbelt
into place. She leaned over the stretcher and
gripped the stainless-steel frame with one hand,
pressing hard into Julie's abdomen with the other.
Blood ran off the sides of the stretcher mattress and
dripped onto the floor. The siren was loud even in
there.
Julie s face was porcelain white, her skin slippery
with sweat and cold even through Sophie's gloves.
'Julie, how do you feel?'
She moaned.
'The siren's just to get through traffic, okay? It's
busy out there.'
It did no good to tell a person they were dying.
In the ambulance bay of Royal Prince Alfred
Hospital a doctor in a gown wrenched the back door
open before Mick had completely stopped. 'This is
the post-partum haemorrhage?'
Sophie nodded. 'Baby was born at nine fifty-four
this morning, six weeks early. The patient's had
increasing blood loss since then.'
Mick grabbed the stretcher and pulled it out of
the vehicle. Blood had run along the floor and under
the back door, and dripped from the back step onto
the ground. Sophie jumped down. She continued
massaging Julie's abdomen and giving her report to
the doctor as they hurried inside. 'First obs after the
birth were BP of ninety, pulse one-ten. She's had
two litres of Hartmann's. Last obs were beep of seventy,
pulse one-forty. Level of consciousness
decreasing.'
They hurried along the Emergency Department
corridor. Robert and Dave, the paramedics who'd
brought in the baby, stood to one side to let them
pass. Their stretcher was empty except for a pile of
equipment. There was no time to ask about the
baby's condition but they weren't smiling.
In the resuscitation room one nurse searched for
veins in Julie's pale arms while another took a blood
pressure reading. 'Sixty on thirty'
'She's unconscious,' someone said.
The doctor said, 'Let's intubate, get blood off for
crossmatching and get to theatre.'
Sophie felt a touch on her arm. A nurse held a
clipboard. 'Do you have her details?'
'Only her name and address.'
'The husband was right behind us,' Mick said.
'He should be at the front desk by now.'
Sophie said to the nurse, 'How's the baby?'
She made a face. 'They were still ventilating her
when they came belting through here. She's in the
Neonatal Intensive Care Unit. She's critical.'
The doctor said,'Let's move.'An oxygen cylinder
and the cardiac monitor were crammed on the end
of Julie's bed. Someone kicked the brakes off. They
rushed her out of the room and down the corridor to
theatre, leaving Sophie to step carefully over the
drops of blood that marked their path.
She walked outside in time to see Rob and
Dave's ambulance accelerating out of the hospital
driveway.'They got another case, huh?'
'Yeah. Fall with a fractured leg.' Mick stood at the
ambulance's rear door with an armful of towels.
Lemon-scented steam rose from a mop bucket
labelled, RPA Hospital Property. 'Man, look at this.'
The pool of blood on the ambulance floor lay
still and smooth. The air was full of its cold butcher's
shop smell. Sophie said, 'That must be two litres.'
"I wouldn't be surprised,' Mick said. 'Poor
woman.' He gently laid a towel over the centre of the
pool and it Instantly turned red.
Sophie retrieved the case-sheet folder from the
cabin. She needed details about Julie Sawyer but
didn't feel like approaching the husband just yet.
From the ambulance bay she watched the traffic
drone by on Missenden Road, the sound overlaid
with the rustle of plastic as Mick lowered sodden
towels into a bag. The air was humid. Her shirt clung
to her aching back and she realised how much she'd
sweated on the case. She was still sweating. There was
a sick feeling low down in her stomach. What a  job,
sometimes . . . You felt capable, powerful even, then
the universe showed you exactly who was boss. She
wished it could've waited to show her on some other
job and kept a baby out of it.
'Hey' Mick peered around the side at her.'Doing
okay?'
Sophie let out the breath she hadn't known she'd
been holding. Her chest felt sore when she drew in a
fresh lungful of air. The iron grip loosened, but only
a little. 'Yeah.You?'
He shrugged and nodded at the same time, and
kept looking at her.
'What?'
'We should buy that baby something. A soft toy,'
he said. 'A pink fluffy rabbit.'
Sophie nodded. The baby might not make it,
they both knew that, but they weren't going to say so.
You could talk about the likelihood of your adult
patients pegging out, but kids were different.
Mick lifted his collar off the back of his neck.
'That second little kid from the fire died.'
Sophie closed her eyes. On Missenden Road a
truck ground its gears. Somewhere a siren wailed,
distance making the sound small and forlorn.
'And I heard some interesting police news,' Mick
said.
'What?' Sophie was relieved by the change of
subject.
'A man walked into St Vincent's this morning,
weak from blood loss and septicaemia.'
She went to the back of the ambulance. 'Dog
bite?'
Most of the blood was cleaned up. Mick stood
with his head against the padded vinyl roof and
dunked the mop into the bucket then slopped it on
the floor. The lemon disinfectant overpowered the
meaty metallic smell.
'Nope. He has a wound, left lateral hip, looks like
a bullet entry. No exit wound.The injury looks maybe
a day or so old.The doctor says,"How'd this happen?"
And the guy says, "I was walking through the city and
I got mugged. I was slow giving up my wallet and they
shot me." The doctor says, "Why didn't you come in
straightaway?You could've died. This is the sort of stuff
you should call an ambulance for."The guy goes, "Yes
but I was scared. I was drunk, I was looking for a good
time if you know what I mean, and all I could think
was that it would all be more ammo for my ex-wife to
keep my kid from me."'
Sophie clutched the case-sheet folder to her
chest. The man might not be the one shot in the
bank hold-up. He might have been injured in a drug
deal gone wrong or in some domestic dispute. The
timing was perfect, though, and the story was definitely
dodgy. 'Any word on his history? What kind of
deadbeat he is?'
'Well, this is the thing,' Mick said.'He's a cop.'

THREE



Tuesday 6 May, 10.45 am



Sophie stared at him. 'Are you sure?'
Mick nodded. 'Rob was in the neighbouring
cubicle inVinnie's ED, dropping off a patient, when
the guy was telling his story to the doctor.'
The doors to the Emergency Department swung
open and a nurse stuck her head out. 'Sophie, your
husband's a cop, isn't he? You'd better come and see
this.'
She hurried after the nurse while Mick went to
clean the mop and put it away.
In the ED staff room the television's sound was
loud. Nurses and doctors on their breaks were
packed around the table, coffees steaming before
them. More staff stood behind them, talking in low
voices, and people walking past crammed in for a few
seconds, trying for a glimpse of the screen.
--an anonymous caller has contacted this and other television
stations alleging that all the members of the armed
robbery gang are in fact serving police officers. The newsreader
was pink-cheeked with importance. In what he
described as a 'gesture of good faith', the caller gave the

name of the man who presented at St Vincent's Hospital
today, claiming to have been shot in a mugging, as Senior
Constable Peter Roth. The caller alleged that Roth was the
gang member shot by the guard in yesterday's bank hold-up.
Both the Police Service and St Vincent's Hospital are so far
refusing to comment.
'Like you couldn't see this coming.' A slim,
moustached man spoke knowingly from his seat at
the table. He had a shiny black stethoscope slung
around his neck and when people in the room
turned to look at him he reached up to finger it.
Sophie could feel the blood pumping in her face. A
medical student. Know-all. He said, 'Well, you think
ordinary robbers would be allowed to go on for so
long?'
'Shut up,' someone said.The student turned red.
The caller identified himself as a police officer and said
that he is prepared to give a statement, naming all gang
members, once his safety has been assured by senior police
management. Police Commissioner Stephen DudleyPearson
was unavailable for comment but his office has
downplayed the allegations, stating that they may be a
hoax. They refuse to comment on whether they have been
approached by a member of staff with information on the
robberies. They also state that as a matter of course the gunshot
victim will be interviewed and an examination done of
any bullet fragments found during surgery.
'Sophie,' Mick hissed from the doorway. When
she looked over he held up the portable.
In the corridor she said, 'What is it?'
'Everyone's busy.They want us to head into town
for cover.'

They walked back through the ED. 'That didn't
look good,' Mick said.
Sophie pulled her mobile phone off her belt.You
weren't supposed to use them in the department but
nobody was looking her way. She raised the phone to
her ear, half hiding it behind her hand.
Mick glanced over. 'Who're you calling?'
'Chris.' Her own voice said in her ear. Thanks for
calling the Phillips house. We're sorry we can't get to the
phone but please leave
She cut herself off and dialled Chris's mobile.
The mobile you are calling is turned off or not answering.
Sophie hit the end button again. 'No answer.'
'Is he working today? He's probably on a job.'
They climbed into the lemon-scented ambulance.
'He's home with Lachlan on a day off,' Sophie
said.'He should be answering one phone or the other.'
Mick drove out of the hospital grounds.'Flat battery
in his mobile?'
She shook her head. 'He's obsessive about keeping
it charged.'
'Switched it off?'
'He never does. I mean, never. Ever.'
Mick slowed at a crossing for a middle-aged
woman walking a black terrier.'So the problem is . . .
what, exactly?'
Chris's state of mind was the problem. Sophie
imagined him imagining the news headlines, the
media frenzy. It was foul icing on top of the PTSD
cake. 'I just wanted to ask if this Roth actually is a
cop,' she said. 'If it could really be a hoax.'
The traffic on Broadway was sluggish, full of
buses and couriers' trucks trying to squeeze into the
CBD.The sky was clouding over and wind whipped
scraps of rubbish along the gutters. On the footpath a
teenaged boy and girl stood together, the girl screaming
at the boy, the boy looking away from her into
the shop windows.
After a moment Sophie called Gloria. 'It's me. Is
Chris there?'
'Funny you should ask,' her mother-in-law said.
'He dropped Lachlan off this morning and was supposed
to be back by now. I've got an art class soon
and I have to pay even if I don't turn up.'
'Did he say where he was going?
'He had to go into town,' Gloria said.'Something
to do with work. Have you tried his mobile?'
'There's no answer.'
'If you do catch him will you tell him I'm waiting
on him?'
'How's Lachlan? Is everything okay?'
'Everything's fine. Why?'
'No reason. I'd better go.'
Mick took Eddy Avenue onto Elizabeth Street
then stopped at a red light. His window was down
and the smell of hot chips from a takeaway shop
wafted into the ambulance. Sophie called Chris's
mobile again and when the tinny voice started up
once more she pressed the end button so hard her
thumb hurt.
Mick stuck his head out the open window.
'Looks like rain.'
The wind gusted, rocking the ambulance. Two
heavy drops landed on the windscreen.
'That's it for us then.' Mick took his sunglasses
off. 'You know I don't work in the rain.'
She smiled half-heartedly
The airwaves became suddenly busy with ambulances
calling mobile to a scene. Mick turned up the
volume when the rescue truck dittoed the message.
'Something big's happening. Cross your fingers they
want us.'
'I thought you don't work in the rain?'
'It's not really raining yet.'
Control said, 'Thirty-one, what's your location?'
'Yes!' Mick smacked a hand on the steering
wheel.
Sophie grabbed the mic. 'Thirty-one's on
Elizabeth Street in the city'
'Thanks, Thirty-one. Proceed to Anzac Parade,
Kensington, for an MVA, query code nine.'
Mick hit the siren and the beacons and hauled
the truck into a U-turn around a set of traffic lights,
and Sophie felt the adrenaline start to pump again.
She pulled on a fluorescent safety vest, her damp shirt
cold against her back, and her hands trembled a little
when she yanked on a fresh pair of gloves. Some days
were like this in the job -- one big case after another
- and you soon got used to it, though secretly she
would've preferred a cruise around town doing
nothing for a while.
'I love a good code nine,' Mick said with a grin.
Usually Sophie enjoyed it too, though she knew
how gruesome that could sound. She liked arriving
at a scene of chaos to impose order, using all her skills
to treat multiple injuries and plan the extrication at
the same time. She invariably came out the other end
sweaty and tired and feeling for the injured, but
exhilarated at doing the job she'd trained so hard for.
If she wasn't so anxious about Chris, or wrung out
after the birth, she'd be excited.
Mick turned left into Cleveland Street as an
ambulance called on scene. The officer was back
within a minute with a report. 'Three cars and one
small truck. Two people code four, three code nine
and one of those unconscious.'
Mick screeched right onto Anzac and swerved
around the back end of a braking bus.'Go you good
thing!'The traffic was heavier and he used the horn
and the wrong side of the road equally. Sophie
moved her shoulders, trying to work the tension
from them.
'Here we go,' Mick said, switching off the siren as
they approached the crash site. 'What a beauty'
Sophie assessed the scene quickly. A small glazier's
truck stood near a silver Ford sedan.The major damage
to both front ends indicated a head-on collision.
An old red Subaru was crumpled around a power
pole on the side of the road by the golf course. Golfers
had left their balls on the green to gather behind the
low chain fence and watch. A yellow Daihatsu had
been pushed sideways in a lane, damage to the front
and back. Glass from the truck lay smashed everywhere
on the road. Two ambulances were on scene,
their beacons still flashing, and paramedics bent
through the windows of the wrecked cars.
The wind seized Sophie's door as she jumped
out. She grabbed her equipment and crunched over
the glass to Steve Jones, a stocky paramedic in a hardhat.
He was by the driver's door of the truck. Steve's
patient was pale, sweaty and moaning. Steve's gloves
were covered in blood. Lightning flickered through
purple clouds overhead.
'Where do you want us?' Sophie said.
Steve nodded at the silver car. 'Man's code four.
Woman's code nine with chest and head injuries.
They're all yours.'
Sophie crouched by the silver car. In the driver's
seat a heavyset man was slumped with the seatbelt
still across his chest and his head resting against the
door. Deflated airbags sagged from the steering
wheel and the passenger dash.
The woman in the passenger seat said, 'He's
dead.'
She couldn't have seen the massive wound to the
right side of his head, but it didn't take a genius to
understand the half-closed eyes and the motionless
chest.
'I'm sorry,' Sophie said.
The woman closed her eyes. Her face was pale.
Mick was by her door. He pulled the handle then
tried the rear door. 'The impact's jammed everything,'
he said over the roof. Rain started to spit from
the sky.
'Same here.' Sophie reached in beside the dead
man, her shoulder against his as she fumbled for the
rear window winder. The glass rolled down most of
the way before jamming. She put her arms and head
through the rear window, grabbed the edge of the
back seat, and pulled herself inside.
The seat was soft underfoot. The car smelled of
vinyl cleaner and blood. Rain spattered on the roof.
The woman was crying. Sophie rubbed her
shoulder. 'I'm Sophie, I'm a paramedic, and we're
going to get you out of here,' she said. 'What's your
name?'
'Marisa Waters.'
'Do you remember what happened?'
'No. Ow.'
'That's sore, is it?' Sophie palpated the wound
above Marisa's ear. It felt soft and boggy.
Mick leaned in the open window, shoving the
Oxy-Viva, drug box and monitor inside. Sophie said
quietly,'Skull fracture.'
He matched her frown.'I'll get rescue.'
'Marisa, is your neck sore?' Sophie felt the vertebrae,
one by one.
'No.'
Sophie saw Mick by the Subaru. He was talking
to a rescue officer who was shaking his head. A paramedic
was bent in the driver's window of the red car.
He held a mask and resus bag over someone's face.
The background was a tarp, sky blue. It was draped
around the pole and over the passenger side of the
car, hiding the body there from the golfers.
'Marisa, can you take a deep breath?'
'It hurts.'
Sophie wriggled her upper body between the
seats so she faced Marisa. 'I'll touch your chest and
you tell me where it's sore.'
The ribs moved normally under Sophie's hands
until she reached the far side. Marisa flinched. 'I
promise I'll be gentle,' Sophie said. This time she
recognised the grating sensation of bone end against
bone end.
'They'll be here as soon as they can.' Mick
handed her a plastic collar. He'd put his raincoat on.
It flapped in the wind.
'We've got crepitus in the lateral ribs.' Sophie
pressed her stethoscope to the woman's chest. 'Air
entry's good though.'
The rain got serious. It struck the cracked windscreen
at an angle. It came in the open windows and
splashed off the dead man's face. Glancing over at
him Sophie noticed the heavy jowls. She paused and
studied him a moment longer.
Marisa wasn't wearing any rings but Sophie
could see a white line in her tan where one had
been. The man's hands were pale and chubby. On his
ring finger there was an indentation in the flesh.
Sophie said, 'Is this your husband?'
'My friend.'
'What's his name?'
Marisa closed her eyes. 'I want to die.'
'No you don't,' Sophie said. 'We'll have you out
of here in a flash.' She put an oxygen mask on
Marisa's face, the plastic collar around her neck, and
attached the cardiac monitor. When Mick got back
she was deflating the blood pressure cuff. 'Ninety
systolic'
'I want to die,' Marisa repeated.
'You're doing fine.' Sophie scrambled into the
back seat and put her head out the rear window into
the rain to speak to Mick out of Marisa's hearing.
'Ask one of the police to come over, would you? See
if they recognise this guy'
Mick came back with a young police officer. He
bent to peer into the car. Sophie saw his eyes widen
and knew she was right. The dead man was Police
Commissioner Stephen Dudley-Pearson.
In a moment two older officers were looking
grim-faced into the car. There was a lot of gold braid
on their epaulettes. One said,'Hello, Mrs Waters.'
Marisa didn't look at them. She was crying. The
police moved away, talking quietly.
Sophie clipped a tourniquet around Marisa's arm
and swiftly cannulated a vein. Mick set up a bag of
Hartmann's solution and connected the tubing. The
fluid was soon running into Marisa's system.
Sophie saw that the police were at the back of
the car. She felt the car move a little. There was a pop
and the lid of the boot rose, cutting off Sophie's view.
Sophie looked at Marisa but the woman stared
out the windscreen. Sophie nudged Mick. 'Go and
hassle rescue again, will you?'
When he was gone she squeezed Marisa's hand.
'So where were you headed today?'
'It'll all come out soon enough.'
'What will?'
Marisa simply shook her head.
Mick came back. The hood of his raincoat had
slipped off and his white-blond hair was slicked to his
scalp. 'They're coming now.'
Sophie checked Marisa's blood pressure again. It
was holding steady 'Doing fine, Marisa.'
The inside of the car darkened as firefighters
Frantic

opened a tarp over it. The rescue crew set up their
gear under its shelter. Gloved hands draped a protective
sheet over Marisa. Sophie held the sheet off her
face and turned her own head away as the metal cutters
bit into the B pillar. The tarp made the air warm
and still and full of petrol fumes.
'Control's got St Vincent's ready for us.' Mick
leaned in the window. Water dripped down his forehead.
'Spineboard and bed're ready to go.'
The crew peeled back Marisa's door. Mick
crouched in the space. In the car, Sophie checked the
monitor one more time before disconnecting the
leads for the extrication.
The rain became heavier. They had to shout to
make themselves heard over the pelting on the tarp.
Mick yelled at someone to bring the stretcher closer.
Hands reached in to help Marisa onto the
spineboard. Crying, she struggled to turn herself. 'Let
us do it for you,' Sophie said. She squeezed between
the seats, hitting the dead man with her elbow as she
wriggled forward, and twisted so she was held there
by her hips and could help the rescue crew lift Marisa.
The tarp was carried over them as they took the
board to the stretcher then they crunched across the
shattered glass to load the stretcher into the ambulance.
Once inside the vehicle Sophie and Mick
moved Marisa off the board. Sophie raised the head
of the stretcher so Marisa sat upright. 'That's better
for your breathing, isn't it?'
Marisa didn't reply. Mick shut the door. The only
sounds were the rain on the fibreglass roof and
Marisa's ragged breathing.
Sophie reattached Marisa's oxygen mask. She listened
to her chest and smiled.'How are you feeling?'
'Where's Stephen?'
'Someone will bring him to the hospital, and you
can see him again there.'
Tears ran from Marisa's closed eyes. Sophie gently
wiped her face. 'Everything's going to be okay'

Mick opened the side door to push the kits into
the ambulance and hand Sophie a hastily scribbled
note.
There's $50,000 in the boot and she's the wife of the
Director of Public Prosecutions.

11.50 am

Detective Ella Marconi yawned. She was sitting on
her bedroom floor, next to the scanner she kept
under the bed. God forbid that anyone at work ever
found out she had it, that on her days off she eavesdropped
on the radio traffic now and again - well,
okay, pretty bloody frequently - to learn what was
happening in her absence. Because, naturally, that was
the other time that interesting things happened.
There was certainly something going on today.
First allegations about the shot cop and the gang of
robbers had been splashed all over the TV, then she'd
picked up news of a car crash on the scanner. Two
people dead, an officer reported. Three injured and
trapped. Rescue at work. Traffic diverted. All normal,
normal. But then the tempo of the messages changed
in a way that had Ella leaning close to the black box.
An officer said in an almost-but-not-quite-panicked
voice that he'd get in touch with the radio room on
a landline. Shordy after that, hordes of brass called on
the air that they were mobile to the scene. Their
voices were heavy and serious, and Ella knew at least
one of the deadies was somebody important.
Her pager sounded. She grabbed it from her bedside
table and saw Detective Dennis Orchard's
number. She turned off the scanner and reached for
the phone.
'Orchard,' he answered.
'It's me,' she said.
'You've heard about this crash?'
'A bit of it. Who's the toetag?'
'Dudley-Pearson.'
For a second she couldn't speak. 'You're shitting
me.'
'That's not all. He had Marisa Waters plus a
whole wad of cash with him. They were headed for
the airport and had tickets for Thailand.'
'Get out of here.'
'The rumour is,' Dennis lowered his voice, 'that
Duds was in on the gang, got scared about this
malarky over the possible informant and bailed
before it all fell down around his ears.'There was a
noise in the background and Dennis said, 'Yeah,
okay,' to someone before coming back to Ella. 'I've
got to go.'
'Hey, what about this Roth guy?' she said, but
Orchard was already gone.
Ella put the phone down. So Duds was dead. Ella
had seen more than her share of bodies but found it
hard to picture that florid face gone pale and those
wobbly jowls still. He'd been commissioner for
almost two years, right through the time of the robberies,
and he was an idiot, no doubt about it. But
corrupt? Though size and shape meant nothing, Ella
couldn't imagine the tubby man scheming and conniving.
He was like a baby elephant. Then again you
didn't get to be commissioner without having some
skill for the game.
Marisa Waters was PA to one of the deputy commissioners,
and married to the Director of the
Department of Public Prosecutions. Robert Waters
was quite a looker: a real Ralph Lauren model beside
the baby elephant. Sure, looks weren't everything -- but still. More amazing was the fact that if Marisa and
Duds had been on together it was the best kept secret
in the job. The idea of Duds being somehow involved
in the gang was beyond that again.
There would be repercussions, of course. A new
commissioner would be appointed. Dudley-Pearson
wasn't popular with the officers but it was a case of
the devil you knew. Although, Ella realised, she knew
the most likely replacement as well. Rupert Eagers
was the current Assistant Commissioner in charge of
Operations. He was a man for whom the job was
practically a family gathering. He had uncles,
nephews and a father sprinkled about the state, more
in high-up positions than not, and all known for their
longevity. Dennis had once described the lot of them
as harder to shift than a limpet off a rock. In fact,
Eagers's paternal grandfather had died at his
sergeant's desk while working on station rosters.
Eagers was a man with things to prove and a tree to
climb. There was little doubt in Ella's mind that if
given the chance to step up into the acting position,
he'd bust a boiler to make a good impression and
persuade the government he was the right man for
the job.
Yeah. He probably knew retired Assistant Commissioner
Frank Shakespeare too.

3 pm

Sophie switched her mobile on, ignoring the look
Mick shot her in the ambulance's rear-view mirror.
So what if it was impolite to use a phone while sitting
beside a patient? The old lady had dementia, and
anyway Sophie felt if she was able to understand
what Sophie was doing and why, she wouldn't mind
one bit. As it was, the ninety year old lay on the
stretcher looking out at the traffic, waving at pedestrians
who couldn't see in the tinted windows, her
sparse white hair and thin neck giving her the look
of a baby bird getting its first view out of the nest.
There were no missed calls. She dialled Chris's
mobile.'Got to find my husband,' she said to the old
woman, who smiled widely at her and repeated,
'Husband.'
For once Sophie's call didn't go straight to voicemail.
She sat up straighter.
'Hi,' Chris answered.
'At last,' Sophie said. 'I was starting to worry' She
tried to put a note of levity in her voice but she knew
he'd have seen how many messages she'd left on both
phones.
'I've been a bit busy'
The old woman started to sing in a high quavery
voice. Sophie thought it was a hymn.
'What is that?'
'Patient,' Sophie said. 'So is everything okay?'
'Why wouldn't it be?'
'All this stuff happening.' Sophie gritted her
teeth. 'And Gloria didn't know where you were.'
'I had to go in to headquarters,' he said.
'On your day off?'
He gave an irritated sigh. 'I went to see Dean,
okay? I went to apologise for not going last night.'
Sophie rolled her eyes at the old lady, who rolled
her eyes back. 'And what did Dean say?'
'Dean said it was fine.' Chris mirrored her smart
aleck tone.
'He must've said it slowly'
Chris said nothing.
'For you to have been in there for so long, I
mean.' Even as Sophie said it she regretted it, but
couldn't cut the words off. She was hurting and she
wanted him to feel a bit of it too.
Chris said, 'You're really funny, you know that?'
Mick was looking at her in the rear-view mirror
again. She met his eye reluctantly then saw his gaze
shift past her. 'Look out the back,' he said. 'That blue
Beemer just hung a U-turn in front of all those cars.'
The old lady hit a high note in her song.
Sophie turned to the rear window to see the traffic
behind them in chaos. A bus slewed sideways.
Smoke rose from someone's tyres. The BMW
careened in the ambulance's wake.
'Is he after us?' Mick slowed down. 'He's flashing
his lights. Maybe he's got a sick kid in the car or
something.'
Sophie released her seatbelt and knelt up in her
seat to watch the car draw closer. She couldn't see
anyone other than the driver in the car but someone
could be lying down in the back. 'He's blowing his
horn too,' she said.
Chris said,'What?'
Mick pulled to the side of the road. The Beemer
screeched to a halt behind the ambulance, half in the
next lane. Horns blew as traffic started to queue
behind it.
Sophie said,'I've got to go.'
Chris said, 'Fine,' and hung up. Sophie had just a
second to feel angry that he didn't ask what was
wrong when the driver of the BMW threw his door
open. She recognised him with a start. 'It's the father from this morning.'
'The what?' Mick was still in the driver's seat,
looking alternately in the side and rear-view mirrors.
'The father, from the birth. Sawyer.' Sophie tried
to read the man's face as he passed close to the rear
door. 'He's coming up your side and he looks angry'
Mick opened his door and got out. The old lady
said something to Sophie but Sophie ignored her.
She moved forward, leaning between the seats into
the cabin to hear what was going on outside.
'You killed my family'
Sophie gasped. Julie and the baby died?
'Sir--' Mick's words were cut off by a thud.
Sophie strained to see him through the open driver's
door but only caught a glimpse of Sawyer, bent over.
There was another thud and Mick groaned.
Sophie stretched forward into the cabin and
grabbed the radio microphone to call in a code one.
'All cars stand by,' Control said. 'Thirty-one, I
copy your message. What's your location?'
'You.'
Sawyer was glaring at her. She kept on with her
message.'Thirty-one's on Liverpool Street in the city.
Mick's been assaulted. Assailant's still on scene.'
Sawyer stepped over Mick up into the cabin.
'Copy,Thirty-one. Friends are on their way'
Sawyer's face was red and sweaty. He breathed
out a cloud of alcohol fumes. Sophie wasn't scared
yet. She'd been in situations like this before and knew
that sometimes you could stall or distract the person
from hitting you. She didn't need much time either:
the police always turned up super fast and in droves
when you put in the code one. But she was worried
about Mick, and the old lady behind her was calling
out in fear.
'I'm so sorry about your wife and baby,' Sophie
said. Out on the street a man in a suit approached
them, looking to where Mick lay, his hands out in a
placating manner, but Sawyer growled and the man
backed off. Behind him people stared and got out of
their cars in the developing gridlock. In the distance,
sirens wailed.
'You killed them.'
Okaaay. Slow down and think. He's drunk, but he's
still a doctor. Sophie said, 'We did everything possible.
You saw that.'
'You let them die.'
The thought of the cold, still baby blurred her
vision. 'We tried to resuscitate your baby and we gave
Julie as much fluid as we could.'
'I told you they had to go to hospital.'
'I'm sorry, but I explained at the time why we
couldn't move any earlier,' she said. 'Do you remember
me saying that?'
He held onto the steering wheel with one hand,
the back of the seat with the other. He wore the same
grey trousers and white shirt. His eyes were bleary
and he looked wobbly, as if she could shove him hard
in the chest and make him fall out of the ambulance.
But he might land on Mick, and to shove him meant
getting within reach of his grasp.
The sirens drew closer.
His fingers dug into the seat cushion. 'You killed
them and now I'm going to kill you.'
She'd heard that kind of threat before.'Look,' she
said, then Sawyer disappeared, tackled from behind so
suddenly that even Sophie yelped in fright. One second
he was there, the next he was gone.
She scrambled through the cabin to get out and
saw him kicking on the roadway under three uniformed
police officers, shouting, 'She killed them!
She killed them!'
More police joined the fracas. Sophie crouched
beside Mick on the road. He blinked and tried to see
past her. 'Are you okay?' she said.
'I think so.'
There was a bruise and a swelling on his left
cheek. She helped him sit up against the wheel and
he felt his stomach gingerly. 'I can't believe I let him
hit me twice.'
'You were hardly expecting it.' Sophie palpated
the back of his neck.'Any pain or tenderness there?'
He shook his head. 'I'm fine.'
'You were almost knocked out, and it's worker's
comp.You should go to hospital.'
He got to his feet. 'It's okay'
'What if you have a cerebral bleed and die during
the night?'
'Jo knows how to dial triple 0.'
'Idiot.'
Mick watched Sawyer being hauled to his feet.
His hands were cuffed behind his back and mucus
ran from his nose as he sobbed.
One of the police officers came their way. 'Hey,
Soph.'
'Allan, this is Mick. Allan works atWynyard with
Chris.'
They nodded at each other. 'Can you come to
the station later and give your statement?'Allan asked
Mick.
'I don't think I want him charged.'
'Yes you do,' Sophie said. 'People have to know
they can't kick us around.'
'The guy's family just died,' Mick said.
'Yeah, and he wilfully got pissed and decided to
get us.You can't think it was chance that he saw us,'
Sophie said. 'More likely he'd been driving around
checking the big red numbers on ambulances for half
the afternoon.'
The police stuffed Sawyer into the back of a
Frantic

paddy wagon. He kicked out at the open door. 'He's
suffered enough,' Mick said.
Allan looked at Sophie. 'Did he do anything to
you?'
'Said I killed them, said he wanted to kill me.
That was about it.'
'Do you want to press charges?'
She felt Mick's eyes on her. 'I guess not.'
Allan shrugged. 'We'll still get him for driving
under the influence.' He went back to the paddy
wagon and Sophie and Mick climbed into the
ambulance.
Mick inspected his face in the mirror. 'That was
a good thing you did there.'
She didn't want to talk about it. 'Are you sure
you're okay to drive?'
'I'm fine. Really'
Sophie clambered into the back. "I still think
you're being an idiot. If you were a patient of yours,
you'd tell yourself to go to hospital.'
He shrugged and started the engine. "I can't believe that woman and her baby died.'
The old lady on the stretcher looked up and
smiled at her. Sophie smiled back and patted her
gnarled hand, but in her mind she was seeing the
bodies of Julie and her tiny baby growing cold in the
morgue.
Was she as blameless as she'd thought? Perhaps
there was some way they could have got moving
sooner. Maybe she could have started the fluids running
into Julie earlier.
But second-guessing was completely useless
when she didn't know how they'd died. She had to
call the hospital and find out. Only then could she
look objectively at how she'd run the case and decide
whether anything else could have been done.
But the look in the bereaved father's eyes and his
words weren't easy to shake off.
You killed them.

FOUR



Tuesday 6 May, 6.35 pm



The Southern Jungle was so crowded that Ella had
trouble pushing the door open. She squeezed
between groups of heavy-set cops to reach the bar.
Everyone had had the same idea as she had, obviously:
come to the real heart of the job and find out
the facts.
She'd watched the five then six o'clock news but
nothing was reported that she didn't already know.
Dudley-Pearson had been killed in the car accident
along with a twenty-year-old university student, and
injured were a fifty-year-old truck driver, another
twenty-year-old uni student, and Mrs Marisa Waters,
wife of the Director of PubHc Prosecutions, Robert
Waters QC. No word about the money or why Duds
and Mrs Waters were together.
There was no fresh news about Roth or the
anonymous caUer either. Just a rehash of what they'd
been saying in the updates all day, that the robbery
gang were alleged to be poHce, and that poHce management
would be making a statement in the
morning.
No self-respecting cop could wait that long to
find out what was happening.
Detective Dennis Orchard was already at the bar.
He rested his elbows on the bar towel and toyed with
a cigarette.
'Don't do it,' EUa said.
'I'm not.' He started to get off his stool, gesturing
for her to sit, but she shook her head.
'I've done nothing but laze around all day,' she
said. 'You've been working.'
He smiled and got back on. There was just
enough room for her to belly up to the bar herself. In
a moment the barman placed a glass of red wine
before her with a wink. 'Thanks, Bob,' she nodded.
Dennis drank some of his beer and looked at the
bags of chips hanging on the waU behind the bar.
'You hungry?'
'No.'
He fiddled with the cigarette some more. 'I can't
tell you much.'
'Course you can.' Being in the Crime Agencies
was Like being party to a gossip hodine.
He sniffed the non-filter end. 'Eagers has been
harping on about people knowing too much.'
She knew it. 'He's Acting Commissioner.'
'Until everything's sorted,' Dennis said.
'He loves that cone of silence shit,' Ella said. 'But
come on, this is me.'
'I know.' Dennis drank more beer.
She didn't want to put him on the spot, but neither
did she want to go home knowing nothing.
'Whatever you can, then.'
He studied her for a moment then leaned down
to her ear. 'A mate in the Robbery Squad says Roth
could be the real deal.'
'So he is a cop.'
'Yeah,' Dennis said. 'So far they've got no witnesses
to any of his story. Rumour says the bullet
they dug out of him looked like a .45, which is
what the guard was carrying. They checked Roth's
roster and he was off on all the dates of the previous
robberies.'
'I've never heard of him. Where's he from?'
'Padstow for the last five years, and Penrith
before that. Did a couple of years plainclothes. Good
at it too.' Dennis's breath was warm and beery.
'Apparently he's not saying a word about the gang.
Just lies there in his hospital bed with his arms folded,
staring out the window. Says he can't remember
where the alleged mugging happened or where he'd
been drinking beforehand or anything. Hence the
trouble finding witnesses.'
'What about the person who rang the teUy stations,
promising a statement?'
'Roth had no response when he was told about
that. And Eagers isn't saying whether he's been contacted
or not,' Dennis said. 'But there is a whisper
that the call is for real. Don't know who it is,
though.'
'Wow.' Ella finished her drink and put down her
glass. 'So what about Duds?'
Dennis looked away.
She poked his arm. 'If you clam up now, what can
I think except that he is involved?'
He shrugged, his glass to his mouth.
'Jeezus.'
Around them the bar was getting fuller. The
words 'Roth' and 'gang' and 'Dudley-Pearson' could
be picked out in the buzz of conversation. Someone
elbowed Ella in the back and said 'Sorry' but she
didn't take her eyes from Dennis's face. 'Were he and
Marisa Waters actually an item?'
'I don't know.'
'You do so,' she said. 'How was it kept so quiet?'
He pulled bits of tobacco out of the end of the
cigarette. She grabbed it and threw it over the bar.
'That's not very nice,' he said.
'You're supposed to be quitting.'
'I can still play with them.'
'Who's investigating the crash?'
Dennis tugged at a loose thread on the edge of
the bar towel.
'I'll find out soon enough, you know.'
'So find out,' he said. He looked at his watch. 'I
have to go. Tim's doing a roast.'
Ella watched him push his way towards the door.
His wife, Donna, was a professor of nursing with the
wickedest sense of humour Ella had ever known, and
their teenage son Tim was a) friendly, b) cheerful and
c) an apprentice chef who couldn't get enough of
cooking. Ella had a microwave meal in the freezer,
half a bottle of flat Coke in the fridge, and a bird cage
that she hadn't cleaned since her unnamed canary
escaped two months ago. There was also a stack of
photos from the fire in the takeaway shop. Case of the
year. Hip hip hooray.
Perhaps she'd get another drink and a bag of
chips, and just sit here with her ears open.

1pm

Sophie and Mick worked overtime, and by the time
Sophie finally got home she was wound up tight.
Chris had not rung back to ask why she'd had to cut
their phone conversation short, whether everything
was okay, and the concern and rising guilt that she
might be somehow to blame for the deaths of Julie
and her baby weighed on her Like a forty kilo sandbag,
on top of the one she was already carrying over
Angus.
She slammed the door as she entered the house.
'How about a bit of quiet?' Chris came hurrying
down the stairs. 'Lachlan's asleep.'
Sophie stalked into the kitchen.'You eaten?'
'Leftovers.'
Sophie yanked the remains of the lasagne from
the fridge and threw it in the microwave. 'Interesting
thing happened at work today'
Chris was washing baby bottles and didn't look
up.
'Yeah,' Sophie said. 'Got my Life threatened. Just
after I talked to you.'
'What?'
'What I said.'
'That's not good.'
She almost laughed out loud. 'Never mind my
day, how was yours?'
He put the bottles in the steriliser, slowly and
deliberately.'I know you're angry that I didn't answer
your calls and didn't ring you back.'
She stared into the microwave. The dish went
round and round.
'I went into the city to talk to Dean, not just about missing the party but also about the robbery.
The guard. The whole thing.'
Now she looked at him.
'You were right,' he said. 'I needed to talk to
someone.'
Light burst over her head. This could be the
turning point. She thought again of the promise, the
possibility she'd felt when Lachlan was born. Things could be good again.
'I'm sorry I was nasty before,' she said,'about how
long you'd spent with Dean. I understand it now'
Chris finished screwing on the steriliser lid before
answering.'I wasn't there all the time. I went for a walk
along Mrs Macquarie's Point. Had a bit of a think.' Or could they?
The microwave pinged. Sophie busied herself
opening the door and lifting out the dish.
'Isn't that hot?'
The burning in her fingers was nothing. Mrs
Macquarie's Point in Sydney Harbour was where
they'd gone on their first date, and where Chris had
proposed to her two years later, on New Year's Eve, as
fireworks blasted into the sky. If he was going there to
walk and think, how could it not be to do with their
marriage? She had the sudden image of herself coming
home from work one day to an empty house.
Lachlan, Chris, everything gone.
As if picking up on her feelings, Lachlan started
to cry upstairs. Chris went up to him and Sophie sat
at the table with her lasagne.
I should ask him if that's what he's planning.
But what if he says yes? And what if he asks me a
question in return? Challenges me to tell the truth?
She put her face in her hands.
She looked up when Lachlan's crying subsided.
In the silence her pulse beat in her ears. She felt surrounded
by trouble, most of which she could do
nothing about.
She pushed her plate away and got up to grab the
phonebook.
Her friend Danielle Dawes was on duty in Royal
Prince Alfred's Emergency Department. Sophie
asked if she could find out the cause of death of Julie
Sawyer and her baby.
"I'll have to put you on hold while I phone
upstairs,' Danielle said.
Sophie sat Listening to what sounded Like a doorbell
version of'Greensleeves'. Damn Sawyer and his
drunken accusations. Being scared that she'd stuffed
up was Like being new to the job all over again, when
patients were a complete mystery and she was constantly
terrified that each one had some
life-threatening condition she was failing to recognise.
Had she missed something here?
'You there?' Danielle said.
Sophie started. 'What did you find out?'
'Looks like the mother died from an amniotic
fluid embolism.'
'Oh.' Some of the weight lifted from Sophie's
shoulders. On the rare occasions that amniotic fluid
crossed into the mother's circulation during the birth
it changed her blood so that it wouldn't clot. It could
happen in a hospital just as easily as at home, and
couldn't be foreseen.
'Yeah,' Danielle said. 'A mate of mine in theatre
said they were pumping blood into her as fast as they
could but she slipped away'
'And the baby?'
'She was on a ventilator and just arrested. They
couldn't get her back. They're not sure why. PM's
planned for the morning.'
It was an ugly thought, the tiny body being
autopsied. 'That poor father.' No wonder he'd gotten
drunk and tracked them down. 'Thanks, Dani.'
Sophie hung up, glad now that she hadn't made a
statement against Sawyer. Impulsive death threats
from drunks were nothing new anyway.
Chris came downstairs and poured himself a glass
of milk in silence. He glanced at her as he took the
carton back to the fridge and she thought she saw
wariness in his eyes.
/ should make a better effort. He might not leave if
things improve.
'So this Roth guy,' she said brightly. 'Is he really a
cop? Do you know him?'
'We did a course together once, I think.'
Sophie nibbled at the edge of her lasagne.'At that
car accident, I couldn't believe it when I recognised
Dudley-Pearson.'
'Can we not talk about this?'
'What's the matter?'
'I'm sick of hearing about the bad stuff in the
job. I have to listen to it all day at work, then when I
open a paper or turn on the TV it's there as well.' He
drained his glass. 'I don't need it from you too.'
Like I never have a stressful day. She scraped the
lasagne into the bin.'So you can talk to Dean but you
can't talk to me.'
'It's not Like that,' he said.
'What's it Like then?'
'I can't say'
'You mean you won't.'
He came close to her, anger in his eyes. 'I mean I
cant.
She felt the blood surging in her face. 'What's so
important that you can't even tell your wife?'
'Like you never have things you don't tell me?'
By force of will she kept her eyes locked on his,
but mentally she backed right off.
Chris stared at her. His dark eyes were flat,
unreadable.
If it's going to happen, it'll surely happen now. She
held her breath and braced herself.
But Chris only turned to the fridge, poured himself
another glass of milk, then went upstairs.
Sophie sagged against the table, tears blurring her
vision.

Wednesday 7 May, 11.36 am

Ella flipped dully through the photographs of the
ruined takeaway shop then leaned back in her chair
with a sigh. She was alone in the detectives' office

in Hunters Hill Station. Of the six separate desks in
the large room, four belonged to individual detectives
and the other two were piled with the various
dross that came with police work: forms mostly,
and manuals that explained how to do stuff in the
PC bureaucrat-speak that had taken over the
world. There was also a copy of today's newspaper.
It was open to articles about the anonymous caller,
Roth, the death of Duds in the crash, and a short
piece about the bank guard whose funeral was to
be held that afternoon. The statement by police
management about all these matters was exactly
what Ella expected: vague and brief. Investigations
were ongoing, nothing could be confirmed. Blah
blah.
Ella rolled up a scrap of paper and flicked it at
the ceiling. Fifteen years she'd been in the job. It
was funny, really, that she could recall every early
step -- the application process, starting then finishing
at the Academy in Goulburn, her first job on
her first shift -- but the last four years were a blur.
Sure she remembered moving into the detectives,
and there had been a couple of decent homicide
investigations she'd been part of (and naturally she'd
never be allowed to forget the one where she'd told
off Assistant Commissioner Shakespeare), but these
days she was tired and bored. Whatever life was
meant to be, surely it was more than this. Shouldn't
she wake up each morning with at least some
enthusiasm?
She spread the fire photos out and stood over
them but found no insight, no breakthrough--just
the throb of an incipient headache and the memory
of the stink of burned plastic.
One thing that wasn't helping her frame of
mind was what she'd overheard in the Jungle the
night before. People said that Strike Force Gold
was going to be widened in scope to take in the
crash that killed Dudley-Pearson. The Homicide
Squad would join in. Ella had been hit with the
thought that Dennis was the investigating officer.
In that light, his reluctance to talk made perfect
sense.
The phone rang. 'Detectives, Hunters Hill.'
'llrn, Detective Marconi please.'
'Speaking.'
'Hi, it's Edman Hughes, from the fire? I called in
yesterday but you were out. I was wondering if I
could come in and make my statement today?'

'That sounds fine, Mr Hughes.' Ella checked her
watch. It was almost midday. 'How does one o'clock
suit you?'
'That'd be good. Thanks.'
'See you then.' Ella put the phone down and
reached for a piece of paper. Steve, had to go out. Do us
a favour and grab a statement from this Hughes guy, please?
Thanks.
Detective Steve Clunes ran his life like clockwork.
The mornings he spent out, the afternoons in,
wherever possible. He liked to finish each day with
pages typed out and neatly collated. This morning
he'd been to see a witness in hospital and Ella knew
he'd be back soon. She left the note on his desk,
grabbed her bag and headed out the door. She might
not know what she wanted but she knew talking to
Edman Hughes was not it.

5.52 pm

The phone rang as Sophie walked into the ambulance
station. 'The Rocks, hello and good evening.'
'You nightshift? Your partner there?' a stressed
voice asked.
Sophie heard noises in the locker room. 'Yep.'
'I've got two people code seventeen, unconscious,
query not breathing, in Bourke Street,
Woolloomooloo,' the Control officer said. 'It's crazy
out there; this is the fifth OD call in the last half
hour.'
'Heroin?'
'Yeah but way strong. People all over are going
down and some aren't coming back up.' Phones rang
in the background.'Good luck.'
Sophie banged on the locker-room door. 'The
sick of the city await your loving care.'
Mick stuck his head out.The bruise on his cheek
was darker. 'Already?'
The roads were thick with evening traffic and
when they reached the scene a woman with purple
hair screamed in the dusky street, 'Where you been?'
There was no time to explain. Mick and Sophie
grabbed the equipment and followed the woman
into a narrow alley. There was enough light in the sky
for Sophie to see two figures on the ground. Closer
up she saw they were two young men, twenty years
old if that, both with the dark blue complexion of
the non-breathing. They wore dirty ripped jeans and
grubby T-shirts, and smelled like they hadn't showered
in a while. The one with the scruffy moustache
had vomit around his mouth. Sophie yanked her
gloves on and reached for his neck. 'Mine's in arrest.'
Mick crouched by the other one. The young
man's light brown dreadlocks were spread out around
him. 'Mine's still going.'
Sophie looked for the woman but she'd gone.
She grabbed the portable radio and called for urgent
back-up.
TO do my best,' Control said.
Mick injected naloxone, the narcotic antagonist,
directly into his patient's veins, while Sophie tore
open the dirty T-shirt and slapped the defibrillator
pads onto the arrest victim's skinny chest. The screen
on the monitor showed the wiggly line of ventricular
fibrillation. She charged the machine and hit him
with a shock. His body jumped but the monitor
showed no change.
Mick rolled his patient on his side and kept an
eye on him as he came over to help Sophie. 'Good.
My guy's starting to breathe up.'
Sophie charged the machine again. 'Clear?'
Mick let go of the arrest victim's head. 'Clear.'
This time the shock caused the man's heart to go
into the flat line of asystole. Mick started one-person
CPR while Sophie searched the scarred arms for
veins.'He's all trademarks.'
Mick paused in his CPR to poke his patient in
the ribs.'How you doing?'
There was no reply. Mick watched him closely
for a few seconds.'His resps are falling,' he said.'How
strong is this shit? I'm going to have to hit him again.'
Sophie found a tiny vein and quickly cannulated
it. She injected adrenaline and took over CPR while
Mick gave another shot of naloxone to his patient.
Sirens sounded in the distance. People wearing suits
and carrying briefcases walked past the end of the
alley, looked in and kept going. Sophie envied them
the end of their working day when hers was just
beginning. She compressed the skinny man's chest.
His ribs were bony, his skin thin. His head lolled.The
vomit on his face was drying. The chances of getting
him back were slim, but he was so young. They had
to try.
'There you go,' Mick said. His patient coughed
and tried to get up. 'Relax for a moment, mate. Just
sit tight.'
The man shoved Mick's hands away. 'Fuck off'
'Listen, mate, you were almost dead.'
'Bullshit.' The man staggered to his feet and
headed out of the alley. The sirens drew closer.
Mick followed him. 'What'd you take?'
'Nothing.'
'That's good,' Mick said. 'The Narcan won't have
any effect then.'
'You din't give me that shit? Aww.' The man
threw a punch at the brick wall as he lurched along.
'Fuckin' bastards.'
'What about your friend?' Sophie shouted but
the man turned the corner into the street and was
gone. Sophie shook her head as she compressed her
patient's chest.Addicts hated Narcan.They didn't care
that it saved their lives; it ruined their high and meant
they had to go out and beg, borrow or steal enough
to buy another hit.
Mick took over squeezing the bag, inflating the
arrest victim's lungs. Sophie paused in her compressions
to inject another bolus of adrenaline.They were
watching the monitor screen, hoping for a reaction,
when the back-up crew arrived.
They took the man to St Vincent's, where he was
declared dead on arrival. A nurse searched his clothes
but found no wallet or identification. He was logged
in as 'Unknown male'.
In the ambulance bay Sophie found Mick
restocking the drug kit. He said, 'That crew was saying
there's been nine overdoses today and this is the
third death.'
'Last week was bad too,' Sophie said. 'Remember
we did that group of four friends in the Cross?'
Mick nodded. 'Supply's outstripping demand.
They don't cut it down so far and everyone drops
from the purity.'There was a crackle from the car
radio and Mick paused in his restocking, packaged
syringes in his hand.'Are they calling us?'
Sophie shook her head.'Car fifty-one.'
'Good,' Mick said.'So what'd you do today?'
'Home stuff, you know.' She started changing the
oxygen cylinder in the Viva.'You?'
'I got a call from Central Coast Control, wanting
me for a radio shift up there tonight.'
'Another one?'
'That flu's still doing the rounds of the staff' He
shoved the kit back into the vehicle. 'I would've liked
the overtime but it's kind of hard to be in two places
at once.'
'Just a bit,' she said.
Mick started to say something then his mobile
rang and he moved down the driveway to answer it.
Sophie tightened the cylinder connection and
thought about Chris.
When Lachlan had woken at six that morning,
Chris got up to him. Sophie appreciated the sleep-in,
especially prior to nightshift, but when she'd finally
crawled out of bed at eleven she'd been surprised to
find they were out. By midafternoon she was sitting
by the front window with her mobile in her hand.
She wasn't going to call Chris. He could call her and
tell her where they were. Or come back and get her,
seeing as he had the car, and they could continue the
outing together. As a fucking famlly.
By the time she'd started getting ready for work
she had herself believing he was definitely leaving
her. He was that very moment signing the lease on a small two-bedder near his mum's place, picturing the
smaller of the bedrooms as a nursery, planning to hire
a trailer to move the cot and everything else that
night. She'd come home in the morning and find the
house empty, a scrawled note giving his new address,
because that was only fair, but nothing else.
When the car pulled into the driveway she stayed
in their bedroom, ramming the metal buttons into
their holes on her shirt, yanking on her epaulettes so
hard she tore the stitching on her sleeve.
Chris burst in the front door.'Guess what!'
Sophie debated what to say.
'Lachlan walked!'
She came to the top of the stairs. In the hallway
below Chris was propping Lachlan against the open
front door then backing away a few steps and calling
to him. Lachlan's shirt bore food stains and the knees
of his trousers were filthy. He laughed at Chris, then
up at Sophie, but stayed clinging to the door.
'So I missed it,' she said.
'He'll do it again.' Chris gathered him up. 'Good
sleep?'
'Where were you?'
'We went to the zoo.' Chris nuzzled Lachlan's
neck. 'And what did we see? Monkeys, seals, tigers--'
'Why didn't you take me?'
'You were sleeping.'
'I don't sleep all day' She came down the stairs.
'What did he eat?'
'I took some formula, and some of those Heinz
jars from the cupboard.'
'They're all desserts.'
'He liked them,' Chris said.
Sophie could smell Lachlan's nappy before she
reached them. 'He needs changing.'
'I know that,' Chris said. 'I'm not totally useless.'
Sophie bent close to her son, laying her cheek to
his sticky one. He grasped at her hair and she kissed
the top of his head.'I have to go.'
Now, turning the regulator on to check that the
new oxygen cylinder was full, she was ashamed to
think that was how she'd left things. When she'd
headed out the door she'd said 'Bye' and from the
kitchen where he was feeding Lachlan, Chris had
said the same, but they hadn't kissed or even looked
each other in the eye.
In the morning she'd buy croissants on the way
home, and maybe they could all snuggle in bed for a
while, and she'd ask Chris to tell her every Little detail
about Lachlan's first steps.
The radio crackled.'Car Thirty-one.'
'Here we go,' she called to Mick.

They did four cases on the trot. First was a drunk
who tried to cross the Cahill Expressway and got
multiple fractures for his trouble; then a screeching
teenage girl who'd been glassed in the face by
another girl over a boy; then there was a Korean
tourist who spoke no English but seemed to have
chest pain, at least according to his hand gestures.The
next call was 'person query dead' in bushes in Hyde
Park, no other information given.
Mick eased the ambulance up the kerb from
Macquarie Street and drove along the central path
past the Archibald Fountain. The ambulance's sidelights
illuminated the grass, shiny with damp, and the
pale trunks of the figtrees. Beyond them much of the
park was dark. They'd obviously arrived before the
police. Mick shook his head. 'I will never understand
the inconsistency of calling the ambulance but not
waiting long enough to point the patient out.'
'Probably found by someone up to no good.'
'Yeah, but what do they think we're going to do?
Chase after them and force them to give us their
name?' Mick flicked the headlights on high and put
the foghghts on for good measure. A path led off to
the right by a sculpture and its own small fountain.
Mick drove onto the grass and in the headlights
Sophie spotted two feet under the low branches of a
shrub.
She called Control to say they were on scene,
then she and Mick got out either side of the ambulance.
Sophie crouched with a torch and Mick
peered over her shoulder into the bush.
'Goner,' Mick said.
'Reckon.'The half-open eyes and the pale purplish
colour of the young woman's face gave it away.
Sophie touched the bare back of her wrist to the
stockinged ankle between the brown leather shoe
and the long skirt. Her skin was only slightly warm.
'I'll call it in,' Mick said.
Left alone with the girl, Sophie looked at her
more closely. She had smooth blonde hair tied back
with a black scrunchie. Above the skirt she wore a
white shirt and a loose brown jacket. Her shirt had
pulled out of the skirt, revealing a narrow band of
tanned stomach. The left sleeve of the jacket was
pulled up, exposing a fresh injection mark on the
inner aspect of her elbow. An empty syringe with
needle attached lay by her side. What looked like a
handbag strap with its ends cut was wound around
her arm. On the ring and Little fingers of both hands
she wore gold rings, and around her right wrist was a
tight-fitting gold bracelet with a nameplate. Sophie
couldn't see the name.
'Not the usual heroin death,' she said when Mick
came back.
'Posh people take the stuff too.'
'Yeah, but not usually in the bushes in parks.' In
her experience the rich ones took it home and did it
with friends. Rumour was you could get good
money by selling naloxone black market because the
rich ones knew the risks and wanted to be safe, so
they bought the narcotic antagonist for their friends
to hit them with if the worst happened. They had
profitable day jobs in places like the stockmarket and
the fashion industry and they wanted to get up in the
morning. 'See what she used as a tourniquet?'
Mick peered in. 'Handbag's gone though.'
'Looks like it.'
'There's your caller then. No wonder they didn't
want to hang around and show us where she is.
Lowlife.'
The bracelet and rings were probably too tight to
get off quickly. Sophie felt protective towards the girl,
sorry that she was dead and that someone had robbed
her as she'd lain there. 'I guess we should be grateful
they took the time to call at all.' She flicked the torch
off to give the girl some peace.
'I bet the cops will be ages.' Mick leaned an elbow
on the ambulance bonnet. 'Wish I had some coffee.'
Sophie rested her folded arms on the bonnet
beside him. The clouds were bright with the city's
glow. Somewhere out there somebody was worried
about this girl who hadn't come home. Sophie wondered
why she was here. If you were trying the drug
for the first time, wouldn't you be with friends? And
even if it wasn't your first time, why choose this
lonely spot?
Bats flew overhead. There was a breeze and she
could smell damp earth and leaves. Insects flew at the
spotlights directed at the sculpture and the small
fountain. Despite their glow it was dark under the
shrubbery.
'Hey,' she said. 'How did she see to inject herself?
It's pitch-black in that shrub.'
'Maybe she did it in the daylight.'
'She's not that cold.'
Mick looked again towards the body. 'Hm.' He
took the torch and moved closer.
'Don't. It could be a crime scene.'
He squatted and shone the torch about. The light
glinted off something in the undergrowth.
'Don't touch it.'
'I'm not touching it,' he said. 'It's one of those
keyrings with a torch built in.' He stood up again.
'Hold that in your mouth, angle down at your arm,
and vofla.'
Sophie didn't Like to think about it.
'Wow. This is what I call service,' Mick said.
Sophie turned to see two police cars crossing the
dark lawns, their beacons going. 'Why two? And why
lights?'
Mick's mobile rang. 'Mick Schultz,' he answered.
'Yes . . . God, really? Are you sure? . . . Of course.
Yes, they're here now. Okay, yes.' He hung up.
Sophie's stomach lurched at the look on his face.
'What is it?'
Mick took a moment to clip his phone on his
belt. The police cars drew closer. Their lights threw
alternating red and blue beams across Mick's pale face.
'Mick?' Sophie said.
'You should prepare yourself.'
She thought she'd never heard such a stupid
statement from him. 'What are you--'
'It's Chris. He's been shot.'
'That's not funny'
'Sophie, I wish I was joking.'
The police cars pulled up beside them. The
whole world was now blue and red. Sophie stared
at Mick then heard the car doors open. 'Mrs
Phillips?'
She turned to face them.The looks on their faces
told her it was true. Her mind teemed with questions
-- where, how, why -- but two stood out. 'Is Chris alive? Is Lachlan okay?'
A sergeant came closer. It was Hugh Green from
Wynyard. He took her hand. His palm was clammy
'Chris is alive. He's in Royal North Shore.'
She waited but he didn't say any more. 'Is he
okay? Is he conscious?'
Hugh's gaze was steady but he hesitated before
lowering and softening his voice. 'He was shot in the
head.'
Sophie couldn't breathe.'Is -- is Lachlan hurt?'
His hand tightened on hers.'We can't find him.'
'No,' she said.
'We're so sorry,' he said, a crack in his voice.
'No,' she said again.
Another officer came forward. 'We'll take you to
see Chris.'
'Where did it happen?'
'At your home.'
'Then take me there,' she said. 'I have to find
Lachlan.'
'We've searched the house.'
TO search it again.' She hurried to the back of
the police car. Hugh climbed in the front and the
other officer got in the driver's seat. The crew from
the second car stood with Mick, who looked
stricken. Behind him was the shrub where the dead
girl lay. Sophie had no room for pity now, only the
tight grip of her own fear.'What happened?'
'We don't know.'The police radio crackled and
Hugh turned it down. 'Your neighbour found Chris
lying in the doorway. Paramedics came and took
him. Everybody searched -- we're still searching -- but
so far there's no sign of Lachlan.'
The officer at the wheel turned on the lights and
siren as they came out of Hyde Park over the kerb
opposite Market Street and pushed into traffic on
Elizabeth Street.
'Didn't anyone hear it?'
'Nobody we've talked to.'
The driver ignored the no-right-turn sign at
Park Street and raced down onto Druitt.The beacons
flashed off the shopfronts.
Sophie felt along her uniform belt for her
phone and dialled a number.'Gloria, is Lachlan with
you?'
'No, he isn't,' she said. 'Why--'

'Something bad's happened. You'd better come
over.
Gloria started to say something but Sophie hung
up on her. She needed to think. She sat with her
phone in her hands as the car shot across Anzac Bridge and into Rozelle.
This could not be true. She was dreaming, or
unconscious in a car crash, and she would wake up
from this nightmare soon.
Or if it was true they'd get there and somebody
would come running forward with Lachlan howling
in their arms.
She pressed trembling into the corner of the seat.
Lachlan could not really be gone.

FIVE

Wednesday 7 May, 10.59pm

Sophie couldn't get warm, even after Sergeant
Hugh Green lent her his leather jacket and
turned the car heater up high. She wrapped her arms
around herself and shivered inside the creaking
leather as the car sped into Gladesville.
At her house a man and a woman waited on the
driveway. Sophie was out before the car fully
stopped. The woman came forward.'Sophie Phillips?
I'm Detective Ella Marconi.This is Detective Dennis
Orchard.'
Sophie shook the woman's hand. She was on the
short side, about forty, with dark hair and dark eyes.
The male detective was taller, older, and skinny.
Behind them all the lights were on in her house. 'Did
you find him?'
'Not yet, I'm sorry'
Police with torches searched neighbouring gardens
and talked to residents on their doorsteps.
Sophie drew a long hitching breath. 'I want to check
the house.'
'Mrs Phillips, we've been over the entire place,'
the female detective said. 'The best thing you can do
for now is talk with us. As your house is a crime scene
we've arranged to use your neighbour's, and when
we're finished you can go to see Chris.'
Sophie tried to swallow. 'Have you heard any
news about him?'
'I spoke to the hospital not long ago,' said the
male detective.'The doctors are looking after him. As
soon as we're done here we'll have someone drive
you over there.'
Sophie walked with them reluctantly. She fought
the urge to get down on the ground and sniff the
grass for a trace of Lachlan. She wanted to scream and
grunt and moan. She wanted to roar through the
shrubs and undergrowth on her hands and knees,
scrabbling after her beautiful innocent son.
She squeezed her arms to her chest as they went
next door to Fergus Patrick's house. When Sophie
saw the retired cop his face crumpled.
'I can't believe I heard the shot and didn't realise
what it was,' he said as they followed him inside. 'I was
watching TV and I thought the sound was on the
show. It wasn't until I went to the bathroom that I saw
light coming from your place, because your front door was open.' He started to cry. 'I should know a silenced
gun when I hear one. That little pop sound . . .
Sophie, I'm so sorry. If I'd gone straightaway I might
have stopped them. I might have saved Lachlan.'
They sat in Fergus's living room. The smell of
warm dust rose from the heater in the corner but the
room felt as icy as the air outside. Fergus put a tray of
coffee things on the table then went out with his
head down.
Sophie took short shallow breaths. She looked at
the detectives. These were the people in charge of finding
her son. She'd already forgotten their names. The
woman put her notebook on the table and flipped the
cover open. Sophie examined her face, her direct gaze,
and wondered if a case Like this was Like a code nine for
a paramedic -- the ultimate bringing of order to chaos.
She half expected platitudes Like paramedics often used, Like she'd used herself, saying to dying patients that they
were doing really well that everything would be okay,
because to say otherwise was inviting panic. She looked
at the male detective, who dropped his gaze to the coffee
cups. 'Take sugar?' he said.
Sophie could hear her watch ticking on her
wrist. 'We should be out looking.' Her voice didn't
sound like her own.
'We'll do this as quickly as we can, Mrs Phillips,'
the female detective said.
Sophie fought against the growing terror in her
mind. She put her hands by her sides and clutched
the frame of the chair.
'Mrs Phillips, is there any chance that Lachlan
might be with a babysitter?'
'Chris's mother, Gloria, minds him when we're
both at work.' Sophie let go of the chair with one
hand long enough to wipe her eyes.'When Chris has
days off he takes Lachlan everywhere he goes.'
'Where does she live?'
'She's got a unit in High Street in Epping. She's
coming over.'
'Is there anyone else who could have him? Your
parents?'
'Both dead.'
'Chris's dad?'
'He hasn't been around since Chris was little.'
'Does Lachlan have any aunts and uncles?'
She shook her head.
'Friends, neighbours?'
'None that would just take him.'
'Maybe Chris asked them, maybe he had something
to do, somewhere to go.'
'No,' Sophie said flatly.'Like I said, they go everywhere
together.'
There were cries outside. Sophie started, then
sagged back.'It's Gloria.'
The male detective got up. 'I'll talk to her.'
The woman leaned forward across her notebook.
'I'm sorry to have to ask this, but have you or Chris
ever had an affair?'
'No.'The thing with Angus was far from an affair.
'No affairs.'
It had occurred to her already that maybe this
was a kind of karmic payback for cheating and lying. Okay, I'll do anything, she offered up. I'll confess to
Chris. I'll pay with my life. Just bring him back.
A cup of coffee sat before her. She wrapped her
hands around it. The heat from the coffee didn't
spread beyond her palms, and she was afraid to take
even a sip because she was sure she'd immediately
vomit it up. She tried to relax her clenched jaw but
her teeth started to chatter.
'What time did you leave for work this evening?'

'At four-thirty,' Sophie said. 'I caught the four
forty bus up Victoria Road to West Ryde Station,
then the train to Circular Quay'
'How was Chris when you left?'
'We weren't really speaking. We'd had an argument.
He was probably over it ten minutes after I left.
He would've been playing with Lachlan and they
would've been happy as clams.'
'How was he earlier in the day?'
'He was out for most of it. He got up about six,
when Lachlan woke up, and I stayed in bed. I didn't
see him again until the afternoon. He said they went
to the zoo/ Sophie said. 'That was when we argued.
There's been stuff on his mind but he'll never say
what it is. I think it's to do with being assaulted a
couple of months ago. Though the robberies really
bother him too.'
The detective studied her. 'Why's that?'
'He went to the last one and tried to save the
guard, but the man died,' Sophie said. 'Then the
guard's wife turned up and was screaming and sobbing.
And he's hurt by the stuff the media says, about
how the cops are slack because they can't catch them.
That sort of stuff weighs on his mind.'
The detective tapped her pen on the table. 'You
asked him specifically what was wrong and he
wouldn't say?'
Sophie nodded. 'He's always saying some things
can't be helped by talking about them.'
The detective made a note.
'But it's always about work. See, he wants morale
to be good and police to be enthusiastic and the

community to respect you all,' Sophie said.'He hates
being abused on the street, hates being hated. He's
doing his diploma in Adult Ed because he wants to
work in the Academy, where everyone's still keen and
enthusiastic'
'So Mr Patrick told me,' the detective said.'Okay.
Can you think of anyone with any reason to attack
Chris or your family?'
'Like I said, Chris was bashed a couple of months
back, while on duty-' Sophie started up out of her
chair. 'There was this man, at my work. Oh my God.
How could I have forgotten? His name's Boyd
Sawyer. His wife was in labour. We were called to his
house but there were complications.The mother and
baby both died.'
'When was this?'
'Yesterday morning. And then in the afternoon
he tracked us down in the ambulance and punched
my partner.' Sophie shivered.'He told me I killed his
family'
'Can you remember his address or his car rego?'
'He drives a blue BMW, I don't know the plates.
He's a plastic surgeon,' Sophie said. 'They live in
Glebe Point Road, right down the end by the water.
And yesterday Senior Constable Allan Denning from
Wynyard arrested him for DUL'
Sophie watched the detective go to the door and
call her partner over. They had a brief conversation,
then he handed her what looked like a sheet of paper
in a plastic sleeve before he hurried off.
Sophie heard car engines outside roar to life and
tyres squeal away. 'I keep wondering whether he's
hungry now. Whether he's warm enough. He's going
through a clingy stage and he'll really be screaming.
They won't know how to comfort him. He needs us
and he won't understand why we don't come when
he cries.' Sophie wiped her eyes. The skin around
them was sore.'He's so little and so helpless.'
'Mrs Phillips, I need to show you something.'The
detective slid the plastic sleeve across the table. 'This
note was found with your husband.'
Sophie read: Keep your mouth shut if you know
what's best.
'Does that mean anything to you?'
'Not a thing.' The letters were black and sharp
against the white paper.'If it's Sawyer, why would he
leave that?'
'It might not be Sawyer.'
'Then who?'
'We don't know yet.'The detective took the note
back and looked at it herself. 'We'll test this for fingerprints,
and we can find out the brand of paper and
hopefully what kind of computer printer it came
from. Crime Scene's examining the house for evidence
too,' she said. 'We've got a big team on this
case, Mrs Phillips. We'll find him.'
Sophie shivered.

Thursday 8 May, 12.05 am

Sophie stared at Chris's motionless face. He lay
unconscious and on a ventilator in Royal North
Shore Hospital's Intensive Care Unit. The clear plastic
tube was tied into his mouth with white cloth
tape and his bare chest rose and fell in time with the
machine's hiss and beep. His head was swathed in
bandages. He had two black eyes and his nostrils were
thick with dried blood.
Gloria held Chris's left hand to her forehead and
muttered through her tears. Sophie gripped his right
hand. Her fingers had automatically crept round his
wrist to settle on his pulse. The smell of blood and
antiseptic was so strong she could taste it. It reminded
her of her training weeks spent in theatre, of the man
who'd also been shot in the head, the way the surgeons
sweated and swore over him. He'd died.
A doctor in surgical scrubs came into the room.
'I'm Pete Jones.' He held out his hand to Sophie. His
eyes behind his glasses were tired.
Sophie introduced herself and Gloria.
The doctor nodded. 'Any word on your little
boy?'
'Not yet.'
He squeezed her shoulder silently.
'How was the surgery?' Gloria said.
'It went extremely well. The entry wound was
just above the bridge of Chris's nose but the bullet
didn't penetrate to his brain. It deflected through his
sinuses. We were able to remove it without much
trouble and so the entire surgery was much shorter
than we'd envisioned.' He hesitated. 'We found on
the CT scan that there's a contusion to the frontal
lobes. Because of this, plus our suspicion that he may
have been hypoxic before the paramedics arrived,
we're concerned about neurological damage. We'd
like to keep him in an induced coma for the next
twenty-four hours, just to give him a chance to rest
and begin recovery.'
'But if he remembers who attacked him, it could
help find Lachlan,' Sophie said.
The doctor pursed his lips. 'If he remains stable
overnight, I'll consider starting to reduce his sedation.'
He left the room.
Gloria smoothed the blankets over Chris's legs.'I
always wanted Chris to be a doctor.'
'I know.'
'He's smart,' she said, 'he just didn't want it
enough. But maybe this is a sign. After all, doctors
don't get shot in their own homes.'
'People get shot all the time, everywhere. No
matter who they are,' Sophie said.
Gloria carried on as if she hadn't spoken.'A doctor
earns enough money for his wife to stay home
with his children.'
'Chris loves his job and I love mine,' Sophie said.
Gloria turned away, inspecting the face of the
ventilator.'I don't know if these figures are right.'
'The staff know what they're doing.' Sophie
raised Chris's warm hand to her cheek. She'd hoped
maybe now, at a time like this, she and Gloria might
actually support each other, but it didn't look like
that was going to happen. A little voice in Sophie's
head suggested maybe Gloria was so anxious over
Lachlan she had no choice about how she behaved. A
louder voice was having none of it. She had to get
out.'I think I'll go.'
Gloria dragged her plastic chair closer to Chris's
bedside. 'Yes, you go. I'll keep an eye on things here.'
Sophie bent to her husband's face. His lips were
open around the tube and she caught the stale smell
of his dry mouth. His face was pale where it wasn't
bruised. His eyes were slits in the swollen flesh. 'Wake
up and talk to me soon, honey. We have to find our
boy.' She kissed him. 'Love you.'
In the corridor she took a moment to wash her
hands. The water splashed onto the sleeves of
Sergeant Green's leather jacket. The police had let
her take the car from the garage when she insisted
she drive herself over, but hadn't allowed her into the
house to get any clothes. She liked the jacket - its
creaking bulk and leather smell reminded her of
Chris. She still couldn't get warm though.
At the lift she got out her mobile and the business
card the female detective had given her.
The detective answered on the first ring. 'Ella
Marconi.'
'It's Sophie. Is there any news?'
'Nothing yet, I'm sorry,' she said. 'How's Chris?'
Sophie told her what the doctor had said.
'Hopefully he'll wake up in the morning.'
Ella said, 'Have you thought of anyone else who
might have a grudge against you or Chris? And can
you tell me more about that bashing?'
'It was a couple of months ago, when he was
working with Dean Rigby. There've been no threats
or anything made since, though. Well, not that he's
told me.'
'Okay, thanks.'
Despairing, Sophie hit the lift button with her
fist. 'What did Sawyer have to say?'
'We're having some trouble locating him, actually,'
Ella said. 'But I'll let you know the second we
find anything out.'
The lift was empty. Sophie stood in the centre
and sobbed.

12.10 am

The team of thirty-four detectives crowded into
Gladesville Station's Incident Room. Most had been
called in from home, some no doubt from bed, but
Ella saw no bleary eyes and no barely hidden yawns.
A missing kid, his cop dad shot: this was a case to be
wide awake for.
The possibility that Chris might die, plus the
high-profile nature of the case, meant Homicide was
running the show. Dennis was in charge, and he
looked up from the desk at the front of the room
where he was shuffling papers and gave Ella a wink.
She squeezed her hands into fists behind her back,
hoping her excitement didn't show too clearly on
her face. It was not right to be so thrilled when
tragedy was unfolding, but there you had it. It was a
lining up of the stars: Dennis being assigned the case and given the option to choose his number two, and
whoever the bigwig signing the paperwork was, he'd
miraculously agreed. Perhaps not everyone liked
Shakespeare after all.
On a table in the corner stood three boxes full of
A4 colour flyers. Lachlan's details were across the top
of his photo, and a list of police phone numbers was
on the bottom. Fergus Patrick's son ran a print shop
and he had had them ready before Ella and Dennis
had left the old man's house.
Behind Dennis was a TV on a stand. A digital
camcorder was connected to the TV. Along the other
walls stood blank whiteboards and desks with
phones. A computer hummed in a corner, its screen
showing the investigation coordination program
desktop.
'Okay, folks,' Dennis said. He introduced himself
and Ella. 'We're going to make this briefing short but
thorough so we can get out there and find who did
this.'
People had notebooks and pens ready.
'Around 2200 hours Senior Constable Chris
Phillips was shot in the face by an unknown assailant
in the doorway of his home in Easton Street,
Gladesville,' Dennis said. 'His ten-month-old son is
missing, believed taken by that same person. Phillips
was found by a neighbour at 2215, unconscious. He's
had surgery and the bullet's on its way for examination,
but of course it will be some time before we
know anything definitive there. The doctors believe
he'll remain unconscious for some hours yet. We're
hoping when he does wake up he'll remember
something.'
Dennis passed some flyers around. 'The baby's
name is Lachlan. There's no sign in his room or elsewhere
in the house that he's been injured. Crime
Scene found a lot of fingerprints and hair and fibres
they have to compare. We also have this note.'
Ella handed out copies.
'We don't know what this is about,' Dennis said.
'Phillips's wife, Sophie, says that he's been upset by
the gang robberies and the bad press we've received
over them.'
'Any chance Phillips was the person who called
the TV stations yesterday?' a detective asked.
'Makes sense,' another detective said. 'The caller
promised to tell more. "Keep your mouth shut"
could be a warning to zip it.'
'That's a possibility we're going to look into,'
Dennis said. 'Also, Chris was assaulted while on duty
two months ago. We're not aware of any threats since.
'Now,' he went on, 'Lachlan's mother Sophie's
whereabouts for the evening have been confirmed she's
a paramedic and was working. The only other
family is Chris's mother, Gloria, and she looks to be
in the clear too.'
'Chris or the wife not having an affair?'
'Not as far as we know,' Dennis said. 'Two days
ago when Sophie was at work she had a mother and
baby die in an emergency birth. The father, a man by
the name of Boyd Sawyer, later threatened and
assaulted her and her work partner. We're looking for
Sawyer now.'
'Why abduct the baby?' a detective asked with a
frown. 'If you wanted to wipe out her family in
revenge for the loss of your own, why not just kill the
child there?'
'We have to hope the baby is still alive somewhere,'
Dennis said. 'If it was Sawyer, he might have
dumped the child or passed him on to somebody.
Same applies, of course, if the abductor is someone
else. Babies are easy to hide but can be tricky to
disguise. One possibility is that they cut all his hair
off, or perhaps dress him as a girl. Keep these points
in mind when you're out there.' He looked around.
'Questions so far?'
They shook their heads.
Dennis turned on the TV and started the video.
'Okay. Here we have the front of the Phillips house.'
The screen showed an open front door. In the hall
beyond it a flight of stairs was on the right side, a passageway
leading to the kitchen on the left. The light
in the hall shone down on the bloodstained carpet.
'There's no sign of damage to the door so we believe
that Senior Constable Phillips opened it in response
to a knock.You can see there is a peephole, so he may
have known the person, or he may simply have been
unconcerned about whether the person posed a risk.'
The camera moved up the stairs and across a
landing to the baby's room and rumpled sheets in a
cot. 'We believe a blanket was taken along with the
baby,' Dennis said.'Possibly to muffle any crying.'The
camera went closer. In the corner of the cot lay a
small, soft toy duck.
'The rest shows the layout of the house.' The
camera moved through the main bedroom, a spare
room with a made-up bed, a tiny study, and the bathroom,
then went back downstairs and briefly showed
a living room, dining area and kitchen. The screen
turned to snow and Dennis turned it off. 'Okay. We
have a lot to do, a lot of people to talk to. It's the middle
of the night, so some might not be too happy
about being disturbed, but just remind them of the
urgency of the case.
'Tasks,' he said, looking at a list in his hand.
'Kemsley and De Weese, I want you to look into that
assault on Chris, and check out his work generally,
see if anyone's been released recently who held a
grudge against him, what cases he's done lately.'
The men nodded.
'Eliopoulos and Lunney, get in touch with the
Strike Force Gold people, find out if Chris's name has
ever come up in any of their investigations into the
robberies, and whether they've found out anything
about the caller to the TV stations. Eddington, Rossi,
Tranter, Clark and Curtis, back to the scene and the
canvass of neighbours. McAlpine, you go with them
but first check out the neighbour, Fergus Patrick. Ex
Victorian copper, apparently. He found Chris and
raised the alarm . . . Just in case, you never know.'
The detective nodded.
Dennis continued. 'Sugden, get in touch with
Telstra and set up a trap and trace on the Phillips
phone. If you have any trouble, call me. If someone
rings with a ransom demand, we need to know. Kim
and Herbert, check for known sex offenders in the
area. Fenwick, you're on the computer. I want every
last detail logged in.'
There was a knock at the door and a uniformed
officer opened it and looked in. Dennis motioned for
Ella to go.
In the corridor she pulled the door to.'What is it?'
'They've found that doctor.'
'Sawyer? Where is he?'
'He was overdosed in his car near the
Meadowbank Wharf. Paramedics revived him then
took him to Ryde Hospital. Ryde general duties
officers attended and realised who he was. He wants
to make a complaint about someone drugging him.'
Ella thought quickly. 'His car's still at
Meadowbank?'
The officer nodded.
'Send Crime Scene,' Ella said.'Tell them we'll be
down shortly. Call the uniformed officers and ask
them to keep him at the hospital until we get in
touch. We don't know yet if he's involved in this but
we've got to play it safe.'
Back in the room Dennis was saying to a pair of
detectives, '-for recent baby deaths, especially any
possibly unbalanced parents.' He looked around.
'Okay, is everyone clear on what they're to do? Take
a wad of these flyers as you go. We want this city plastered.'
He looked at his watch. 'Call in with
developments, otherwise we'll meet back here at five
am. Let's get to work.'
Detectives grabbed handfuls of the colour flyers
then hurried from the room.
Ella told Dennis about Sawyer and what she'd
arranged. 'So we can check out the scene before we
talk to him.'
'Good thinking,' he said, taking a sheaf of flyers for himself. 'Let's just hope he didn't drop that baby
in the river before he took the overdose.'

12.40 am

Even though the fan in the Commodore's heater rattled
when switched to high, Sophie couldn't stand
anything less. She clung shivering to the wheel with
her chin tucked inside the zipped-up leather jacket.
She reached down to adjust the seat again, then up to
the mirror. Nothing felt right. She'd found a bottle of
water in the glovebox among a bunch of paper towels
and receipts and tried a sip, but it was as if she'd
forgotten how to swallow and she'd had to cough it
out.
The driver's window was halfway down in a balance
between keeping warm air in the car and
listening for a baby's cries. She kept the high beams
on despite oncoming cars flashing theirs because she
needed to see every gloomy alcove on every building,
every dark alleyway entrance and every hidden
stairwell. It was illogical, irrational, to think she might
find him this way, but at least she was looking.
She'd left the hospital and gone back to
Gladesville to drive around the empty suburban
streets, seeing only police cars on their own search.
She'd then come into the city. After years spent flogging
around it in ambulances she knew it better than
the back of her hand. She started at The Rocks, doing
the loop of Hickson Road first, then searching the
smaller sloping streets on the western side of the
Bridge.
In High Street she saw a man pushing a stroller.
As she drew abreast of him he glanced at her with a
frown. She drove past and made a U-turn then came
back. He squinted in her high beams and she saw the
blanketed form and the dark hair of the infant in the
stroller, and in a second she yanked on the handbrake
and leapt from the car. 'Let me see that baby.'
'What?'
'Show me the baby'
The man put the stroller behind him. He looked
at her car then back at her jacket. 'Are you really a

cop?'
'What's it look like?'
'Show me some ID then.'
Sophie stepped closer, craning her neck. She
could see the shock of dark hair again. Her skin
prickled and she reached out.
The man jerked the stroller further away and the
baby started to cry. 'Don't you'
'Just let me see it.'
'Get away from us.' His eyes were wide, his face
pale in the streetlight.
'There's been a report of a child abducted,'
Sophie said, 'so I need to see that baby's face.'
'Where's your police car and your partner?'
'If you want me to call for back-up I will.'
The man started to run awkwardly, pushing the
stroller. The baby cried out.
Sophie ran after him.'Stop right there.'
A couple of lights went on in nearby houses.
The baby's cries were muffled by the blanket but
Sophie was increasingly sure it was Lachlan.Why else
would the man run? 'Stop! Police!'
'Help!' the man cried.'Help!'
More house lights went on.
'Call the police! He stole my baby!'
'He's my baby!' the man cried.'This chick's nuts!'
He stumbled and almost fell. Sophie caught up to him
and he darted sideways to a house. He seized the
screaming child from the stroller and hugged him high
against his chest, his back to the front door. 'If you
come near us I'll kick the shit out of you,' he gasped.
Sophie stayed out of range, staring at the struggling
bundle in his arms. 'Just show me.'
'No way'
Back down the street her car idled on the roadway.
People in dressing-gowns and pyjamas stood on
the footpath looking in their direction.
Red and blue flashing lights revealed the
approach of a police car before it turned into the
street.
Sophie didn't dare go to the kerb to meet the
officers in case the man ran away. They came up
behind her. 'What's the problem here?'
She recognised the voice. 'Allan, it's me.'
'Sophie?' Senior Constable Allan Denning
touched her arm.
She took her eyes from the man with the baby
for a split second. 'You heard what happened? This
man won't let me see the baby and I think it might
be Lachlan.'
Allan stepped over to the man.'Show us.'
'Why the hell should I?'
'Listen,' Allan said. 'This woman's husband was
shot and her baby kidnapped tonight. I can understand
she frightened you but I'm sure you in turn can
understand her behaviour.'
The man looked at Sophie. After a moment he
lowered his arms so the baby's face became visible. It wasn't Lachlan. Sophie felt a wave of nausea and
turned away.
She'd left her driver's door open and it was cold
again in her car. She turned the heater down one
notch to ring Ella.
The call went to voicemail. 'Please tell me you
have some news,' Sophie said after the beep.
Allan crouched by her window. 'I'm sorry it
wasn't him.'
"Me too.' Sophie wiped her eyes.
'The guy's okay,'Allan said.'Told me the baby was
crying so he came out for a walk. Said he's sorry, but
he thought you were a nut in a stolen uniform wanting
to take his bub.'
Sophie held onto the steering wheel. 'I told the
detectives about Sawyer.'
'I know, they rang me,' he said. 'We charged him
with low range PCA yesterday and he's due in court
in six weeks.'
'Did he say anything else about us? About me?'
Allan looked down the dark street then back at
her. 'He kept saying you killed them. At least he did
until his solicitor arrived and made him shut up.'
'I have to go,' Sophie said.
'What are you doing--just driving the streets,
looking?'
'Yes.'
'Us too,' he said. 'But you shouldn't tell people
you're a cop.'
'I didn't. He just assumed I was.'The lie came so
easily. 'I don't have another jacket with me but I'll
give it back as soon as I get one.'
'Okay' He reached in the open window and put
his hand on her shoulder. 'Be careful.'
On the eastern side of the Bridge approaches she
drove back and forth, covering the grids of the
streets, slowly moving south. She shone a torch from
her window along the buildings for any places her
high beams missed, and prayed aloud, 'Please, God,
please, God, please, oh please, God.'

12.47 am

The wind off the Parramatta River was cold. Ella
hunched her shoulders as she and Dennis crossed the
Meadowbank Wharf carpark. On the black water
two police boats motored about in the current, spotlights
reflecting off the surface. She guessed there
were divers out there, searching in the dark by feel,
the object of their hunt worth the danger of diving at
night. She wondered how they coped with the tide
hauling at them, and for that matter how they
thought they'd find a baby's body close to the area
where he might have been thrown in. Turning
upstream she saw more lights. Well, okay. So maybe
they were looking all over.
'Sharks in there,' Dennis said.
'Thanks.'
The carpark was divided in two by a concrete
railway bridge. The larger area contained only three
cars. Dennis wrote down their plate numbers. A passageway
just wide enough for two cars led
underneath to a second, smaller parking area. It was
poorly lit and hidden from view from the wharf.
Sawyer's BMW sat in the far corner. It had been
found by a woman walking her dog. She'd dragged
the animal to the public phone on the wharf, screaming
that a man was dead behind the wheel of his car.
The car's dark surface gleamed under the lights
that Crime Scene had set up. They ran off ear
busting generators. Dennis said something Ella lost in
the noise. 'What?'
He leaned closer. 'Nice Beemer.'
Crime Scene officer James Mooney came over.
'Got a few things to show you. Here's one.' He held
up an evidence bag containing a baby's dummy.
'Found it down here.'
They followed Mooney around the BMW to the
kerb and Mooney pointed to the gutter with a
chubby finger. There was a collection of dead leaves
with a pool of dirty water banked up behind it.
'Lying in that.'
Ella looked around. It was conceivable that some
parent or child could have dropped the dummy
while stepping off the kerb. It was simple to see how
Sawyer might have dropped it too. Manhandling the
baby, the dummy gets dropped at some stage, kicked
accidentally into the gutter, Sawyer never sees it and
gets back into his car. In Ella's peripheral vision the
black water loomed.
'Looks pretty new,' Dennis said.
Mooney nodded.'If it's not from our kid, I doubt
it's lain here more than a day or so.'
'Name on it?'
'Couldn't be so easy,' Mooney said.
'No chance I can show the mother, I assume?'

Ella said.
Mooney shook his head.'I want to get testing for
DNA and prints.' He went to his car and dug
through a box in the back. Coming up with a battered
old Polaroid camera he took a quick snap.
'Show her this.'
'Anything in the car?' Dennis said.
The navy BMW's doors were open, the interior
light on. Fingerprint dust coated most surfaces. Ella
imagined how it was when the paramedics pulled up,
with Sawyer slumped in his leather seat behind the
wheel. She wondered what the dog walker might
have seen if she'd come along a little earlier.
'Found this on the driver's floor.' Mooney held
up another bag.
It was a slim one millilitre plastic syringe, the
kind that came with an orange cap over the short
needle, the kind Ella saw on streets and in houses all
over the city. Hospitals, doctors' surgeries, diabetics
and drug addicts all used them. Sawyer could have
taken it from his own practice or got it when he
bought the drugs.
'We'll print it and see what we get,' Mooney said.
'Also found some hairs in the carpet and on the seats;
none that look juvenile though. Then there's this.'
Mooney pointed to the rear bumper, where a dent
held traces of white paint.
'Hel-lo,' said Dennis.
'There's no report of it having been in a bingle,
but I'm leaning towards the white being automotive
paint rather than any other kind. We'll have to wait
for the lab results to be sure,' Mooney said.
Dennis squatted for a better look. 'Nice and fresh.'
Anyway' Mooney didn't go on. It was his way of
ending a conversation.
'Okay,' Ella said.'See ya.'
'Thanks,' Dennis added, standing up.
Ella slipped the photo of the dummy into her
pocket as they headed back under the railway bridge.
The boats churned the water. 'Think Sawyer'll stick
with his story?'
Dennis started the car. 'It'll be interesting to see.'

1.10 am

Sophie crawled so slowly along the empty back
streets of Surry Hills, the car threatened to stall. She
slipped the clutch and shone the torch out the window,
scanning dingy apartment block entryways and
tiny junk-stacked terrace-house patios. A grey cat
sprang away from the gutter, startling her. A wavery
quarter-moon gave her little help.
She turned left through a stop sign at an empty
intersection. Down the street an ambulance was
parked next to a small playground. The ambulance's
sidelights showed the paramedics crouched beside a
man who lay propped up on his elbows on the grass,
and Sophie recognised the male officer as Mick.
She stopped behind the ambulance and ran
across the park. Mick and his fill-in partner, a paramedic
named Keeley, were washing dirt from a
wound in the patient's leg. The patient inhaled
methoxyfLurane deeply. When Sophie reached them
he smiled at her. 'Hey babe.'
Mick looked up.'Sophie?'
She burst into tears.'They can't find Lachlan. I've
been out driving the streets, I scared some poor man
half to death, I can't think what else to do.'
Mick handed the saline bag to Keeley and
walked a few metres with Sophie. 'Listen. I was just
about to call the cops. That patient told me he came
down here from his flat to sit on the swings and
drink. He couldn't sleep because someone turned up
tonight at his neighbour's flat with a baby who won't
stop crying.'
Sophie grabbed his arm. 'Where's he live?'
'It might not be Lachlan.'
Sophie hurried to the patient. 'Where do you
live?'
He grinned at her, happy as a clam on the
methoxyflurane. 'Up there. Fourth floor.'
She followed his nod and saw a tall apartment
block. 'Where's the crying baby?'
'Flat four-twelve.'
Sophie started across the street.
'Wait up,' Mick said. 'Let me call the cops.'
'Do what you like but I'm not waiting.'
Sophie heard him tell Keeley to radio for police,
then he came running after her. He caught the door
to the building.'It'd be safer if we waited.'
Sophie didn't answer, saving her breath as she
took the stairs two at a time. She heard Mick press
the timed light switch and hurry after her.
The stairwell stank of urine, cooking oil and stale
cigarette smoke. Empty beer cans stood in the corners
of one landing. Canned laughter came from a
flat on the second floor. The timer switch clicked off,

plunging them into darkness, but Sophie kept going,
her feet finding each step automatically.
'How are we going to do this?' Mick panted
behind her.
'Tell them someone rang about a sick kid.' "Me tell them?'
'I'm being a cop.'
'What?'
She felt primed and steely hard.Turning onto the
landing on the third floor she checked the zip of the
police jacket. She could hear the baby crying now
and her scalp prickled. The child was going hoarse.
Was it him? Was it Lachlan?
On the fourth floor landing Mick pressed the
light switch and she saw that flat four-twelve was
three doors along. She knocked on the door.
A man's voice answered.'What?'
She gestured at Mick. 'Ambulance,' he said.
A muttered conversation was just audible over
the baby's cries.'We didn't call an ambulance.'
'We got a call about a sick child at this address,'
Mick said.
'We didn't call.'
'Well, someone did, and once we're here we have
an obligation to make sure everything's okay'
'Everything's fine.'
'We can hear the child crying,' Mick said. 'How
about if we come in for just one minute to check
him over? Then we'll be out of your way'
Another muttered conversation. Mick made a
face and pointed back down the stairs. Sophie
ignored him.
The man said, 'We don't need any help and we
want you to leave.'
Sophie stepped close. 'This is the police. Open
the door.'
'Police?' the man said.
'Open the door now.'
There was a long moment and Sophie thought
he was calling her bluff, then a security chain was slid
back and the door opened. Light flooded the landing.
Sophie saw a man dressed in black jeans and a
T-shirt, his arms folded, and behind him a woman
lying on a worn brown velour lounge with her arms
around a screaming blanketed bundle.
'Let the paramedic check the child and we'll be
on our way,' she said.
'Since when do cops and ambos get about
together?' the man asked.
'We do sometimes.' She walked in first. Mick followed
her. The woman on the lounge stared at them
with resentment. She was in her mid-thirties, with
tanned skin and straggly brown hair. The pale pink
blanket she held was worn and pilled. The baby faced
her so all Sophie could see was a tuft of dark hair.
Sophie's heart was racing. 'It's your baby?'
'Whose else would it be?'
The child cried. Mick said,'Just let me check him
quickly then we'll go.'
Sophie stood over the woman, her hands
clenched inside the jacket pockets, as Mick crouched
and reached for the baby.
'It's a her,' the woman said. She turned the baby
around and Sophie saw that it wasn't Lachlan. This
baby had a squinched-up face, and was younger than
Lachlan, probably by a couple of months, and there
was a portwine birthmark on her chin.
Sophie glared around the flat while Mick ran
through the motions of checking the baby's pulse
and feeling her forehead for fever. Her anger at these
people swelled in her throat. Their delay in opening
the door had built her hopes up and now she'd
crashed and burned.Who but people with something
to hide would behave in such a way? There was a
sleeping bag piled on one end of the lounge and
clothes thrown on the back of it. The grimy bench
between the tiny kitchen and this living area held an
open packet of homebrand biscuits, the end of a loaf
of bread, a full ashtray, a baby's bottle still one-third
full of milk, and a pile of newspapers. No sign of any
weapon or stolen goods, but Sophie was certain
there'd be some somewhere. She glanced at the way
the man shifted from foot to foot, and decided what
she'd do.
'Happy now?' the woman said.
Mick smiled at her. 'You know how it is, we have
to follow procedure or we get in trouble.'
'Thank you,' Sophie said, wanting instead to
scream and punch someone.
They met three police officers on the stairs.
Sophie said, 'It's not Lachlan, but there's definitely
something odd going on.'
The police thanked them and moved faster up
the steps.
On the street Mick said, 'You said that on purpose,
so they'd go up and roust them.'

'Didn't you notice how reluctant they were to let
us in?'
'It's after one in the morning,' Mick said.
'Someone comes knocking at my door when I
haven't called for help, I'd be suspicious too.'
Sophie didn't care. All that mattered was finding
Lachlan.

Thursday 8 May, 1.20 am



Dennis opened the door to the interview room
and Ella went in first. Boyd Sawyer got quickly
to his feet and shot his hand out, ready to shake
theirs. He was gaunt, like a long-distance runner who
trained too hard and too often. His palm was cold
and clammy, his eyes red and his face lined. He wore
dark pants and a grey shirt with the sleeves rolled up,
and he smelled of sweat and spilled alcohol and
somewhere in there Ella caught a hint of vomit and
maybe even urine. She put her hand behind her back
to wipe it on her trousers.
Dennis introduced them. Tears ran from Sawyer's
eyes. 'Finally someone's taking me seriously.'
Dennis motioned for him to sit down. 'Mr
Sawyer, we're sorry about your family.'
'Thank you.' Sawyer took a folded white handkerchief
from his shirt pocket and carefully wiped
his eyes. The skin around them looked red and
chafed.
'We'll do this as quickly as we can then have
someone take you home.' Dennis leaned forward and
put his hand on the man's arm. 'You need to be with
loved ones tonight, not sitting about here.'
Sawyer wiped his eyes again then put the handkerchief
down on his thigh, straightened his back and
drew a deep breath, the very model of a man deciding
to forge ahead as best he can. Ella narrowed her
eyes.
'We heard just a little about what happened
tonight,' Dennis said. 'Would you mind going
through it again?'
'I was abducted and drugged,' Sawyer said. His
speech was well mannered and his gaze direct. He
looked like a person who had high expectations of
the police.
'How did this come about?'
'My wife and daughter died two days ago, after
my wife gave birth at home. The paramedics . . .
well, I find it hard to be in the house since.'
'And tonight?' Ella said.
'Tonight I went out in the car, just to drive
around. Get out of the house.'
'Where did you go?'
'I don't remember. I think I was at a pub or bar
somewhere in the city, but that's all I can recall until
I woke up in my car surrounded by paramedics.They
told me they brought me round with naloxone, so I'd
obviously been given some kind of narcotic. Later I
vomited and it smelled strongly of alcohol. The doctor
took bloods so no doubt those substances will
show up, as will the sedative I suspect I was given.' He
ticked these points off on his fingers.
'Why do you think you were sedated?'

'I would have resisted the abduction otherwise.
Also, many sedatives have an amnesic effect, which explains why I can't remember anything.' He pulled
his right sleeve up higher and held out his arm. 'I
expect you'll need to take some pictures of the injection
site they used.'
Ella saw a puncture mark and a bruise inside his
elbow.'Are you left or right handed, Doctor?'
'Left.'
He could have injected himself. Ella went on,
'Were you injured in any other way?'
He blinked. 'Apart from the attempted murder
with the drugs?'
'Was anything stolen? Your wallet? We know they
didn't take your car.'
'No, nothing.' Sawyer looked puzzled. 'Surely
that hardly matters, in this context?'
Dennis bumped Ella's knee with his own under
the table.
'You don't recall meeting anyone while you
were out?' Dennis said. 'No memory of a face, a

name?'
Sawyer shut his eyes for a moment then shook
his head.'It's all blank.'
'Doctor, we checked your record before we came
in here,' Ella said.
He looked at her for a long moment before picking
up the handkerchief again. 'I knew that would
come up.'
'It's just procedure,' Dennis soothed.
Sawyer pressed the folded cloth to his eyes. 'It's
irrelevant.'
'I'm sure it is,' Dennis said. 'We need to clarify
things, that's all.'
'It was a short-term thing and I've touched nothing
since,' Sawyer wept. 'It was a mistake, I got
caught, I was punished, and that's that.'
'It's okay,' Dennis said.
'Morphine and pethidine. Nineteen ninety-one,
wasn't it?' Ella asked.
'Ninety-two,' Sawyer said.
Ella softened her voice. 'It makes sense to me,
actually. I understand that you were having personal
problems when you took the drugs before.The drugs
stopped the pain. And tonight was the same.You were
so full of rage, so angry that this woman who had a
hand in the deaths of your wife and baby should still
have her own family, that you were drawn back to
the needle. You can buy the stuff in bars, everybody
knows that, so you were there, buying the drugs and
drinking, and with a bit of alcohol under your belt it
suddenly seemed there were other things you could
do. Before you knew it you were at the Phillipses'
door.'
Sawyer looked up, teary-eyed and puzzled.
'Who?'
'Sophie Phillips is the paramedic who attended
to your wife.'
'What's she got to do with anything?'
'Her husband was attacked tonight and their
child kidnapped.'
Sawyer stared open-mouthed. 'You think I had
something to do with that?'
'Did you?'
'Of course not.'
'You told her she killed your wife and daughter, and said you wanted to kill her.'
He shook his head. 'I was drunk and grief
stricken.'
'And tonight you weren't?'
His mouth was a thin white line. 'I came here to
make a statement about a crime committed against
me, not to be accused.'
'We understand,' Dennis said, 'and nobody's
accusing you. Like I said before, it's procedure that we
check into a person's background.' He reached to
touch Sawyer's arm again.'Do you remember driving
to the wharf? Can you remember anything about the
bar you think you were in?'
Sawyer dabbed the handkerchief to his eyes.
'Nothing.'
'Do you recall your car being hit by another?'
'My BMW's damaged?'
'It's quite minor but if we can find out when and
where it happened, it may help us find the people
who drugged you.'
'I would certainly remember that. If I hadn't
been drugged, I mean.'
Ella folded her arms.
'Okay,' Dennis said. 'Well, I think we have
enough to go on with at the moment. Come with
me and I'll take a picture of your arm there, and a
hair sample, too.'
'What for?'
'We found some hairs in your car.They might be
from the people who drugged you but we need to
exclude yours first,' Dennis said. 'We already have
your prints on file, and are examining the car for any
your assailants may have left.'
'Oh. Okay'
'Then I'll find someone to give you a lift home.'
Sawyer followed Dennis into the corridor and
Ella stayed back in the empty room. It had gone
exactly as planned. Sawyer hadn't backed out, hadn't
called his solicitor, and now they'd have his hair and
his prints. If he left either in the Phillipses' house or
on the note, they had him.

1.45 am

Sophie sat in the car with one hand on the steering
wheel and the other over her face. It was cold and the
night pressed in on her. She was hyperventilating but
she couldn't stop. The tingling grew in her fingers
and it was hard to swallow and the city was so huge,
she could feel it stretching out around her, she felt
tiny and ineffectual and so, so alone.
She was just off Cleveland Street. The traffic was
busy even at this hour. The network of streets in her
mind spread out like veins in a body and she could
no longer decide which way to go.
She lowered her hand and looked out the windscreen.
A car passed, slowly. Its brakelights came on
and she hit the door lock with her elbow. When at
work on these streets she felt safe, confident. Now
there seemed nothing out there but threat.
The car moved off and she took her foot from
her own brake. Nothing was gained by sitting here.
She held the wheel in both trembling, tingling hands
and turned towards Randwick.
She pulled into the driveway of the familiar
house. The building was in darkness. She almost
tripped up the step, then knocked on the door. A
light came on deep inside and she knocked again.
There were footsteps, fast and anxious, then a light
went on over her head. She looked at the peephole
and heard a male voice say, 'It's Sophie.'
The door opened a moment later. Cynthia was
on the stairs in a dressing-gown, looking alarmed.
Her husband, Ray, stared out at Sophie. 'Are you
okay?'
Sophie burst into tears.
Their kitchen was warm but Sophie still shivered.
Cynthia sat rubbing Sophie's cold hands with
her own warm ones while Ray made coffee and
toast. Sophie told them what had happened and tears
welled in Cynthia's eyes. She leaned forward and
folded her arms around Sophie, who wept into her
shoulder, glad of the comfort.
When she sat back Ray put a plate of toast before
her then rested his broad hand on her shoulder in
sympathy. Sophie moved the plate away a little.
Coffee she could maybe manage. Toast, no way.
'Do you want us to drive you back to the hospital,
to be with Chris?' Cynthia said.
Sophie shook her head. 'I can't stay in there, I
need to be out looking.'
'But it's dangerous,' Cynthia said. 'It's a job the
police can do best.'
'I can't just sit and wait.' Sophie raised the coffee
cup to her lips then lowered it again. 'Doing nothing
lets the thoughts flood in.'
'And you've seen too much already, haven't you,'
Cynthia said softly.
Sophie remembered the time early in their
friendship when Cynthia, a midwife, had had a problem
with her pregnancy. She'd appeared at antenatal
class, pale and shaken, determined as ever, but said to
Sophie that at a time like this it might be better to
know less rather than more. Sophie wondered
whether the same applied now, whether her own
experiences with bereaved mothers and dead children
meant she could too easily picture herself in
their situation. But the job gave her good and important
things too: she knew the streets, she knew how
things worked in the hospital, she wasn't scared by
the tubes and machines that surrounded Chris.
What it didn't give her was knowledge about
specific places to look for Lachlan.
Cynthia rubbed her shoulder. 'Would you like to
stay here for the night?'
Or did it?
'Or if you want, if you give me a minute to get
dressed, I'll come with you, stay with you there,'
Cynthia said.
Sophie was already on her feet.
'Sophie?'
She had a plan. She couldn't carry it out until
daylight but its mere existence made her feel that she
had direction again. She would continue her crisscrossing
of the suburbs until the morning and then
the real search would begin. 'I have to go.'
'It's not safe,' Cynthia said. 'Ray'
Ray put his hand on Sophie's arm. 'Soph, sweetheart,
you're not thinking straight. Let me drive you
to the hospital, or stay here tonight and in the morning
we'll help you do whatever you need to.'
Sophie twisted out of his grip.'I have to go,' she
said again, and headed for the door.

1.47 am

Ella came out of the tea room and almost walked into
Acting Commissioner Rupert Eagers. 'Detective,' he
said.
'Sir.'
Eagers was dressed in a navy suit, white shirt and
tightly knotted light blue tie. Ella couldn't decide
whether he was on his way home from some late-ending
dinner or had dressed up to come in. He carried his
dress uniform on a hanger, covered by a plastic bag.
He hooked the hanger over the top of the tearoom
door. 'I'd like an update on the Phillips case.'
Ella explained the night's events and why they
were looking at Sawyer. 'He's got no record of gun
ownership however,' she said. 'That note doesn't
exactly fit in with him either.'
Eagers nodded.
'It's been suggested that Chris Phillips may have
been the caller to the media about the robbery gang
being police officers,' she said. 'If it was him, the
shooting and kidnap and note might have been to
silence him. Though, of course, we haven't been told
whether the caller was for real or a hoax.'
Eagers rubbed the back of his neck.'Did the wife
have any ideas about it?'
'She said Chris had been distracted lately and
upset about the bank guard's death. She couldn't say
whether Chris actually knew anything.'
The Acting Commissioner studied her. Ella met
his gaze straight on. His eyes were light brown, his
hair a shade paler again, and the overall effect was one
of sallowness. Then again, nobody looked their best
at this time of day.
'The caller is real,' Eagers said. 'He phoned me
before he rang the television stations. I advised him
not to but he was determined.'
'So who is he?'
'He wouldn't give his name but he knew enough
about the internal workings of the service to persuade
me he is, or has been, a serving officer,' Eagers
said. 'He was meant to call back but hasn't.'
Ella wasn't satisfied. Any ex-officer with a gripe
against the service could've made up the story. With
the books available and the information you could
find on the Internet, practically anyone could learn
how the job worked. Without a name to confirm the
caller's identity, nothing was certain.
Eagers went on. 'What protection do you have
on Phillips?'
'None.'
'You can't rule him out as the caller,' Eagers said.
'If he is, and if the gang members found out and set
out to stop him, they might strike again once they
learn he's still alive.' He cleared his throat. 'I'm sure I
don't have to tell you what a precipice we're standing
on here. The community will be looking to me -- to
us -- to lead the department out of the mire of corruption
and chaos Dudley-Pearson left behind. I
want you to impress on your team the importance of
being above reproach in every possible way. Everyone
will be watching. If things go bad and that child turns
up dead, I don't want people saying it's because of
corruption or that we should have worked harder or
we shouldn't have gone so softly on a witness.'
That child?
'This could be the big one for the service,' he
went on.'We play it right and we can shuck off some
of the grime. Play it wrong and we not only look
worse than ever, but I also have to explain to the government
why we should keep our budget.'
And he wouldn't get the big chair. Ella kept quiet.
Eagers shot his cuffs and looked at his watch.
'Media Liaison are arranging a press conference here
at six. I'd like both you and Detective Orchard to be
present, and Mrs Phillips too.'

2.29 am

Sophie's mobile rang. She grabbed it up off the passenger
seat. Detective Ella Marconi's number was on
the screen and Sophie braked hard in the middle of
the road. 'Did you find him?'
'I'm sorry, Sophie, not yet,' Ella said. 'Where are
you?'
A truck blasted its horn as it went round her on
the wrong side of the road. Sophie edged the car to
the kerb.'I'm in Waterloo.'
Ella had a brief muffled conversation with someone.
'There's an all-night cafe on Broadway, near
Victoria Park; can you meet us there?'
The cafe was warm and well lit. Sophie ordered
tea then asked the man behind the counter if she
could sit outside. He took a table and chairs out for
her. She sat with her back to the building and called
the hospital on her mobile, but Chris's condition
hadn't changed in the ten minutes since she'd last
rung.
She wrapped her hands around the steaming cup
and stared out at the street, thinking about her husband
and son, her family. Last year they'd come to
watch the lighting of the big Christmas tree in
Martin Place. Chris had held sleepy Lachlan high
against his shoulder and Sophie had slid her arms
around them both, watching Lachlan's face as he
stared open-mouthed at the coloured globes. Chris
had taken his tiny hand into his big one and sung the
Christmas carols softly to him, and Sophie had
watched with tears in her eyes.
The streetlights blurred. So many times she'd
looked after people who'd been through devastating
situations, tried to help and comfort them. She knew
now there was no comforting.
Ella and Dennis walked up. Ella pulled her coat
around herself and sat down.'How's Chris?'
Sophie's mouth was dry.'Still unconscious.'
Ella nodded. 'I need you to look at something.'
She placed a photo of an orange and blue dummy on
the table in front of Sophie.
Sophie grabbed it. 'That's Lachlan s.'
'Did you ever scratch his name into it?' Dennis
said. 'Or did it have any other identifying marks? A
manufacturing defect, something like that?'
'No, nothing, but I swear this is his. Where did
you find it?'
'How can you tell it's his?'
'Same brand, same colour, same pictures on it,'
she said. 'And you must think it's his too or you
wouldn't be showing me.'
Ella said,'Our problem is that if there's no name
or other mark on it to say it definitely does belong to
Lachlan, maybe it really belongs to some other child.'
'So what are you telling me?' Sophie felt as
though they'd given her hope and now were taking
it away again.'You never thought it was his? You just
wanted to show me to test out some theory?'
'It's not like that,' Ella said.
'You could have asked me on the phone what his
dummy looked like, you could have asked me that
along with a whole lot of different things so I wouldn't
have got my hopes up,' Sophie said. 'I could be out
there looking instead of sitting here wasting time.'
'It's not wasting time,' Dennis said. 'Every little
piece of information brings us closer to the answer.'
Sophie let the photo drop to the table. 'Lachlan
has one the same as this, he sleeps with it. There's no
name on it. Was there one in his cot, or anywhere in
the house?'
Ella shook her head.
'Then the kidnapper took it with him.' Sophie
tried to swallow back her nausea. 'Where did you
find it?'
'Near Doctor Boyd Sawyer's car.'
'So you've found him? What did he say?'
'He said he's not involved.'
'Can he prove that?'
'We're looking into his alibi.'
Sophie ran her tongue along her dry lips. 'Where
was his car?'
'Next to the Parramatta River at Meadowbank.'
The river. Sophie shrank inside the police leather
jacket.
'People are searching,' Ella said.
Sophie abruptly got up. 'I have to keep looking.'
Ella followed her along the street. 'You're out
looking, on your own?'
Sophie unlocked her car and got in.
'Let me get an officer to go with you.'
'I'd rather be alone.'

'It'd be safer'
'I'm fine.'
Ella put her hand on the car door.'Sophie, there's
a press conference at six at Gladesville Police Station.
Do you think you can speak?'
Sophie started the car.'I'll do whatever it takes.'

5 am

The Incident Room fell silent as Dennis walked in.
'Let's get started. Street canvass first.' He looked at
Detective Eddington.
The young woman checked her notes. 'Nobody
in Easton Street remembers seeing anything unusual.
While Fergus Patrick next door to the Phillipses
believes he heard the sound of a silenced gun going
off, nobody else recalls any such sound. The family
who live directly behind the Phillips house is overseas
at the moment and it's possible the abductor
accessed the Phillips yard through there, parking in
that street. A search has turned up no physical evidence,
however. One resident thinks she heard a car
stop in the street near that house but didn't notice the
time, or the time at which it left. That was it.'
'Nothing came up on Fergus Patrick himself,
either,' McAlpine said. 'Solid work record, couple of
honours, moved to be near family four years ago. Sees
the Phillipses like family too, apparently. He's just
brought in a new batch of posters.'
'Good,' Dennis said.'How'd Crime Scene go?'
'They have prints and hairs and fibres from the
house and will need samples from Chris and Sophie
to match.'
Dennis nodded. 'Sugden, how'd you go with the

phone?'
'Trace is set to go. No calls yet.'
'Kemsley, De Weese?'
'There are no recent complaints or threats against
Phillips, no suggestions of corruption. Two months
ago he and Senior Constable Dean Rigby were
assaulted by a suspect, Paul Houtkamp, after a chase in
Surry Hills. Houtkamp is currently on bail. We found
him at home and he said he was visiting a relative in a
nursing home last night. The staff there confirm that,'
De Weese said. 'Another man, Shane Brayfield, was
paroled last week after eighteen months for various
PCA and driving while disqualified offences. Phillips
caught him three times. We're looking into Brayfield
now.'
'Herbert, Kim?'
'There are two known sex offenders in the
Gladesville area,' Kim said. 'One has a penchant for
ten-year-old girls, the other for six- to eight-year-old
boys. Both have alibis. One was at work as a cleaner
and his supervisor confirmed they were together the
entire night. The other was picked up early in the
evening by officers in the Cross and was in custody at
the time.'
Dennis looked at the line of detectives sitting
with Lunney. 'How's that robbery angle look?'
Lunney sat forward. 'The strike force detectives
we spoke to said that Chris Phillips's name hasn't
come up in any of their investigations to date. A
check of his rostered days off shows they coincide
with all but the last of the five hold-ups, but with a
few thousand officers in the city it'd be a fair bet that
many would be in Chris's situation.'
Dennis nodded.
'On Tuesday the sixth, the day the calls were
made to the TV stations, Phillips was off duty,' the
young detective said. 'His wife was on day shift so he
was caring for their baby. Checks of their home
phone records showed he made a call at eight thirty
three to the recruitment section in HQ. Phillips left
the house some time after that and drove to his mother Gloria's unit in Epping, arriving at about
nine, and asked her to mind the baby. She said he
seemed tired but otherwise normal. He told her he
had to go into work but didn't say why, and said he'd
be back in about an hour and a half. She took the
child and he left.'The detective glanced along.'Jen?'
Detective Eliopoulos took up the story. 'Phillips
turned up at HQ at nine thirty-eight. Tracking him
on the CCTV system we know he went through the
lobby and to the lifts. Upstairs he went to the recruitment
offices. There he met with Senior Constable
Dean Rigby, who's worked in there since going off
the road due to injury. Rigby has confirmed that
Phillips called him earlier that morning. He said that
they are friends and that Phillips was upset over the
bank guard's death. They talked for about half an
hour, then Phillips is seen on the CCTV crossing the
lobby and leaving the building at ten-twelve. He got
back to his mother's place at half-past midday' The
detective looked around the table. 'We don't know
where he was for those two hours and twenty minutes
but that period covers the time at which the calls
to the TV stations were made.'
'Tomorrow we'll start the process of getting the
phone records of the TV stations,' Dennis said. 'Any
joy about the one in hospital? Roth?'
'Senior Constable Peter Roth,' Detective Bill
Simpson said. 'The bullet entered his left hip and he
has a fractured pelvis and intestinal injuries. He's on
painkillers -- not enough to affect his thinking, his
doctor said, but he keeps saying to the strike force
guys that he's in too much pain to talk. He's been
told about Chris and the baby and he showed no
reaction, except to deny knowing either Chris or
Sophie. But he and Chris did a course together two
years ago.' Simpson passed around a photo which
showed a class of police, twenty strong, half of them
sitting neatly along a bench with their fists on their
knees, and the other half standing at attention behind
them. Ella recognised Chris's dark eyes and broad
smile from the photos she'd seen in his house.
Someone had scratched an arrow in biro over the
head of the person sitting next to him, a slim-faced
man with a clipped moustache and a sharp nose and
chin. He stared directly into the camera and his smile
was bold.
'If Phillips was a member of the gang,' De Weese
said, 'and he'd decided to quit, it'd make sense that he
wasn't in the last robbery'
'Or maybe there were more than four in the
gang and they took turns on the jobs,' Herbert said.
'Chris couldn't go on the last one because he was
working.'
'Did you talk to Roth yourselves?' Dennis asked
Simpson.
'No, the Strike Force detectives did.'
'Ella and I will visit him later today' Dennis gestured
for the photo. 'Onto the baby'
'I'll start,' Laurel Macy said.'Dan and I began with
the bigger hospitals in the city and already have two
leads to follow up. First one: four months ago, staff at
St James Private in Rozelle caught a woman in her
early forties attempting to make off with a newborn
girl from the nursery. When spotted, she put the baby
down and ran for it, so we don't know any of her
details. The incident wasn't reported -- something
they won't fail to do next time, believe me - but they
say they've tightened security considerably. The staff
who got the best look at the woman are starting work
in a couple of hours and we're going back to see them
then.'
'The second one's a stillborn baby,' Detective
Daniel Farly said.'He was the first child of a young
couple and was born in Prince ofWales Hospital six
weeks ago. The mother checked out against medical
advice the day after the birth, and calls made by the
hospital's social workers have not been returned.
Apparently there was concern because the woman
had had some bleeding and might be in need of
care. The nurse we spoke to made a point of saying
it was peculiar that the couple had behaved this way,
when the husband should've known better, being a
paramedic'
'Patient confidentiality became a problem at this
point,' Laurel said. 'We whipped out the picture of
Lachlan and talked at length about his poor parents,
but they wouldn't come across with any details. The
hospital CEO starts work at eight, so we'll go back
then.'
'Nice work,' Ella said.'Sandy?'
Sandy Kameyama folded her hands. 'Steve and I
have handed out the baby's picture and talked to
people in service stations, train and bus stations, taxi
stands and every shop we could find open, heading
east and south from the Phillips house. Nobody saw
anything odd so we collected no CCTV footage.'
Ella nodded. 'Clinton and Travis?'
'We've done the same, heading west and north,'
Travis Henry said. 'Nothing to report so far.'
Ella nodded.
'About Doctor Boyd Sawyer,' Dennis said. 'He
says he was drugged and abducted over the hours in
question. We'll check his prints and hair against the
samples from the Phillips house, and also for anything
on the note that was left there. A baby's dummy was
found near his car, which Mrs Phillips says is the
same kind and colour as Lachlan's. There is white
paint and a dent on his bumper, so there's a chance
he's had an accident, but so far we've found no
reports of one. If we can find it, of course, it'll help
determine where his car's been. We don't have sufficient
evidence to arrest him, or even get a warrant to
search his house, but Miller and Lee are surveilling
him now. Hopefully in time something more will
come up.' Dennis checked his watch. 'Okay. Any
questions?'
'Has Phillips woken up at all?'
'The doctors have him sedated but we're hopeful
that will be turned off later today' Ella said.'In case he
is a target for the gang, we've posted a guard on him.'
'Mrs Phillips has had no more insight?'
Dennis shook his head. 'Anything else?' There
was nothing. He ran through the team, moving some
people from the almost-finished street canvass
around the Phillips house to the teams checking the
shops and places that had been open overnight.
Others were to look into the rest of the hospitals.
'We'll meet back here at eleven. Call in with any
news. Pick up some of the new flyers on your way
out. Good luck.'
Within minutes Ella was looking at an empty
room.
'We've got that press conference in ten minutes,
Dennis said to her. 'Then how about we go and see

Roth?'
'Oh yeah,' she said. 'Doesn't know Chris, my
foot.'



Thursday 8 May, 6.41 am



Sophie arrived at the hospital after the press conference
to find Chris's sedation turned off. The
head CT they'd done that morning had showed that
there was no further swelling and the contusion on
his frontal lobes hadn't increased. The next hour was
the test, as his body metabolised the drugs. He should
then start to come round, but nobody could say if he
would wake up alert, or if he might be confused -- perhaps permanently - or even that he would wake
at all.
She sat on the edge of her chair, staring at his
face. The tube was out of his airway and he was
breathing on his own. She squeezed his hand and
willed him to open his eyes.
Gloria had gone home for a shower and to feed
her beloved cats. Down the corridor a plainclothes
cop was drinking coffee and eating chocolate croissants
with the nurses. Without explaining why, Ella
had said his presence was necessary. The questions
posed in the press conference had left Sophie in little
doubt. She rubbed the back of her neck where
tension and anger had turned her muscles into hard
knots. How dare they suggest such things!
She leaned close to Chris. Hearing was the first
sense to return; even with no other sign that Chris
was aware, he might be listening. 'Chris, honey, it's
me. I know you can't move or speak. That's okay.You
probably feel confused too. You don't know where
you are and why'
She took a deep breath.
'Something bad's happened, honey. Someone
came to the door and shot you and took Lachlan.
You're going to be fine, even though you probably
hurt like hell. But I need you to remember what happened
so we can find our boy' She kissed his cheek.
'Some people are saying it happened because of the
robbery gang, you were part of it somehow, but I
know that you weren't. You are a good man and a
good cop, Chris. I trust you and I believe in you.' She
laid her cheek to his. 'I know you can hear me and
you're fighting your way up. The drugs are wearing
off and you can feel more of your body, you feel the
pain, you feel you're lying in a bed, you can hear me
talking. Open your eyes, Chris. I'm right here. Look
at me.'
He didn't move. His breathing stayed at the same
regular pace.
She straightened the fingers of his limp hand,
then rolled them into a fist.'They had a press conference
this morning.There were cops everywhere, they
all send you their best.' She thought about their hugs
and quiet words. Hugh Green had been there, tears in
his eyes. She'd given the jacket back but she missed it

now. 'I talked to the cameras about Lachlan, how
much we love and miss him. They were lined up in
front of me like . . .'They were like a firing squad but
she didn't want to mention guns now. 'Like a row of
big round eyes. I thought, the person who has
Lachlan might be watching. If I can make them see
how much we hurt, then maybe they will realise that
it's time for Lachlan to come home.' She flexed his
thumb. 'It's funny though, I don't really remember
what I said. The whole room was quiet, I remember
that, and I could hear how powerful my voice was. I'd
thought I'd be all quavery and nervous but I wasn't at
all. I talked, I don't know how long for, but at the end
I saw this man in the crowd, holding a microphone,
and there were tears in his eyes.' She paused, remembering.
'I thought, good, that's what we need people
to feel. Someone who feels that way will call the cops
when they hear a baby crying in their neighbour's
place where there's never been a baby before. They'll
remember Lachlan's big brown eyes from the photo
that was shown, and they'll spot him in a stroller in a
supermarket or somewhere and they'll find a phone
and before we know it he'll be home.'
She pressed her forehead to the back of Chris's
wrist. He smelled of iodine. The tiny hairs on his arm
moved to her blinking. 'Come on,' she whispered,
squeezing his hand gently, trying not to show him
how desperate she was. 'Wake up and tell me what
you know.'
Chris didn't move.
	

1.00 am

On the drive to St Vincent's, Dennis said to Ella, 'I
might leave you alone in there with Roth for a
while.' He glanced over at her. 'He fancies himself a
ladies' man, apparently.You never know, he might feel
inclined to unburden himself to you.'
Fat chance. In Ella's experience, even guys who
thought of themselves that way had certain criteria,
usually to do with looks and age. She doubted the
appearance by his hospital bed of a stocky early
forties woman with dark messy hair was going to
inflame Roth's desires one little bit.
The ward was busy with staff. Dennis went
through them waving his badge but nobody took any
notice. Roth was in a single room tucked away in a
corner of a corridor and Dennis knocked once then
opened the door without waiting for a reply.
Roth was half sitting against a stack of pillows.
His face was pale and skinnier than in the photo. He
needed a shave and there was a smell in the room that
reminded Ella of her grandfather's room when he
was losing his battle with cancer. The smell of a
sickbed lain in around the clock.
Roth folded his arms.'If it's visiting hours already
my watch is wrong and someone forgot to bring my
breakfast.' He wore green striped hospital pyjamas
with the thin cotton sleeve pulled up on his left arm
to leave an IV site exposed. A clear tube snaked from
his arm up to a pump and above it to a bag of clear
fluid with a bright orange sticker plastered on it. Ella
could make out the words antibiotic added.
Dennis stood at the foot of the bed, his own arms
folded. 'We need information.'
'No "hello", no "how you going"? Bit rude,
don't you think?'
Dennis shifted his weight so that his knee
bumped the bed. Roth grimaced. Dennis said, 'You
think baby Lachlan has time for pleasantries?'
Roth sniffed and looked towards the small window.
Ella looked too. She saw the edge of the White
City tennis complex. Further away, over the suburbs
of Bellevue Hill and Bondi, a grey smudge hung
motionless.
'So early and the smog's there already,' Roth said.
This time Dennis kicked the bed. 'You said you
didn't know Chris Phillips.'
'I don't.'
Dennis tossed the class photograph on the bed.
'Yet here you are, side by side.'
Roth picked it up. 'Oh, him.'
Dennis rolled his eyes at Ella. 'Lo, his memory
returns.'
'Just because they sat us like that in the picture
doesn't mean we were mates,' Roth said. 'Do you
know the names of everyone in all your courses?'
'What can you remember about him?'
'Nothing.' Roth dropped the picture. 'I recognise
his face now, and I can match his name to it, but that's
it. I don't know if he came out drinking with us
every night, what station he was from, even whether
we ever spoke.'
Dennis put the class photograph back in his
coat pocket, then tossed the photo of Lachlan on
the blanket. 'Here's his son, the one who's missing.'
'Yeah, they look the same around the eyes,' Roth
said.
'What do you know about his abduction?'
'Nothing. I told them that last night.'
Dennis threw up his hands.'I'm going for coffee.'
'Bring me back one,' Roth called as Dennis went
out the door. He smiled at Ella. 'You know I don't
buy this.'
'Buy what?' she said.
He didn't answer.
There was a low vinyl chair against the wall
opposite the window. Ella found it much less comfortable
than it looked. She leaned back and
pretended to be lost in thought, her elbow on the
arm, her chin in her hand. Roth plumped up his pillows
and closed his eyes.
There was the frequent sound of footsteps and
voices in the corridor outside but nobody came in.
Ella wondered how long Dennis would stay away. If
he came back soon they could admit this was a waste
of time and do something useful.
Then Roth spoke. 'You have no idea how high
this goes.'
She turned her head, still in her hand. 'Really'
'Those strike force Ds come around all the time,
asking who else is in the gang, saying if I don't give
them names I'm looking at life inside. They don't
seem to realise there are worse things.'
'Like having your kid nicked?'
'Or disappearing yourself.' Roth shifted position
in the bed with a grimace.
'Is that what you think will happen to you?'
Roth's eyes searched her face. She was used to
this kind of examination: police got it all the time
from dirtbags who thought they could get one over
on you once they found your weak spot. She was
good at the blank face, the bored little lift of an
eyebrow, the reflection of the gaze right back at
them.
'You love your job,' he said. 'I used to, too.'
Love? Hmm.
He closed his eyes and opened them again. 'I
used to think I could save people. I thought that was
our goal, more than catching the bad guys even.
Conviction, no conviction, what did it matter as long
as the innocent in the middle was safe?'
The room suddenly felt hot.

'But then you realise that most people in the job
feel differently. The bosses particularly. Sometimes
they're fixed on juggling the numbers so the government's
happy at the end of the year and hands over
more money so they can buy a new car. Sometimes
they just want good press, good image.' He raised his
eyebrows. 'Makes it hard, doesn't it?'
Ella managed a shrug.
'Anyway, I think it's good you still believe that
even the worst things can be made right. I hope you
can keep believing it when the truth comes out
about all of this and you see how far the corruption
has spread.'
'And how far is that?'
'How far have you got?' Roth looked at her in a
measuring way, then Dennis came in, slopping coffee
from a takeaway cup onto the brown linoleum. Ella
could have strangled him.
'Great,' Roth said.'Here I am, throat dry as a dead
dingo's donger after telling your little mate here
everything, and you forget my coffee.'
Dennis turned to Ella. 'Did he--?'
'Of course not.'
Dennis glared at Roth. 'You understand that you
can be made to talk.You can be locked up.Your pension,
all your benefits can be taken away'
'Like I haven't already heard that from the strike
force,' he said. 'Why threaten me with that when I
have nothing to tell you?'
'You're not still claiming to have been shot in a
street mugging?'
'Do you have any evidence to the contrary? Any
witnesses? Any CCTV film?'
Dennis pointed at the photo of Lachlan. 'All we
want is the baby'
'Well, I can't be one hundred per cent sure,
because I can't get out of bed to look underneath it,
but I don't think he's in here with me.'

Dennis's face went pinched and white around the
temples.'When that bullet they picked out of your butt
is found to match the bank guard's gun, we'll be back.'
'Why don't you get out there and look for the
baby instead of harassing innocent and injured
people like me?' Roth picked up the remote and
turned the TV on.
Dennis reached out and turned it off. The white
spots on his face were spreading. Ella checked behind
her to make sure the door was shut. Dennis leaned

over Roth, the cup of coffee trembling in his hand.
'You make me ashamed of the job.'
Before Roth could answer Dennis stormed from
the room. Ella followed. The door swung shut with a
bang behind them.
'He knows more than he's letting on.' Dennis
glared out the corridor window. 'I'd just hoped that
because he's a cop, even a rotten one, and because
Chris is a cop too . . .' He took a gulp of coffee and
grimaced. 'I hoped that the good guy in him would
come through.'
Ella realised she'd forgotten the photo of
Lachlan. 'I'll just be a minute.' She left Dennis frowning
down at the bustle ofVictoria Street and walked
back up the corridor.
She didn't knock and Roth didn't appear to hear
her come in. He was staring blankly out the window.
Lachlan's picture was in a different position on the
bed, as if he'd been looking at it then put it down
again. The expression on his face was one that Ella
had trouble labelling: a combination of anxiety, fear,
worry and something else. Terror?
She backed out of the door and closed it quietly
behind her.

Dennis was waiting by the lift. 'Did you get it?'
She shook her head. 'Maybe it'll work on him.'
The lift doors opened and they got on board. 'He
definitely knows something.'

They were getting in the car when Ella's mobile
rang. 'Marconi.'
'It's CUnton. We've got something.'
Ella fumbled for her notebook.'Go.'
'The checkout chick in the Ampol on Epping
Road said a woman in her fifties came in early this
morning and bought nappies. She came back about
ten minutes later, saying the nappies were the wrong
size and could she swap them.' His voice rose with
excitement and Ella had to move the phone away
from her ear. 'We watched the CCTV tape and you
see the woman's face pretty clearly. Plus she's driving
a light-colouredVK Holden Commodore and we've
got a partial on the numberplate. It ends in 487.
Travis is still on the system checking for cars but
we've got a possible hit: one's registered to a fifty-six
year old woman named Sylvia Morris. She's got previous
convictions for assault and resisting arrest when
police and DOCS workers took her kids into care,
and she lives on Herring Road, close to both the
servo and the Phillips house.'
Ella covered the mouthpiece and briefed Dennis.
He started the car and pulled into the traffic.
To CUnton she said, 'Get a couple of uniforms.
Watch the place but stay out of sight until we get there.'
'Will do.'
Dennis hit the lights and sirens and they accelerated
through the city, Ella's pulse rising even faster
than their speed.

8.00 am
Lachlan had been missing for ten hours.
Sophie stood on the kerb in Royal North Shore's
ambulance bay and looked out across the green lawn
towards the Pacific Highway, measuring out the time.
Two feeds.Three, maybe four nappies. Seven hours of
sleep, and the nice half-hour in the morning when
Chris would bring Lachlan into their bed. They'd
smile over his head as he rediscovered his toes. Then
he'd have playtime after breakfast when he'd pull
everything out of the toy box before deciding the
squeaky book was still his favourite.
Sophie's chest hurt. If whoever had him didn't
change his nappy as soon as it was wet, he'd get nappy
rash. And they wouldn't know how much zinc cream
to put on, or that after he was dressed again he'd
expect a game of peek-a-boo before being lifted off
the change table. He'd be scared and confused. He'd
be screaming for her.
She only dared to think of him being inadequately
cared for like this, keeping a tight hold on her
imagination to stop it wandering into the realms of
actual harm. That was straying too close to losing
control. If she slipped into that territory she'd be no
help to him at all.
She closed her eyes. She'd always thought that if
anything happened to him she'd drop dead on the spot. It was incredible that she was still standing, still
breathing.
And it was still too early to start on her plan. She
checked her watch again. It felt as though time had
stopped.
At the sound of an engine she looked around. An
ambulance pulled into the bay and she stepped out of
its path. Both paramedics were in the front, which
meant there was no patient on board. Sophie knew
Stuart, behind the wheel, and was good friends with
Yuri. He opened the passenger door and was out on
the asphalt before Stuart turned off the engine.
'Has there been any news?'Yuri said. 'Did the
cops charge the smackie doctor?'
Sophie shook her head. 'He says he didn't do it.'
'You know we were the ones who treated
him?'Yuri said. 'He acted all confused and said he
hadn't taken anything. Just like any other heroin
overdose.'
Stuart said, 'There's a used syringe on the car
floor, the guy's pupils are pinned, he's got the track
mark from hell in his antecubital fossa, and he's up
like a rocket from a shot of Narcan. Yeah - he took
nothing and I'm the Pope.'
Sophie was sweating. 'Did you see any signs
Lachlan might have been in the car?'
'No, nothing. We only found out about what
happened later when one of the cops at the hospital
told us why they were looking for him.'
Sophie tried to think.'But he'd definitely taken a
narcotic'
'Everything pointed to it,' Stuart said.'He'd been
drinking too. He puked it up all the way to Ryde
Hospital.'
Sophie didn't know any of the staff at Ryde, certainly
not well enough to ask the rule-breaking
favour of looking up Sawyer's blood results.
'How's Chris?'Yuri said.
Sophie shrugged and scratched her head, lowering
her face. Funny how you could hold things
together until a simple concerned look from a friend
did you in.
'C'mere.'Yuri folded her in his arms.
He smelled of sweat and takeaway food: the perfume
of a long night shift. Sophie remembered when
her biggest problems were dealing with drunks and
psych patients and the exhaustion of a fourteen-hour
night shift plus overtime. If she could go back to that,
she'd be the best wife and mother, the best paramedic.
She'd never complain about a boring routine
transfer or an argumentative drunk or a hypochondriac
bullshit call again. She'd never again wish
Lachlan would stop crying when she needed to sleep.
The sound would be music. She'd never again think
Chris should stop worrying so much about the
standing of the police service -- that was him, and he
was wonderful. She'd never so much as look at
another man. She would never take her family for
granted, not for one single second.
She clung to Yuri.
'It'll be okay,' he said.
Her mind strained at its leash. What if it isn't?
The Emergency Department doors slid open and
someone said, 'Sophie?'
It was Angus. For the first time since The Big
Mistake she didn't feel guilt on seeing him, as if losing
Lachlan pushed everything else into
insignificance.
'Chris is waking up.'


EIGHT

Thursday 8 May, 8.10 am

Chris struggled out of unconsciousness as though
it was a swamp unwilling to let him go. First he
heard people talking around him, then he managed a
moan, then he gathered the power to move his arms
and legs millimetres at a time. His head throbbed. His
eyes seemed glued shut. He couldn't breathe through
his nose and his throat was sore. And all the time
something black and nasty pulsed in his veins, something
that could surely not be true.
He forced his swollen eyes open. Sophie's tear
streaked face came into focus.The black thing in his
veins flooded his heart at the sight. 'He's gone, isn't
he?' he croaked.
Sophie burst into sobs and sagged onto his chest.
Chris struggled to slide his arm around her back. She
was alive, that was one good thing, and he swore to
himself he would keep it that way. He held her close,
feeling her body heave.
But Lachlan was gone and that was all wrong.
Chris knew that he was the one who should be dead
and Lachlan should be safe at home with Sophie.
Lachlan hadn't done anything. Lachlan wasn't the
one who should be paying.
Sophie said through her tears, 'Can you remember
anything?'
Chris turned his pounding head. The room was
full of people and they were all looking at him.
Gloria wiped her eyes; beside her Angus Arendson
wore civvies and an anxious look, and doctors and
nurses checked equipment or just watched.
He raised a shaky hand to the aching wound on
the bridge of his nose. 'I opened the front door and
saw a man in a black balaclava.'
Sophie caught her breath.
'He had a handgun. It had a silencer on it.' He saw
again the mouth of the barrel.'That's all I remember.'

'Nothing else?'
He hesitated. What should he say? What was
right? More importantly, what was best?

8.12 am

Sylvia Morris's house was a sprawling, shabby, lowset
brick place on Herring Road in North Ryde.
Clinton pulled up in front of it and Dennis parked
behind him. Ella scanned the low fence, the patchy
lawn, the struggling garden. There was no sign of
movement. In contrast, the neighbours' curtains were
already twitching.
They met at the foot of Morris's driveway. With
Clinton and Travis were two uniformed officers. Ella
felt for her gun in its holster. Dennis said, 'Everyone
ready?'
They nodded.
'Okay
The uniforms headed around the rear of the
house with Clinton. She and Dennis and Travis
walked steadily to the front door. There were three
cracked concrete steps up to a patio coated in worn
pebblecrete. A dead plant in a faded green plastic pot
stood forlornly in a corner. A screen door had hung
in the doorway once but only the broken hinges
were left now. The door itself looked flimsy and the
blue paint was split and peeling. There was no peephole.
Ella undipped her holster. Travis was breathing
quickly behind her. Dennis edged up to the curtained
window.
She banged her fist on the door. 'Police! Open

up!'
Silence.
She banged again, harder. 'Sylvia Morris, this is
the police! Open the door!'
There was a shuffling sound. Ella tried to envisage
what was happening in the house. Behind her
Travis bounced on his toes. 'Want me to kick it?' he
whispered. She held up a hand.
There was the click of a turning lock and the
door opened as far as the security chain would allow.
A short woman with eyes hooded like a lizard's
peered out. 'It's a bit early'
'Are you Sylvia Morris?'
'Yeah.'
'Detectives Marconi, Orchard and Henry' Ella
gave a cursory flip of her badge wallet.
Sylvia Morris closed the door and slid the
security chain free. The door swung open unassisted.
She stood with her arms folded, her face blank. She
wore navy tracksuit pants covered in grey pilling, and
a worn white top advertising the 2000 Olympics.
The word Sydney was printed in faded multicolour
across her chest. She looked tired, resentful, and older
than fifty-six.
'You were at the Ampol service station on
Epping Road last night,' Ella said.
'Was I?'
'You're on the closed circuit TV footage.'
Morris rubbed the top of her bare right foot
with the heel of her left.
'You bought nappies then took them back and
swapped them for another size.' Ella could feel Travis
leaning close behind her, feel his desire to get into
the situation. She nudged him back with her elbow.
'Who were you buying nappies for?'
Morris glanced over her shoulder into the living
room. Following her gaze Ella saw a neat room.
There was a single recliner chair upholstered in
once-white vinyl, and beside it an upturned milk
crate with a tea towel over it held the television
remote control and a folded TV Week. In what she
could see of the kitchen the benches were clean and
bare. Against one wall of the hall stood a bookcase
containing six ragged Mills and Boons in a neat row.
There were no kids' toys to be seen. No sign that
anyone else ever came here. One chair: Ella guessed
Morris didn't often entertain friends. But why had
she looked back?
"Is there anyone else here?' Ella saidKatherine Howell

Morris cleared her throat but didn't speak. Just
then there was a burst of talk from the side of the
house, and Clinton came running round to the front
door. 'There's a baby in the back room.'
'Is it your baby?' Ella asked Morris.
Morris didn't answer. For Ella that was reason
enough to go in. Travis stepped on her heel as they
crossed the threshold. Dennis veered off into the
living room with Clinton and the uniforms. 'Check
the place over, make sure there's nobody hiding
anywhere.'
The hallway was dim. The floorboards creaked.
Overhead an uncovered bulb hung on a cord; Ella
heard Travis flick the switch but the light didn't
come on.
The first room was on the left. There was a fist
sized hole in the outer layer of the door. Ella opened
the door cautiously and saw a single bedstead with
rumpled purple sheets and a grubby quilt. Travis
crouched to look under the bed.
The next door was open and revealed a small
bathroom with blue tiles on the floor and a cracked
shower screen.
The final door was closed. A sticker on it declared
that someone had a great time at the Royal Easter
Show of 1979. The knob was white china decorated
with painted flowers. Ella turned it and looked in.
The room was small and empty except for a bare
single bed mattress on the floor. On the stained surface
lay a baby. It was swaddled in a beach towel and
lay face down, its head turned away from Ella. Its hair
was dark.
Ella held her breath as she crouched by the
mattress.

'Is it him?'Travis said. 'Is he alive?'
Ella picked the child up. It was warm and moved
in her grasp. The enormity of her relief made her
want to sob out loud. She brought it close to her
body and as she and the baby came face to face it
opened its eyes. They were blue.
'It's not him.'
'You sure?' Travis came closer. 'Don't all babies
look the same?'
'Lachlan s eyes are brown.'
'Maybe they put contacts in to make him look
different.'

'Baby contacts?'The child started to whimper.
Ella laid it down on the mattress and unwrapped the
beach towel. The baby was wearing only a nappy. It
kicked its legs and cried. Ella undid the tabs on the
nappy. 'It's a girl.'
'It's not hers, though, is it?' Travis said as Ella
rewrapped the baby in the towel. 'A fifty-six-year-old
woman having a baby would've been all over the news.'
In the living room Morris sat in the recliner, her
feet together on the thin grey carpet, her hands
grasping the chair's arms. Dennis stood beside her, his
arms folded. Clinton and the other uniform were in
the kitchen.
Clinton held up a plastic pack of nappies and a
receipt.
Ella said, 'It's not Lachlan.'
She stood before Morris with the baby snuffling
in her ear. 'You want to tell me whose baby this is?'

Morris picked at a hole in the vinyl.
Ella felt rage building inside her. 'We're looking
for a kidnapped child.' Her words were clipped and
hard.'The longer we spend dealing with you, the less
time we have to do that.'
Dennis's phone rang and he walked outside to
answer.
Morris pulled foam from the hole in the chair,
studied it intently for a moment then pushed it back
in. Ella fought an urge to kick her in the shin. 'The
station then.'
Morris got up without a word.
Ella cradled the baby close, feeling the soft hair
brushing against her cheek as the child wriggled. She nodded to a uniformed officer. 'First call the station
and get a detective who's not on the team sent over.
Get an ambulance round here. Go with them to the
hospital and have them check this baby out. Call
DOCS too. They can meet you at the hospital.' She
handed the baby over and walked outside.
Travis followed her onto the patio.'Can't we stay

with it?'
'Our job is Lachlan.'
'But what if the cases are somehow linked? What
if this is, like, a baby black market, and that's why she's
not talking?'
'Doubtful. She's probably helping a friend hide
from DOCS.' Ella went down the steps to where
Dennis stood on the lawn, putting away his phone.
He gave her a thumbs-up. 'Chris is awake and
remembers the attack.'

9.03 am

Sophie sat on the side of the hospital bed, her fingers
interlaced with Chris's. Her need for contact with
him was like a thirst. She could feel it low in her
throat. She wished the detectives would get their
questions over with so she could climb onto the bed
properly and wrap her arms around him.
'Did you notice what colour eyes and skin the
man had?' Ella said.
'Don't remember the eyes,' Chris said. 'He was
Caucasian.'
Ella scribbled notes. 'Height, weight?'
'About my height,' Chris said. 'A metre eighty.
Average build, I guess.'
'Clothing?'
'Something dark, but all I can really remember is
the balaclava.'
Dennis said, 'He was alone, is that right?'
'I didn't see anyone else.'
Sophie watched Gloria pace beyond the closed
door of the hospital room. Angus had left. Passing
nurses glanced through the window.
'Notice any vehicles? Hear anything strange
before he knocked on the door?' Ella looked up. 'He
did knock, didn't he?'
'I saw no vehicles, I heard nothing unusual at all.
I was about to go up to bed. The knock came and I
didn't look through the peephole, I just opened the
door and there he was. He didn't say anything, just
raised the gun.'
Dennis leaned forward in his chair, his elbows

"
on his knees.'His eyes weren't familiar in any way?'
'No.'
'Have you received any threats recently?'
'No.'
Sophie moved closer to Chris so their hips
touched.
'Do you remember Shane Brayfield?'
'The drink-driver?'
Dennis nodded. 'He's recently been released. He
never made contact?'
'No, and I'd recognise his eyes.This wasn't him.'
'What about Paul Houtkamp? He assaulted you
and Senior Constable Dean Rigby a couple of
months back.'
'It wasn't him either.'
'Do you have any idea who might be behind
this?'
'No, I don't,' Chris said. 'Don't you think I'd tell
you that straightaway? Jesus.This person has my son.'

Dennis pulled a copy of the note from his
pocket. 'This was found on you.'
Sophie saw Chris turn pale as he read it.
'Any clue what it's about?' Dennis said.
Chris shook his head. 'None whatsoever.'
Sophie tightened her grip on his hand. So much
had depended on him remembering what had happened,
but now it was turning out to be next to
useless anyway. What had they learned? A white man
in a balaclava? How the hell did they find him?
Chris looked up at her with tears in his eyes.'I'm
so sorry'
She tilted her head to his. Having him awake and
knowing he wasn't brain-damaged was not only a
relief, it meant she could focus more strongly on
finding Lachlan.
Ella said, 'Chris, did you call the TV stations to
report that the robbery gang is made up of police
officers?'
He faced her. 'I did not.'
'Do you know anything at all about the gang?'
Ella said.
'I've seen their handiwork but I don't know who
they are.'
'Do you remember going to see Dean Rigby on
the morning of Tuesday the sixth? The day after the
latest bank robbery?'
'I was upset about it. I went to talk to him.'
Sophie squeezed his hand. He squeezed hers in
return.
Ella went on. 'Rigby said that you left shortly
after ten, but you didn't arrive back at your mother's
until half past twelve.'
'That's right.'
'It was during that time that the phone calls were
made to the TV stations,' Dennis said. 'Where were
you for those two hours and twenty minutes?'
'I drove to Mrs Macquarie's Point and went for a
walk. The pay and display parking ticket is probably
still somewhere in the car.'
'You walked for all that time?'
"I sat looking at the water,' he said. 'Thinking
about the guard.'
Sophie remembered how she'd feared he was
planning to leave her.
'But it wasn't you who rang the TV stations,'
Dennis said.
'No, it was not.'
Ella cleared her throat. 'I'm sorry that I have to
ask this, but have you ever had an affair?'
Sophie tried to think how a guilt-free wife
would react on hearing her husband asked such a
thing. She was aware of the heat at the contact point
between her body and Chris's and wondered if he
would notice a surge.
'You think some jilted girlfriend stole our son?'
Chris responded.
'You know how this works,' Ella said. 'We have to
ask.'
'No,' he said. 'No affairs.'
Ella handed him a business card. 'If you remember
anything else, please call us.'
'Of course.'
'We're doing everything we can to find Lachlan.'
'I know,' Chris said. 'Thank you.'
Sophie followed them to the door and closed it
behind them before Gloria could come in. She put
her back to the door and looked at Chris. He hung
his head. 'I'm so sorry.'
'It's not your fault.' She climbed on the bed next
to him and they hugged.

9.45 am

Sophie left the hospital when a police officer brought
a message from Ella saying that Crime Scene was finished
in their house and she could go back in. She
needed to look and smell clean and tidy if her plan
was going to work. Her crumpled uniform from last
night was not going to cut it.
Angus was coming out of the coffee shop in the
hospital foyer as she walked through. Again she felt
no guilt, rather a kind of comfort at seeing a friendly
and familiar face.
He fell into step beside her. 'How's Chris?'
'He's awake and told the detectives what he
remembers, but none of it's much use.' She could
smell coffee on his breath. They emerged from the
building into the morning's bright sunlight.The glare
hurt her eyes and her head.
'Did the detectives say they had any leads?'
Sophie shaded her eyes, looking for her car.
'They talked to a doctor who blames me for his wife
and baby dying in a case I did a couple of days ago.
He was found last night overdosed in his car at the
Meadowbank Wharf, but he says he had nothing to
do with this.'
'That doesn't sound good.'
'And they were just asking Chris about cases he'd
done, and whether he'd rung the TV stations about
the gang of bank robbers.'
Angus nodded. 'They'll look into every possibility,
however remote, but that doctor has to be
number one on their list of suspects.' He walked with
her to her car. 'Can I help in any way?'
'You can drive around looking. That's what I do.'
She put the key in the ignition and turned it.
Nothing happened. She tried again. 'Shit.'
'Pop the bonnet.'
She did so then got out and went to the front of the
car. Angus checked the oil and water and wiggled the
spark-plug leads.'That's about all I know, I'm afraid.'
Sophie rubbed her forehead with the heels of
both hands. She couldn't stand the thought of waiting
for road service. In that space of time she could
get home, get clean and be back out on the streets to
start her plan.
Angus said,'I can give you a lift, if you need one.'

She sat self-consciously in his white Magna, remembering
how they'd clambered into the back seat with
the breathless impatience of sixteen year olds. She
wondered if Angus thought of it every time he got in
the car. She glanced over at him, his broad hands on the
steering wheel, his eyes straight ahead on the traffic.
He slowed the Magna as they neared her house.
There were cars parked on both sides of the road,
some with the insignias of newspapers and TV stations
on their doors.'You sure you want to go in?'
She nodded, then said, 'Angus.'
'Mm?' His eyes were on the media crews.
'I need a favour.'
Now he looked at her.
'I want to search for Lachlan and I can't wait for
my car to be fixed.'
'I'll drive you anywhere you want to go,' he said.
It would be more complicated than that, but she
didn't want to go into it now. 'Will you wait here
while I go in?'
He nodded. 'Take your time.'
He parked and she got out and met the media at
the foot of her driveway.
'Mrs Phillips, how's Chris?'
'Any news on your baby?'
'Are you happy with the progress of the police
on the case?'
'Has Chris been able to tell you anything?'
She held up a hand and they went quiet. 'There's
been no news about Lachlan. Chris is awake and has
told the police all he can. I have complete faith in the
detectives but I want to appeal to every member of
the public to please, please, study Lachlan's picture even
better, cut it out and carry it with you - and
look closely at every single baby you see. Somebody
has him. If we are vigilant enough, we will find him.
Thank you.'
She hurried away from them to the front door of
her house. Flowers were piled against it. Some
bunches were in fancy plastic wrap from florists, and
some were tied with only a rubber band or a piece of
string. Sophie saw that one note read: To the Phillipses
with love from your neighbours .The envelope attached
to another bouquet carried the police crest. The
ambulance insignia was on a third. There was also a
small pile of soft toys: three teddy bears, a koala, a
chicken and a pig.
She unlocked the door and went inside. The
house smelled of other people and chemical cleaners.
Chris had been shot right there in the doorway but
there were no bloodstains. Sophie crouched and
touched the beige carpet. It was damp, and the
chemical smell was stronger. Carpet shampoo.
Sunlight was coming in the kitchen window at
the back of the house and, looking down the hall at
its glow, she saw dust motes hanging in the still air.
llpstairs the first-floor landing was gloomy.
She went up the stairs. Lachlan's room opened
off the left side of the landing and their bedroom was
opposite. Both doors stood wide open but the curtains
were drawn in the rooms, cutting out the sun.
This was how it would have been last night. At ten
pm Lachlan would have been asleep in his cot for
hours.
On the wall in front of her, between the bathroom
and the small study they mostly used to store
junk, hung a framed black-and-white photo. It was a
close-up of Lachlan, just one day old, lying asleep on
Chris's open hands. She remembered taking it and
looking up from the viewfinder with tears in her
eyes, so grateful for her family.
She went into Lachlan's room with the picture
held tight in her hands.There was an odd smell, one
she couldn't place until she saw the black dust lying
in the cracks on the white windowsill. Fingerprint
dust. They must have tested everything then cleaned
as best they could.
The sides of the cot were up but the sheets and
blankets were gone, leaving the plastic-covered mattress
bare. It seemed an odd thing for a kidnapper to
do: it would take time to loosen the fitted sheet and
gather the lot together.
The black dust on the cot railings made her think
again. Forensics.They were looking for a clue to the
man who'd been here. A hair might have fallen from
his head, or a fibre from his clothes, when he bent
over her sleeping son.
With shaking hands she turned the picture over,
undipped the back of the frame, took out the photo
then turned and flung the empty wood and glass
frame hard against the wall.


NINE

Thursday 8 May, 10.30 am



Ella placed the stapled pages of test results on the
table and offered up thanks for the lab folks
who'd cleared the decks to do them that morning.
She read again the substances detected in Sawyer's
blood, then looked at the surgeon. 'Alcohol, morphine,
midazolam. Heroin breaks down into
morphine in the body, doesn't it?'
There was no answer. Sawyer held the same
white folded handkerchief to his eyes. His solicitor,
Ron Van Pelt, sat beside him, a huge lump of a man
in a black suit, arms crossed over a mountainous belly.
'Doesn't it, Doctor?'
'Yes.' His voice was quiet.
'And the lab tells me midazolam's a sedative,
which also reduces anxiety and causes amnesia.'
'Yes.'
'Alcohol, morphine, midazolam,' Ella said again.
'Quite a mixture.What were you hoping to achieve?'
'I didn't take it.'
'This is your name at the top here,' she said. 'This
was your blood they tested.'
'I told you what happened. Somebody drugged
me.'
She turned the page over to expose another sheet
underneath. 'But your prints are on the syringe.'
'So they put my fingers on it.'
'In exactly the places you'd hold it to inject
yourself?'
Sawyer looked at Van Pelt. In a gravelly smoker's
voice the solicitor said, 'I told you at the start, you
don't have to say anything.You don't even have to sit here and listen. llntil they arrest you, you're free to
go'
'I just want them to believe me.'
'They're cops. They believe only what they want
to believe.'Van Pelt turned his beady eyes on Ella.
'Isn't that right, Detective?'
She ignored him. 'Doctor Sawyer, the sooner you
tell us what happened last night, the sooner we can
understand what's going on.'
'You said you had information on my case and
asked me to come in and help you.'
'We said on a case,' Dennis said. 'You can see the
position we're in, can't you? We need to clear things
up. It's just procedure.'
'You think I give a fuck about your procedure?
My wife and daughter are dead!'
'We understand'
'No, you don't,' Sawyer snapped. 'If you did,
you'd have taken me home last night. You'd have
never even brought me in here in the first place.' He
placed a tightly balled fist on the table. 'My wife and
newborn baby are lying in a morgue, and somebody
attacked me and shot me full of drugs, and you don't
give a shit.'
Van Pelt laid a meaty paw on Sawyer's arm.
Sawyer lowered his head and started to sob, the handkerchief
in his shaking hands, tears dripping onto his
rumpled trousers.
Van Pelt glared at them. 'My client has nothing
more to say'

Ten minutes later Ella and Dennis watched Ron Van
Pelt drive his Mercedes from the station yard.
Sawyer was in the front passenger seat, ranting and
gesticulating.
Ella turned to Dennis.'So now what?'
He shrugged. 'We keep working.' His tone was
cool. They'd just argued about the merits of charging
Sawyer with self-administration. Ella hadn't been
persuaded by Dennis's stance that it would achieve
nothing and that Sawyer, who might very well be
innocent, had been through a tragedy and deserved a
bit of slack. Now she saw the muscle move in his temple
and knew he hadn't come around to her point of
view that, tragedy notwithstanding, they needed to
know the truth and a little lever like that could do a
lot of good.
She leaned against the wall, trying to appear
casual. 'I mean, we've got motive, we've got a crap
alibi --'
'But there's no DNA on the dummy and all the
prints on it are so smeared they're beyond recognition.
There's no evidence to say Sawyer was ever in
the Phillipses' house or that Lachlan was in his car,'
Dennis said. 'You're in a hurry. These things take
time.'
Ella wanted to ask how much time Lachlan had,
but pulled back. 'One little break,' she said. 'We find
who he had that bingle with, or who he bought the
drugs from and when, and we can at least pin down
part of his evening.'
Dennis sighed and checked his watch.'Come on.
It's meeting time.'

10.40 am

Chris struggled to sit up on the side of the bed. He
was dizzy and his heart and head pounded. He had
to get out of here and back home. The people who
had Lachlan would get in contact somehow and it
wouldn't be by waltzing into the hospital. He had
to be home and available to them. Sophie needed
his protection, too. He could do nothing where he
was.
'What are you doing?' Gloria grabbed his arm
and tried to make him lie down.
'I'm fine.'
'Your nose is bleeding.' She pulled a handful of
tissues from a box.
The wound on his face throbbed. He held the
tissues to his nose and looked at Gloria over the top.
'Did the doctor say when I can go home?'
'Not for a few days yet,' she said. 'You need to be
taken care of.'
He edged over the side of the mattress and rested
his bare feet on the floor.'If I'm up and about, what's
the point in staying?'
'But you're not up and about.' She had hold of
his arm again and tried to stop him standing up.
'You're too weak.You could faint.'
Chris forced himself to his feet. The room spun
and he saw black spots. He staggered. His ears rang so
loudly he couldn't make out what Gloria was saying.
Then another pair of hands had him and pushed him
back onto the bed. Once he was lying down again his
head cleared and he saw a nurse standing with
Gloria. They looked at him sternly.
Chris closed his eyes, humiliated. It made him
feel weaker than ever, being flat on his back in bed
while people stared at him, or talked to him, like the
detectives. And having to lie to them -- and to Sophie
- was awful. He kept telling himself he had no
choice, but still he felt guilty.
The nurse left the room and Gloria pulled her
chair close to his bedside.'How are you feeling?'
'Good,' he lied. He watched her pat his hand, and
decided on a plan. If they wouldn't let him get up,
he'd do it when they weren't around. He'd exercise
all night if he had to. He'd get himself strong enough
to leave, strong enough to go home and wait for their
contact. And if it didn't come, he'd go after them.
Simple as that.

11 am

The Incident Room smelled of coffee and sweat.
Detectives yawned as they waited their turn to tell
about their morning's work. Ella held her own yawns
down deep in her throat and made notes; a theme
was emerging: the leads were fizzling out.
Shane Brayfield, the drunk driver Chris had put
away, was at a cousin's wedding over the time of the
kidnapping and had the witnesses and mobile phone
pictures to prove it.
The hospital CEO had handed over the details of
the parents of the stillborn baby. Laurel and Daniel
had found them at home, the woman glued weeping
to the news reports about the case, the paramedic
father on the phone asking his work HQ for the
Phillipses' address so they could send flowers.
Forensics had examined the note left on Chris.
The paper was Reflex brand, eighty gsm, sold all over
the country. The kidnapper had used a Canon
printer, also sold all over the country. There had been
no fingerprints or hairs found. Ella rubbed her eyes
and thought of their target: a white man who owned
a balaclava, a Canon printer and an all-but-complete
ream of Reflex paper.
'What about the font?' a detective asked.

Dennis glanced at the report and shook his head.
'Times New Roman, standard on every computer.'
Travis Henry slid a note along the table top to
her. You were right. Sylvia Morris was hiding that baby girl
for a friend. Ella shrugged at him in a resigned way.
There was a knock at the door and Acting
Commissioner Rupert Eagers looked in. Dennis
nodded at Ella.
She went into the corridor and closed the door
behind her. Eagers was in full uniform. At the press
conference that morning he'd fielded questions not
only about the kidnap and shooting, but also about
the robbery gang, the caller to the TV stations, and
the recent surge in drug overdose cases, including the
apparent accidental death overnight in Hyde Park of
Lily Jones, daughter of ex-State MP Zander Jones.
Ella wasn't surprised that he looked distracted and
harassed.
Beside him stood a young man in a dark pinstriped
suit. Ella didn't know him but saw something
familiar about his face.
'How's the case going?' Eagers said.
'Slowly.' She outlined their progress so far. 'The
public hotline is ringing off the hook, however, so we
have a lot of things to follow up there.'
'Good, good.' Eagers rubbed his forehead.'This is
Detective Murray Shakespeare.'
Ella looked harder at the young man.
'He'll be my liaison on the case,' Eagers said. 'I
want to be kept completely up to speed on events, so
he is to have access to all areas of the investigation.'
'Yes, sir.'
Eagers left them standing in the corridor. Murray
Shakespeare smiled at her. He had the same long eyeteeth,
the same slaty eyes.
She said, 'Your dad's Frank Shakespeare, right?'
He nodded. 'He said you'd remember him.'
Ella clenched her hands behind her back.
Shakespeare wore a knowing look. Having a liaison
was a pain in the butt; they always needed things
explained to them and you'd always rather be getting
on with your case. For it to be a Shakespeare - well.
'Detective?'
Ella and Shakespeare spoke at the same time.
'Yes?'
The uniformed officer from the front desk
handed Ella a sheet of paper. 'This was faxed over.'
'Thanks.' Ella read it quickly. It was the report on
the bullet taken from Chris's head.
'Subsonic twenty-two.' Shakespeare was reading
over her shoulder.'Makes sense. Anything bigger and
faster and he'd be in the morgue.'
Ella held back a sigh.
'No rifling marks survived though,' Shakespeare
said. 'That's what hitting a skull will do to you.'
Ella folded the page over and went back into the
Incident Room, where Dennis was finishing giving
out tasks. Detectives scribbled details of their assignments.
He said,'We meet again at four this afternoon,
and decide then who wants to knock off.'
People filed out. Dennis looked at Shakespeare.
Ella explained who he was and why he was there.
Dennis's temples turned white.
She held out the report. He read it. 'Hm.'
She knew what he meant. It added little to their
knowledge of the culprit and was as useful as the
Reflex paper and the Canon printer.
Dennis gave the sheet to Detective Roger
Fenwick, who would enter the details into the computer
programme.
'Detective Marconi?'The uniformed officer from
the front desk was at the door. 'There's an Edman
Hughes on the phone, asking about the progress on
his arson case.'
'How's he know I'm here?'
'Someone at Hunters Hill told him, he said.'
Ella rolled her eyes.'Tell him I'm busy with this.'
'I did,' she said.
Ella dug her hands into her pockets.'Tell him I'll
get back to him when I can.' When this case is solved.
The constable nodded and walked away.
'So what are we doing now?' Shakespeare asked.
'I've got some paperwork to catch up on.' Dennis
cast a glance at Ella. She caught his meaning, and said,
'I'm going to look over some of the calls from the
public.'^
'Is there anything for me to do?' Shakespeare
asked.
'Not really,' Dennis said. 'You can go on the
phones if you want.'
Shakespeare looked dissatisfied.'I guess.'
'Good-o,' Dennis said.'We'll call you if anything
happens.'
When Shakespeare was out of sight down the
corridor Dennis winked at Ella.'Let's get out of here.'

11.20 am

At the end of Glebe Point Road sunlight shimmered
on Rozelle Bay. In Angus's car Sophie looked in the
other direction, at Boyd Sawyer's house.
Freshly showered and dressed in clean navy
ambulance uniform trousers and a blue T-shirt, and
with a clean ambulance shirt neatly folded in a bag,
she sat taut, stretched almost to breaking point, and
thought of all that had happened since she'd last been
here; then she saw a figure walk past a window in the
house. 'That's him.'
Angus stared. 'How come he's not in custody?'
'I don't know.'
'What exactly did the detectives tell you?'
'What I told you before, that he was found overdosed
but says he wasn't involved. Plus they found a
dummy Like Lachlan's beside his car at the wharf'
'They have all that plus motive and they let him
go?'
It did seem wrong that Sawyer was free but
Sophie didn't want to acknowledge him as the likely
culprit. Doing so would force her to recognise that
Lachlan might be in the river. She turned away from
the house. 'Let's go.'
As they headed into the city she twisted in her
seat, examining every person on the street with a
baby in their arms or in a pram. Angus drove without
speaking, staying in the left lane and going slowly.'So
where exactly are we going?'
She had to tell him her plan. It would be more
plausible if there were two of them. But he was a cop,
sworn to the law. She looked over at him. What if he
refused to help? Worse, what if he stopped her from
doing it herself?

11.30

Ella turned her mobile off as she stepped out of the
lift on the fourth floor of St Vincent's Hospital.
Dennis stayed in to go up to the fifth. He was going
to see Marisa Waters, whom he knew from after
hours work functions. Ella guessed that the Strike
Force Gold people had already asked her everything
there was to ask about why she and Duds were doing
what looked so much Like a runner the very day that
the robbery gang was alleged to be cops, but Dennis
had a touching faith in the power of friendship.
She, meanwhile, was going back to see Roth.
The door to Roth's room was open and he was
watching TV. The IV fluid bag and tubing were gone,
though the stubby plastic cannula was still taped in
his arm. 'Two visits in five hours,' he said, turning the
set off. 'Careful, Detective, or I might start thinking
you Like me.'
She sat in the low vinyl chair with a smile. 'Got
anything to tell me?'
'Nope.'
'Still got that photo of the baby?'
'I think the nurse threw it out when she was
cleaning the room.'
'Want another copy?'
'No thanks.'
Ella crossed her legs.'So how's it feel to be shot?'
'Like being kicked really hard. First it's numb.
Later it hurts.'
'What made you think you'd be able to hide it?'
'Blind stupidity,' he said.
She nodded. 'What I figured.'
'I tried to get that damn bullet out, digging in the
wound. I had tweezers and God knows what.' He
made a pinching motion with his thumb and forefinger.'Got
lots of meat but no lead.'
'Bloody hell,' Ella said.
Roth smiled at her and for an instant she saw past
the tough facade. His story about being mugged was
complete crap and he knew they knew it. He'd been
at the bank that day, he was part of the gang. Once
the ballistics report came back his life would turn
upside down -- he'd be arrested and charged over the
death of the guard, refused bail, forced to live with
the very people he'd once locked up.
'We've got bugger-all decent leads on this baby,'
she said.
'It's early days.'
'It's frightening.' Most cases Like this were either
solved quickly or not at all. Time was slipping away.
'Can't you just tell me whether Chris was involved?'
'With what?'
She looked at him.'All we want is the baby. If we
can rule out the gang angle it'll help us a lot.'
'But'
Just then a nurse came into the room. Ella fell
silent, watching the woman's gloved hands hang a
new fluid flask and connect the line to the IV site in
Roth's wrist. He said, 'Thanks,' and the nurse smiled
at him and left.
'Even if I knew,' Roth went on,'why would I say
anything?'
'For the baby's sake.'
'Ever hear the word retribution?' Roth said. 'I've
got a child as well.'
'You can understand how the Phillipses feel,
then.'
'Yeah, and I know how, given the chance, they'd
do anything to protect him too.'
'We can arrange protection.'
'Not the way I need it, you can't.' He put a hand
to his chest.
'We can,' she said. 'Trust us.'
Roth kept one hand on his chest and raised the
other to his forehead. His face turned pale and sweat
broke out on his skin.
'Are you okay?'
He drew a breath between his gritted teeth. 'I
feel Like I'm going to pass out. Feel really bad. God,
oh God.'
'What's the matter?'
'Oh shit.' His eyes were full of fear as he looked
at the new IV line and the bag of fluid.'Ella, they got
me. I was never going to say anything and they fucking
got me.'
Ella was on her feet.'Hang in there, Peter. I'll get
the nurse.'
'It's too late, I'm fucked.' Roth clamped both his
hands to his chest. 'Listen . . . Chris.'
'Chris what?' Ella knew she should go for help
but she wanted what might be Roth's last words. She
could see the slowing beat of Roth's pulse in his
neck. His pupils were huge. His skin was cold and
clammy.
'Chris . . .'
'Chris is in the gang? Or isn't?'
'Not,' Roth gasped, his hands still to his chest.
'Not in.'
Ella saw the call buzzer hanging over the far bed
rails and she launched across and grabbed it. 'Chris
isn't in the gang, Peter, am I understanding you right?'
But Roth's hands fell from his chest and he went Limp.
'Goddammit.' Ella dropped the buzzer. She fumbled
at his neck for a pulse but couldn't find one.
'Help!' She didn't know how to make the head of the
bed lie flat so she started CPR with him sitting up.
He lolled from side to side with her compressions
then she grabbed his head, tilted it back, pinched his
nose shut and pressed her mouth over his. Was it one
breath or two? Oh, Jesus, where were the nurses? She
took a breath of air. 'Help!'
A male nurse came in, saw what was happening
and hit a red button on the wall. He grabbed at a
lever under the bed and the top fell back with a
clunk. Another nurse rushed in with a bag and
mask set-up that Ella had seen paramedics use.
'Okay, we got it,' she said and Ella stepped out of
the way.
'What happened?' the male nurse asked Ella,
compressing Roth's chest.
'A nurse came in and connected up that IV bag
there, and within a minute he said he felt bad and was
going to pass out. Then he went Limp.'
The female nurse looked at the bag of fluid then
at her colleague. 'Was he on fluids again?'
'Not that I know of.'
'Was this nurse male or female?'
'Female,' Ella said. 'Short blonde hair. Mid
twenties. Good tan. She wore a blue skirt and white
shirt.'
The nurses looked at each other in confusion.
'There's nobody Like that on the ward today'
Wide-eyed, the female nurse grabbed a clamp on
the IV Hne and shut it off.
Ella felt a surge of adrenaline. 'This could be a
crime scene. I want the tubing disconnected from his
arm. Nobody is to touch it. I'll bag it as evidence
when I come back.'
Before she could open the door a medical team
of four burst in with a defibrillator and crash cart.
Ella hurried out past them and down the corridor,
checking rooms, pushing open the stall doors in the
bathroom, dialling her mobile as she went. Dennis's
voicemail picked up and she swore, remembering
he'd turned his phone off.
She shoved open the heavy door into the stairwell
and listened for the sound of running feet, then
hurried back to the nurses' desk, where she flashed
her badge.'I need to contact my colleague upstairs.'
The grey-haired clerk dialled a number and
handed over the phone. Ella quickly filled Dennis in
and described the nurse.
'Go downstairs,' he said. 'See if you can spot her.
I'll get back-up.'
In the main foyer Ella stood panting at the door,
examining the faces of everyone who left the building,
knowing it was an almost useless task. Precious
minutes had passed before she'd realised what was
going on, easily time enough for a woman in a
nurse's uniform to slip outside unnoticed.There were
so many exits too. Standing at this one - probably the
door least likely to be used - felt futile.
Dennis stepped out of the lift, accompanied by a
hospital security guard.'No sign?' Dennis asked.
Ella shook her head.
'Describe her again.'
Ella did so. The guard repeated her words into his
radio. Dennis then motioned Ella towards the lifts.
'We need to see how he is, what the doctor says.'
Inside, he pressed the button. 'After all, it could be
nothing more than a medical hiccup.'
'I don't think so,' Ella said. 'Dennis, he told me he
was never going to say a word but they still got him.'
Dennis narrowed his eyes.
'And he told me that Chris isn't in the gang.'
'But can we trust him?' Dennis said. 'He's not exactly cop of the year.'
The lift doors opened and they walked out.
'What did he have to lose?' Ella said. 'He was
sure he was about to die. Telling me that made no
difference.'
'Who knows what his agenda might be,' Dennis
said. 'Anyway, let's hope he survives and is in a mood
to clarify his words when he wakes up.'
Ella knocked on the door to Roth's room. The
female nurse peered out. She was sweating. 'Just a
minute.'
While they waited, Dennis told her what Marisa
had said. 'She and Dudley-Pearson were in love.'
Ella raised her eyebrows.
'She said it'd been going on a couple of months
and they'd planned for a while to just up and leave.
She'd sold some shares to finance the Little adventure.
It was only a coincidence it happened the same day
as the news on the gang came out,' Dennis said. 'You
should've heard her. She's Like a lovelorn teenager, all





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KI

I' I

Katherine Howell

naive about what would happen down the track, trying
to tell me why doing it that way was better than
the adult method of divorcing partners and resigning
jobs. I felt embarrassed for her.'
'You think she's telling the truth?'
Dennis nodded. 'What I don't know is whether
Dudley-Pearson was being honest with her when he
said he knew nothing about the gang.' He looked at
his watch. 'How long does it take to save a life?'
'Longer than on ER,' Ella said. 'Did Marisa ask
him about the gang, or did Duds volunteer the
information?'
'She said he told her he was upset about it and
felt bad about leaving his staff at a time like this.'
Dennis's mobile chimed and he looked at the screen.
'But he still left,' Ella said.
Dennis made a noncommittal noise as he
thumbed through a text message. 'Jesus.'
'What?'
'Roth's ballistics results.' He slipped the phone
back into his pocket. 'It was from the guard's gun all
right.'
Roth's door opened and the medical team
manoeuvred his bed into the corridor. One nurse
hurried alongside, compressing Roth's chest. A tube
was tied into Roth's mouth and another nurse
squeezed the connected bag regularly. Ella found it
difficult to match the slack and mottled face to the
once- living man.
'Where are you taking him?' Dennis said.
The doctor jabbed the lift button. 'To the
Emergency Department.'
'When will he wake up?'
'The way he's going now, never.' The lift doors
opened and the nurses rolled the bed in, then the
doctor put her foot against the door. 'There was no
order for IV fluids and the ward staff tell me there are
no nurses on duty today who match the description
you gave. I'll need the test results on the IV bag and
tubing to be certain, but from your account of what
happened and Roth's clinical condition, it's possible
he was given an overdose of a cardiac drug such as
Hgnocaine, which stopped his heart. It's also stopping
the drugs we're giving from having their effect. I'm
betting there were other drugs in there too: perhaps
insulin. A large enough dose can cause brain damage
very quickly' She shook her head. 'So far we've had
no response whatsoever, and I doubt we will.'

Thursday 8 May, 11.50 am

Park here,' Sophie said."I'll just be a minute.'
Angus looked at the brick front of The Rocks
ambulance station. 'And then you'll tell me what's
going on?'
She nodded and got out.
The day crew was on a case somewhere so she let
herself into the station with her key. In the store
room she found a spare red nylon kitbag. She threw
in a thermometer, a paediatric blood-pressure cuff
and a couple of bandages and dressings, just enough
to make it appear legitimate to an onlooker.
Paramedics never went about empty-handed.
Back in the car she cradled the bag on her lap.
Angus eyed it, then her, but she was conscious of the
chance that the day crew might return. 'Better drive
off,' she said.
'Where to?'
'Just wherever, for now.'
This was one time it was good that parking in
the CBD was so scarce. She didn't want him staring
at her while she tried to explain her idea.
Just start. She squeezed the bag to her chest. 'I
spent last night driving about looking for Lachlan.'
Angus started to speak but she shook her head. 'I
needed to do it.'
He closed his mouth and nodded.
'I know the chances of finding him that way are
incredibly slim. Middle of the night, people with
babies aren't out and about on the streets much. And
then I realised there was a better way' She glanced at
him. 'A better place and time.'
He drove in silence.
She took a deep breath. 'If you'd taken a child,
where's the best place to hide it? Not in an area
where kids are scarce. You'd try to blend in somewhere
where there are already heaps of kids. Where
another baby crying at night doesn't even register.'
He indicated and turned a corner but still didn't
speak.
'You know those big housing commission blocks
in Waterloo?' She didn't wait for an answer. 'They're full of kids. Overflowing with them.'
Angus pulled into a bus zone and yanked on the
park brake.
'Don't look at me like that,' she said. 'I'm not
after your approval or your permission.'
'So why are you telling me?'
She stared out the windscreen. She would've
liked to say 'because you have the car and I need a
lift' but it was more than that. She wanted his help.
She wanted him beside her.
'Have you told your idea to the detectives?'
'Police would scare people off,' she said. 'I knock
on their doors in my uniform and they see a person
who's there to help.'
Angus turned the steering wheel thoughtfully
from side to side. 'And then what?'
'I ask to see any young children in their care,' she
said. 'I tell them some story about an infectious disease
doing the rounds. I'm a free community service,
right there on their doorsteps.'
'And you think they'll go for that? They'll let
you in?'
'Yes.' Probably. Hopefully Maybe. Angus made a face. 'It seems a lot of risk for not
much reward.'
'What risk? I'm going to get mugged for knocking
on someone's door? And maybe I don't find him,
but at least I'm looking.'
A bus braked behind them with a blast of its
horn. Angus waved and pulled out of the spot.
'Okay,' he said. 'I'll take you to Waterloo on one
condition: I come into the blocks with you.You can
make me part of your story, I don't care, but you're
not going there alone.'
Sophie hugged the kitbag tightly. 'Thank you.'
He turned south and she looked him over. He
was dressed in a light blue button-up shirt and tan
trousers. She said, 'Would you mind stopping at
Woolies first?'
He let her off in a no-standing zone outside
Woolworths opposite the Town Hall. She was back in
minutes with a bag of purchases and tossed a dark
blue tie at him. 'Put this on.' She tore a notepad from
its plastic packaging and jammed it inside a clipboard,
then added a pen, and explained her idea as he
drove.
She pulled her uniform shirt on over her T-shirt,
and fell silent as they neared Waterloo. The odds of
finding Lachlan this way were terrible, but every
baby she looked at was one she could be sure wasn't
him. If she could only look long enough, eventually
she'd find him. If there were a million babies in the
city, then she had to look at a million faces, and the
next one would be him. If there were two milHon,
three million, she didn't care. She had only to work
hard, not give up, not waver in her belief that she
would find him, and sometime she would be looking
into his eyes, holding his warm wriggling body, and
she would never let go of him again.
A woman was coming out of the door of the first
building and Angus smiled at her and caught the
door before it closed. Sophie knocked at the door of
the first flat and readied a smile on her face.
A rangy woman wearing jeans and a denim
jacket opened the door. 'Yes?'
'Good morning,' Sophie said. 'I'm Penny Burke
from the Ambulance Service and this is Brian Stevens
from the Department of Health.'
Angus stood beside her with his feet apart and
the clipboard in his hands. He smiled at the woman.
'We're currently going door to door in your
building notifying people about a potential health
risk to young children.'
The woman lost her wary look. 'Like what?'
'A child in the next building has been
diagnosed with a particularly contagious strain of
meningitis,' Sophie said, 'and we're letting parents
know about the signs and symptoms, and also offering
a free on-the-spot examination of young
children and babies.'
'Come in, please.'The woman hastily opened the
door wide and Sophie felt a flash of shame for making
her afraid. 'I have a daughter, she's only three
months old. Could you check her over?'
'Absolutely,' Sophie said. She followed the
woman into the bedroom where the baby was asleep
in a cot. Sophie looked down at the tiny form under
the little blanket, the perfect features, the curled fist as
it lay on the sheet. 'She's beautiful.'
The woman smiled. 'Thank you.'
Sophie checked the baby's temperature. 'No sign
of a rash?'
'She does have this thing here.' The woman
pulled up the baby's singlet, exposing a red flaky area
the size of Sophie's thumbnall on her back.The baby
stirred but didn't wake.
'The meningococcal rash is a distinct one,'
Sophie said. 'It's dark red or purple and appears in
spots or blotches.' She pressed a finger to the reddened
area on the baby and it blanched. 'If you do
that to the meningococcal rash it won't lose colour
like this one did, even for a second.'
The woman was nodding.
'Other signs to look out for are drowsiness, fever,
stiff neck and inability to tolerate bright lights,'Angus
said behind them. 'Is this your only child?'
'I have a five year old, but he's at school.'
'Okay then,' Sophie said. 'Your baby looks very
healthy. Thank you for your time.'
'Thank you,' the woman said.
In the corridor Angus said,'You sure you want to
do this at every flat?'
Sophie's answer was to knock on the next door.

11.59 am

Dennis took charge of the IV stand and drip and put
Ella in the ward staffroom to wait for the Strike Force
Gold investigators. She was looking out the window
at the junkies sleeping in the park when the detectives
came in.
Hollebeck was a balding man in his fifties who'd
been part of the team on the homicide where Ella
had told Shakespeare off. He sat at the table and
looked in the biscuit barrel labelled, Nurses only, took
out a milk arrowroot and said,'Roth's dead. We heard
as we came through Emergency.'
Ella sat down, feeling weak. She'd seen bodies,
she'd seen people in the process of dying in car
wrecks, but she'd never seen anyone killed in front of
her. She felt for Roth, and his ex-wife and child.
'I hear you're working with Murray now.'
Ella focused on Hollebeck. 'Are you going to
take my statement or not?'
Draper, a soft-featured woman in her twenties,
opened a notepad.'So what happened?'
Ella went through it while Draper scribbled
shorthand.
'Describe the nurse.' Hollebeck got another biscuit.
Ella repeated the phrases she'd used earlier. 'A
woman in her mid-twenties with short blonde hair
and a good tan. She wore a blue skirt and white shirt.'
'That's it?' Hollebeck said.'How'd she behave?'
'Like a nurse setting up an IV.'The woman had
been so matter-of-fact, so routine in her actions, that
Ella hadn't noticed anything more about her. If
there'd been some edginess the situation might be
different. What kind of nerve did it take to do a thing like that while someone watched? Ella remembered
something else.'She smiled at Roth before she left.'
'Did she speak?'
'No.'
Hollebeck and Draper looked at each other.
'Okay, that'll do for now,' he said.'We know where to
reach you if we need you. Little old Hunters Hill,
isn't it?'
'I'm on the Phillips case at the moment, out of
Gladesville.'
'Of course. I forgot.' He took a handful of biscuits
and slammed the lid back on the barrel. 'Say hi

to Murray'
Ten minutes later she was in the car with Dennis,
heading back to Gladesville. 'I hate that bastard
Hollebeck,' she said. 'Rubbing it in about
Shakespeare.'
'Senior or junior?'
'Whichever,' she said.'They'll never let me forget
that homicide.'
'People know you bite, that's why. If you forget
it, so will they'
She rolled her eyes.'Yes, Dad.'
'Your statement didn't take long to do.'
'Nice change of subject there.'
He inclined his head.
'They only took notes. I get the feeling they're
not really that interested in who got to Roth.'
'But if they figure that out, they'll have a lead to
the people with a vested interest in his silence,'
Dennis said.
'Unless they themselves are those people.'
He looked over at her.
'Hey, I'm just saying.' She shrugged.
As they crossed the Anzac Bridge she looked
southwest to Glebe Point. Boyd Sawyer's house was
hidden by blocks of flats and a spreading figtree. 'If
Roth was telling the truth, and Chris wasn't in with
the gang, where does that leave us? Just with Sawyer?'
'And the unknown kidnapper.'
Ella was silent for a moment. 'Remember that
assault on Chris and his partner, a couple of months
back?'
'Dean Rigby was his partner.'
'Wasn't he the guy Chris went to see the day
before he was shot?'
'Yep.They're friends.'
'And the assailant had an alibi,' Ella remembered.
'But I wonder if that's worth looking into further. I
mean, the guy's got a case pending against him; maybe he figures if he knocks out a solid witness he's
got a better chance.'
'He's got no chance at all,' Dennis said. 'That
one's cut and dried. My mate Figgis worked it.'
'The famous Figgis,' Ella said.
'You wouldn't be so mocking if you met him.'
'I have met him.' She hadn't been impressed.
Darnell Figgis stood too close to you and kept hold
of your hand too long when he shook it. He'd leaned
on the bar in the Jungle and talked too loud and in
way too much detail about a woman whose death he
was investigating and what he'd found in her chest of
drawers.
'If you worked with him, then.'
Ella raised her eyebrows. 'Get me the file on the
assault and let me see his work on the page, maybe I'll
change my mind.'

12.20 pm

Chris sat in the hospital bed with his hands on his
thighs under the blanket, pinching his skin to stop
himself passing out. 'I promise you I'm right to go
home.'
The doctor shook his head. 'You're not even one
full day post-op.'
'I feel fine. I want to go.'
'Out of the question,' the doctor said. 'There
could be swelling, you could have an intracranial
bleed.You need to be monitored here.'
Chris pinched harder. There was a roaring in his
ears and the doctor was disappearing behind a wall of
black dots. 'What about tomorrow?'
'Next week at the earliest.' The doctor's voice
came down a long tunnel. 'Do you want to lie
down?'
'I'm fine.'
'You don't look it.'
Chris drew a deep breath. 'Thank you for coming
to see me.'As he'd hoped, the doctor took it as an
indication to leave. Chris slumped back on the pillows,
sweat trickling down his face. Of course the
doctor would have been able to see how pale and
clammy he'd turned, but with Lachlan's life at stake
Chris would die before admitting how weak he
really was.
He sucked in lungfuls of cold hospital air. He'd
told Gloria he wanted to put on pyjamas from home
instead of the hospital gown he was wearing, and
estimated he had half an hour before she returned.
He reached for the call button looped around the
bed railing.
The young male nurse stuck his head into the
room. 'Wassup, Chris?'
'Can I use the phone please?'
When the cordless handset was in his grasp and
the nurse out of earshot, he dialled the number he
knew by heart.
'Recruitment,' a female voice said.
'Is Dean Rigby there?'
'He's in a meeting at the moment, I'm sorry,' she
said. 'Can I take a message?'
'Tell him that Chris Phillips called, and ask him
to ring me back as soon as he can. I'm in the ICll in
Royal North Shore Hospital,' Chris said. 'Tell him it's
urgent.' He hung up and sat with the phone in his lap. A message like that would surely get handed to
Dean straightaway. With any luck he'd call back in
minutes, Chris would be able to say what he needed
to say -- or arrange a meeting if Dean was reluctant to
talk on the phone - and it'd all be over with before
Gloria arrived back.

2.15 pm

As the door of the last flat in the block closed behind
them, Sophie and Angus headed for the stairs. 'How
many babies do you reckon we checked?' Angus
said.
'Fifty-seven.' Sophie moved swiftly, her hand on
the railing, the kit bouncing against her leg. The next
block waited. She no longer felt bad about causing
concern, and in fact seeing all those parents worry
over their babies strengthened her resolve. There was
nothing she wouldn't do to find Lachlan.
Angus said, 'I don't know how you do it.'
'Do what?'
'Keep going like this. I don't think I could get up
off the floor if I had a child who was missing.'
'It's hard to explain.' It was more than that: it was
impossible. Only somebody who'd lived what she
was living could understand.
'My nephew has cancer,' Angus said. 'It's so hard
watching him suffer, but at least we can be with him.
I can't imagine how it would feel to not know where
he was, whether he was okay'
Sophie slowed and glanced back up at him. 'I'm
sorry to hear that. How old is he?'
'Almost a year. He's been sick for a few months
now. Leukaemia.' They emerged from the building
and crossed a thinly grassed lawn. 'My sister Bee's on
her own, so I'm the nearest thing to a dad he's got. I
take a lot of pride in that.'
Sophie looked at him, striding along beside her,
the tie swinging from side to side, the clipboard
tucked under his arm. Of all the people she'd spoken
to since Lachlan was taken, he came closest to her
position. Being faced with the loss of a child was just
one step - albeit a big one - from the loss itself.
She said,'I get up off the floor because I have to.
If I don't do absolutely everything I can to find him,
I'm letting him down. I already have, just by allowing
him to be taken.'
'You didn't do it.You weren't there,'Angus said.
'I know, but I'm his mother and it's my job to
keep him safe, yet now he's not,' she said. 'And God
forbid that it was Sawyer, because then I'm even
more to blame.'

2.35 pm

Ella told Dennis she was going home for a couple of
hours' sleep but really she wanted to be away from
the noise and bustle of the station when she read the
assault file. Roth was on her mind too. She kept seeing
his stricken expression as he looked at the IV bag.
The afternoon sun streamed through the living
room window of her half-a-house and she pulled her
armchair around to take advantage of the warmth.
She put a cup of coffee on the floor next to her and
rested the closed folder on her knee.
The smile on the fake nurse's face was what got
to her the most. Such an ordinary smile. Ella would
have liked to think the woman didn't know what she
was doing and that was why she was so calm. But if
she really was an interloper then she was there for
one reason only.
It frightened her to imagine that the same people
were behind the shooting of Chris and the kidnapping
of Lachlan. Enough.
She opened the folder and began to read.
The assault had happened two months before, on
8 March. Chris Phillips and Dean Rigby started their
shift at Wynyard Station and answered a call to a violent
domestic argument in Surry Hills.When they
got there things had quietened down. They spoke to
the occupants, who said they were fine, they didn't
want to make complaints against each other, it was
just a bit of a disagreement which had got out of
hand. When Phillips and Rigby headed back to their
car, Rigby spotted somebody he recognised on the
street. Chris's statement said:

Senior Constable Rigby told me the person was Simon
Leeman and there was a warrant out for his arrest on
rape charges. I didnyt know Leeman but once we started
running after him, the man ran away. Senior Constable
Rigby continued the pursuit on foot while I went back
and fetched the car. I saw the suspect run into a small Janeway, followed by Senior Constable Rigby. I entered
the Janeway about two minutes later. The lane is straight
for about seventy metres, then bends to the right and
dead-ends about fifty metres further on. When I entered
this section I saw the suspect had his back to a fence and
was swinging what looked like a metal pole at Senior
Constable Rigby. I saw the officer duck then slip over.
The pole struck him in the neck and shoulder and he fell
to the ground. By this time I was approaching the suspect.
I had my OC spray at the ready. I told him to drop
the pole. He lunged at me, and as I side-stepped, Senior
Constable Rigby tried to get up. We collided and I fell
too, and lost hold of my OC spray. I grabbed the suspects
legs and pulled him off balance. The three of us
fought on the ground. Senior Constable Rigby and I
managed to cuff the suspect, then I went to the car to call
for assistance and paramedics.

Ella picked up her coffee. It was odd that Chris
Phillips hadn't sprayed the suspect immediately, and
also that he'd be so close as to get tripped up when
Rigby tried to climb to his feet. Second-guessing was
a dangerous habit though. She'd talk to Chris and see
if he could make things a bit clearer.
The bigger problem was that the man turned out
not to be Simon Leeman at all but a man named Paul
Houtkamp. Ella looked at his sheet. He was thirty-six
years old, he lived at 5/39 Banks Street in Waterloo,
he held a truck licence, and had a history of convictions
for assaults and minor robberies. A small-time
guy really. There was nothing listed for the past two
years -- not that that meant a whole lot, only that he
hadn't been caught doing anything.
The mug shot taken after the assault showed a
clean-shaven man with his dark hair brushed back.
His left cheek and jaw were bruised, consistent with
a good hard belt from a right-hander. Ella expected
to see defiance in his dark eyes but instead recognised
fear. Had he expected another wallop? A visit from
Rigby s friends when he was in the cells?
Before she left Gladesville she'd looked up
Houtkamp on the computer file of the Phillips case.
On the night of the kidnapping he claimed to have
been at the Bower Brae Nursing Home in Randwick.
The detectives who had investigated him said he'd
signed in to the visitors' book at eight-forty pm and
out at ten, and had been seen to come and go by two
of the nightstaff, both of whom knew him. Ella sipped
her coffee and looked out the window. Fergus Patrick,
the Phillipses' neighbour, believed he'd heard the shot
that injured Chris Phillips at about ten pm, then found
him unconscious fifteen minutes later. Paul Houtkamp
couldn't have left Randwick at ten and made it to
Gladesville in much less than half an hour.
Unless Chris had been shot much earlier. She put
the coffee down. Just because Houtkamp had been
seen to come in, and leave, didn't mean he was there
the entire time. Fergus Patrick said he first thought
the sound of the shot was on the TV show he was
watching. Maybe it was, and nobody had heard the
actual shooting. Houtkamp could have signed in to
the nursing home, sneaked out, done the job,
dumped the baby off somewhere, and sneaked back
in to sign out for ten pm quite easily. His poor
demented mother or whoever he was visiting probably
didn't even know who she was herself, let alone
who was sitting next to her.
It was a drastic action, however, for a guy who
hadn't done too much big stuff before.
That we know of she reminded herself.
Even so. What could he really hope to achieve?
On a quick flip through the file, Figgis's work looked
solid. What crack could Houtkamp possible hope to
widen by putting a witness out of the picture? Even
if Phillips had died, Rigby remained alive to stand up
there with his neck brace and his records of surgery
and the workers' compensation directive that put
him behind a desk for the rest of his career.
Still.
Ella looked at the photo of Houtkamp again.
Maybe there was more to this than met the eye.

3.17pm

Chris's hospital room was empty. Ella looked at the
rumpled bedclothes then around at the nurse who
came up behind her. 'He's in the bathroom,' the
young man said.
'He's walking?' Ella said. 'So soon?'
The nurse nodded. 'Some people will do anything
to stay clear of a bedpan.'
The detective who was meant to be minding
Chris came out of the lift, carrying a newspaper. He
saw Ella and frowned, then put the paper behind his
back. She raised her eyebrows. He turned away, heading
for the staffroom. Ella made a mental note to
mention him to Dennis.
'You can wait in Chris's room if you want,' the
nurse was saying. 'And let him know his friend Dean
still hasn't called, and Mrs Schlink in room four will
have the cordless phone for the next half-hour or so,
but if Dean does ring, switch will divert it to one of
the other numbers.'
'Oh, you mean Dean Rigby?' Ella did a quick bit
of creative thinking.'He's been tied up with a case.' It
was a fair bet the nurse had guessed Dean was a cop
but didn't know he was off the road.
'That'd explain why he hasn't rung.' The nurse
looked at his watch. 'It's been almost three hours
now.'
Ella sat in the plastic chair by Chris's bed. So
Chris was keen to talk to Dean. Super-keen, in fact,
by the sounds of it. They were friends, and it was
plausible Chris just wanted his mate's shoulder to cry
on, but hearing about it so soon after reading the
Houtkamp file made Ella wonder. Was it possible that Chris suspected Houtkamp was involved in the kidnapping
and wanted Rigby to find out? But why
wouldn't he have told her and Dennis? She thought
back to the conversation they'd had with Chris that
morning. Nothing had struck her as odd. Perhaps she
needed to power up her antennae a little.
Chris came slowly into the room then stopped
when he saw her. 'Is there news?'
'Not yet, I'm sorry,' Ella said.
He was pale and as he climbed into the bed his
nose started to drip blood. He pulled a bloodstained
tissue from his pyjama pocket and jammed it into his
nostrils.
'How are you feeling?' she asked.
'Fine.'
Ella let the obvious lie pass. 'The case is progressing
well.'
'Then where s my son?'
Okay, not that well. 'We're getting loads of calls on
the public hotline. Everyone in the city is on the
lookout.'
His face softened a little. 'That's good.' His voice
was dulled by his blocked nose.
'I've been reading the file about the assault on
you and Senior Constable Rigby,' she said. 'Which
reminds me: the nurse said he hasn't rung yet.'
A flicker of some emotion crossed his face too
quickly for Ella to recognise. Then he said, 'Why are
you looking into the assault?'
'I wondered if Houtkamp might have had reason
to want to hurt you.'
He shook his head. 'It wasn't him. He's taller than
the guy who shot me.'
'Nevertheless,' Ella said, 'I was curious about the
case.'
'In what way?'
Practising in the car on the way over here it had
been easy to ask aloud, 'Why did you wait so long to
spray him? How did you manage to trip over Rigby?
And how the hell does a lone bad guy get the upper
hand over two experienced officers?' But now she
was faced with the man whose son was missing and
they felt like cheap-shot questions. The second
guessing thing again. She would take it more
carefully. 'Could you describe what happened?'
He told it almost exactly like it was written in
the statement. Not quite word for word - but close.
Ella sat rubbing her chin, thinking as she listened.
Rehearsed lies sometimes came out this way but so
could a statement repeated numerous times to various
investigators.
'And then I called for urgent back-up and for
paramedics,' he concluded.
She sat up straight.'But Houtkamp was cuffed by
that time, wasn't he? So why urgent back-up? He was
no longer a threat.'
Chris studied her over his tissue. 'Both Dean and
I were hurt, and I didn't know how badly. If something
happened to the prisoner, I couldn't guarantee
we'd be able to look after him.'
'If something happened,' Ella said.
'Yeah, like if he had a fit. He was face-down in
cuffs.' Chris shrugged.'I was trying to help Dean, too.
I had my hands full just with him.'
Ella nodded. It was a plausible answer. 'Have you
thought of anyone who might have done this?'
'It's all I think about, but I really have no idea.' He
was calm and collected.They watched each other for
a long moment.
She said,'Why are you so eager to talk to Dean?'
He gave her a puzzled look. 'He's my friend. Do
I need a reason?'
'Not really.' She brushed at the knee of her
trousers. 'You know Peter Roth, don't you?'
'We did a course together a couple of years ago.
Why?'	
'He's dead'
Chris looked shocked. 'From the gunshot
wound?'
'At this stage, we're not sure,' Ella fibbed. 'The
PM will find out.'
'But. . .' Chris hesitated. 'It wasn't foul play, anything
like that?'
'Like I said, we're not sure.' She watched him
closely. He lowered his chin to his chest and appeared
deep in thought. 'Chris, are you sure it wasn't you
who rang the TV stations?'
'I told you before, no.'
'And you know nothing about the gang.'
'That's right.'
Ella leaned forward. He wasn't meeting her gaze.
Her antennae quivered. 'Chris, if you know something,
you should tell me. I can help you. I can
protect you.' The thought sneaked into her mind: Like I protected Roth?
Now he looked at her. 'How can you think that
I would hold back any information when my son's
life is at stake?'
'Perhaps for exactly that reason,' she said. 'You
think you can save him and we can't.'
He pointed at himself. 'We're the victims here,
me and my family. Is it easier for you to suggest I'm
hiding something than to get out there and bloody
work?'
She placed another of her cards on the bed.'Ring
me when you want to talk.'

been at his house twice that day, with an officer
named Angus Arendson.They pulled up in Arendson's
car, sat there for a few minutes in the morning and
again in the afternoon, then went on their way. It
didn't appear that Sawyer had seen them. Ella imagined
that in Sophie's shoes she, too, might want to
keep Sawyer under her own surveillance.
'I've met Arendson before,' Dennis said. 'I think
I'll ring him, see what they're doing.'
Ella nodded, rubbing an eye.
Dennis said, 'You don't look like you had that

nap.'
'I read the Houtkamp file, then I went to see

Chris.'
'You should let the man rest.'
'I had some questions about the assault.'
'Like what?'
She held up a hand. 'I'm not criticising Figgis's

work.'
'Good.'
'But how does one unarmed man get the better
of two officers?'
'He wasn't unarmed, he had a metal pole,' Dennis

said.
'And how did the officers manage to trip over
each other so neatly?'
'Do you think they're lying?'
'I'm not sure what's going on.'
'Either you think they're telling the truth or you
think they're lying.' Dennis raised his cup to his
mouth.'From the things you're asking, I know where
my money lies.'
It's just a little hard to believe, you know? And I
was thinking maybe something else was going on,
maybe something that gave Houtkamp a good solid
reason for wanting to hurt Chris.'
'Houtkamp's alibi checked out.'
'I've been thinking about that too.' She told him
what she'd worked out.'I reckon he's worth talking to.'
Dennis sighed and rubbed his forehead, then
there was a knock at the door.
A young uniformed constable held out a sheet of
paper. 'A man made a report this morning about
damage to his car. He drives a white Ford Falcon and
he said he was parked outside a pub on Wednesday
night and someone backed into him then drove off.
It left blue paint on his car.'
Dennis sat up straight. 'He's sure it happened
then?'
'Yes. When he rang his insurance company they
told him to report it to us and to ask the pub people
about CCTV. Apparently there is footage of the incident.'
Ella
took the piece of paper from the constable.
'Do we have that tape?'
'The manager wouldn't give it to the complainant,'
the constable said. 'It's the Red Pheasant, in
Newtown.The licensee lives upstairs.'
'Ah, that charming establishment,' Dennis said.
'Let's go.'

The pub was dark red on the outside, cool and dim
and stinking of spilled beer on the inside. Groups of
patrons in their twenties and younger sat drinking
around tables while music pounded from huge black
speakers. The licensee, James Bartrim, was a short,
nuggety man who rubbed a hand across his bald head
when Ella told him what they wanted.
'Don't you need, like, a warrant or something for
that?'
'Sure, we can go and get one,' Dennis said. 'Out
of interest, when was the last time you were raided
for drugs?'
'There're no drugs here,' Bartrim said.
'Not now, no,' Ella said. 'We'd do the raid late in
the evening. Probably a Saturday evening, I'd think.
About eleven.'
Bartrim blew air out of his mouth and led them
behind the bar to a tiny office. A small television and
a VCR system sat high in one corner above shelves
full of piled paperwork and unlabelled folders.
Bartrim scratched through a box of video tapes and
located one which he stuck into the VCR. He
pressed the button to turn the TV on and leaned
against the desk.
The screen showed a grainy black-and-white
view of a laneway.The tape had been filmed at night.
The screen was dark. A date and time counter in the
lower right corner read Wednesday 7.5, 925 pm and
the seconds whizzed by. Someone walked down the
footpath past a line of parked cars. Then the door to
the pub opened and two people stepped out.
'That's them,' Bartrim said. 'Hey, if you don't
mind me saying, this all seems pretty dramatic for a
parking bingle.'
'Ssh,' Dennis said, though there was no sound. He
and Ella stared at the image on the screen.
It looked like Sawyer to Ella. Same build. It was
hard to tell from his walk because he was staggering.
The person with him supported his arm. They
moved to a dark-coloured car, which Ella thought
she recognised as Sawyer's BMW though she
couldn't make out the plates. Sawyer held out his
hand, the hazard lights flashed as the car unlocked,
and he got in. The other person -- Ella was sure it
was a woman -- went around to the passenger side.
Headlights and brakelights flashed up then the
reversing lights lit as the car lurched into the car
parked behind him.
'He doesn't even get out to look,' Bartrim said.
'Ssh,' Ella said.
The car drove out of the parking space. Ella
caught a glimpse of the numberplate but it was hard
to decipher with the car moving. The brakelights disappeared
at the edge of the screen. Bartrim shrugged.
'That's it.'
Dennis reached up and ejected the tape, tucking
it under his arm. 'Do you recognise either of those
people?'
'You've got to be joking. This is a student pub.
The place is packed every night of the week.'
'Not many students drive cars like that,' Ella said.
'I don't look outside to see what they drive,'
Bartrim said. 'I just try to keep up with their thirst.'
'Just yes or no'll do. Do you recognise them? Are
they regulars?' Dennis said.
'No.'
'We'll need to talk to the staff who were working
that night.'
'That'd be Nicki and Luther and Farouk.They're
all on later tonight.'
'We'll need their addresses so we can speak to
them before then.'
Bartrim pulled a folder off a shelf, causing a pile
of papers to cascade to the floor. He found a page and
turned the folder around for Ella to see. She wrote
the names, addresses and phone numbers of the three
staff in her notebook. 'Can you show us where the
camera is?'
Bartrim jammed the folder back onto the shelf
and they walked out through the noisy bar. He pulled
open a side door and fresh evening air poured in. Ella
and Dennis stepped into the street.
The side of the pub was as red as the front. The
camera was high on the wall. The street was narrow.
A rusting redVW Golf was parked in the spot where
Sawyer's car had been. Behind it, gumleaves collected
in the gutter. The wind blew and the spindly tree in
a backyard across the street lost more leaves.
Bartrim watched them look around. 'Anything
else you want?'
'No.'
Bartrim didn't have to hear it twice. No sooner
had Dennis spoken than he'd disappeared.
'Well' Ella said. 'That looks like our man to me.'
Dennis nodded slowly. 'I agree.'
'With a woman,' Ella said. 'What kind of man
comes to a bar and picks up a woman the day after
his family dies?'
'A lonely and sad one,' Dennis said.
Ella snorted.
'Give the man a break,' Dennis said. 'Everyone
copes with grief in their own way. He said himself he
was out driving around. So he comes here for a
drink, then some friendly and kind person starts to
talk to him. More people would appreciate the sympathetic
ear than not.'
'If he wants to drink, why not take a bottle
home? Or just park somewhere quiet?'
Dennis rubbed his forehead.'What matters is that
this happened half an hour before Phillips was shot.
This woman might be his alibi.'
'Or maybe she saw him do it.' Ella paced the
footpath. 'If she's a local drug dealer people here
might know her. We have to bring more people
tonight and canvass everyone.'
'Or,' Dennis said, 'if we show him the footage he
might remember and be able to tell us.'
Ella looked at him. 'You don't think he knows exactly what he did?'
'Maybe he really doesn't.' Dennis flicked a gum
nut onto the road with his shoe.'Those drugs were in
his blood.'
'So what?'
Dennis shrugged. 'Also it's convenient that just
after the guy's wife and baby die, this happens to the
family of the paramedic who was called to them.'
'That's called a motive, not convenience.'
'I mean it works well as a red herring. It's such a
good motive we latch onto him straightaway.'
"You're suggesting that somebody set all this up?'
Ella said. 'That in some magnificent lining-up of the
planets, a birth gone wrong happened to occur
around the time persons unknown decided to act
against Chris Phillips, and that same birth was in the
hands of Chris's wife?'
Dennis picked up a gumleaf and crumpled it
between his fingers.'Not exactly'
'Then what?'
'Maybe the birth was convenient cover. Maybe
the rest was already planned and they've been fortunate
that this happened and threw us off.' Dennis
paused.'I know how that sounds.'
Ella placed the flat of her hand on the roof of the
rusting Golf.'What would they have done if the birth
hadn't happened?'
'Gone ahead anyway,' Dennis said. 'If they leave
no evidence, and nobody talks, we have no case.'
'How about the fact that Chris survived?'
'Nobody shoots another person in the head and
expects them to live.'
'But anybody who's familiar with guns and
wanted him dead would hedge their bets and use
something other than a twenty-two subsonic,' she said.
'And still the question remains: why take the baby?'
'Okay,' he said. 'I told you that I know how it
sounds.'
Dennis had developed an incredible scenario but
was it any more incredible than her musings about
Houtkamp? Yes, she decided after a moment, it was.
'This is out there.'
Dennis dropped the leaf and brushed his hands
together. 'It doesn't really matter at the moment.
until we know more about what Sawyer did that
night, we can't say for sure whether he was involved.'

4.45 pm

Chris asked for the phone again, and dialled another
number. 'Hi Angela, is Dean home yet?'
He wasn't but Angela said she'd pass on the message.
In the background he could hear their kids
yelling.
'Perhaps he could come and visit me?' Chris said.
She'd tell him. She had to go. She was always
abrupt on the phone -- because of the kids, Chris
guessed. He couldn't tell from her tone whether she
knew what had gone on between him and Dean or
not. He suspected not: if Dean had told her about that,
she naturally would have asked the reason why, and
that was a place Dean would never have wanted to go.
He pulled his pillow higher so he was sitting
more upright. The room turned and the black spots
appeared but he needed to overcome his dizziness.
The nurses kept telling him to rest, to save his
strength for getting better, that was the best way he
could help Lachlan, but none of them understood.
Even Sophie didn't get it. No matter how bad she
felt, it wasn't her fault that Lachlan was gone.
Chris shut his eyes against the black spots. After
the bank case he hadn't been able to shake off the
memory of the guard's still chest, his limp hands, the
way his head lolled to the side whenever Angus
released his grip. Worst was the terrible knowledge
that it had not had to happen. He could have done
something earlier if he'd wanted, if he'd had the guts, and that red-haired woman and her twins would not
be alone. Instead, guilt-stricken, he'd done it after the
fact, calling the TV stations to tell them what was
going on, hoping to make it up to the dead man in
some small way. Now his head held more images that
wouldn't go away: the last time he'd seen Lachlan,
asleep on his back in his cot, as safe as any baby could
be; then the man with the gun on his doorstep.
And now Sophie was running around out there
like some kind of vigilante, so caught up in her search
that she would never know if she was being followed,
and Ella was starting to snoop about the Houtkamp
case. It scared him half to death. He needed to make
contact with the people who had Lachlan and let
them know he was sorry, he'd made a mistake, he
would never ever do such a stupid thing.
He picked up the phone again.
'Recruitment.'
'Is Dean available?'
'I'm so sorry, he's left for the day,' the woman
said.'I did pass on all your messages.'
Maybe he would drop in on his way home. Chris
sat biting his lip, feeling his head throb. He would
make it all clear to Dean. He would tell him that if
they wanted his life in return for Lachlan's and
Sophie's safety, then that was the price he would pay.

5.15 pm

'There's another department for our Christmas card
list,' Dennis said as he and Ella got back in the car
Frantic

with the pictures the Photographies unit had
processed from the CCTV tape. The unit had been
near to closing for the day when the detectives hurried
in, but like so many other sections they'd pulled
out all stops to get the work done immediately.
Another cop's child missing was like their own child
missing.
They pored over the pictures.
'It's definitely Sawyer,' Ella said.
'And his car.'
The photos weren't as clear as shots taken in daylight,
but the unit techs had been able to zoom in and
enhance and God knew what, to the point where the
BMW's numberplate was clear and Sawyer's face was
recognisable. The woman was another story however.
Ella said,'It's as if she knew the camera was there and
was being careful to hide her face.'
'She's shorter than him, and has a slim build,'
Dennis said. 'Short dark hair. Wearing dark trousers
and a dark shirt.'
All fine and true but it wasn't going to help them
find her.
'Let's go and visit Sawyer,' Ella said.
'He's not going to talk without his solicitor.'
'Let's just knock at his door and see what happens,'
she said. 'Like you said, looking at this might
bring his memory back. He might recognise her. She
might provide an alibi for the time of the shooting.'
'I thought you thought he was guilty'
'I just want to know one way or the other,' she
said. 'If we can cross him off, I don't have to think
about him any more.'
They drove through the lengthening shadows to
Sawyer's house. A for sale sign stood outside the
block of flats across the street and Ella figured the
surveillance team were probably comfortably
ensconced in the empty unit.
Dennis knocked on Sawyer's door. A dark-haired
woman with red eyes answered. 'Not interested,' she
said, and started to close the door.
Dennis showed his badge. 'We're police.'
Her eyes widened. 'Have you found out who
drugged Boyd?'
Dennis said,'You are?'
'Helen Sawyer, Boyd's sister.' She glanced behind
her. Ella could see shadows of people moving about,
and hear the clink of cups and teaspoons. The conversation
was low, sombre. The woman went on, 'I
think he's upstairs. Just a minute and I'll fetch him.'
She started off then turned back.'I'm sorry. My mind
this afternoon . . . Would you like to come in?'
Dennis shook his head. 'We don't want to

intrude.'
The woman gave a small smile and went up the
stairs.
In the house somebody began to weep. Ella and
Dennis exchanged a glance and Dennis made a face.
'We had to come,' Ella whispered.
Sawyer came slowly down the stairs. Ella was
shocked to see he looked even thinner than before.
She hadn't thought that was possible.
Sawyer looked at Dennis. 'Have you found the
man who drugged me?'
Ella was fine with being ignored. Just fine.
'Would you mind looking at some photos for us
please?' Dennis said.
'Do I need my solicitor?'
His sister tucked her arm through his. 'It's okay,
Boyd.'
'We just want you to tell us whether you recognise
someone,' Dennis said.
Ella held the picture out. 'That's you, isn't it? So
who is this?'
Sawyer looked at the photo for a moment then
back up at them. His face was blank. He said, 'I'm
saying nothing without my solicitor present,' and
shut the door in their faces.

5.20 pm

The last of the sun's rays streamed in the tow truck's
window but Sophie couldn't feel them. She wrapped
her arms around herself and looked down into every
car they passed. Some of them had pale blue ribbons
tied to their aerials. She felt as if she'd worked three
night shifts in a row with no sleep between them and
drunk enough espressos for ten people. Her skin was
sore, her eyes red and painful. Thoughts of Lachlan
filled her head. She'd give her life to be able to hold
him again and know he was safe.
At Royal North Shore, while Angus had waited
with the car for the tow truck, she'd gone into the
hospital to see Chris. He was silent. She'd hoped to
lie next to him, comforted by his arms around her,
his face close to hers, but he grumbled when she
started to get on the bed. Instead she sat in a chair
with her hand on his knee and tried to get him to
talk. When she told him what she'd been doing all
day he got angry. Didn't she know the danger she was
putting herself in? Apart from the fact she and Angus
were breaking the law by lying to these people?
Wondering for a second whether he was jealous
because of who she was with, or simply angry over
what she'd done, she'd said she had to do something, she couldn't simply sit around. Then he'd gone all
defensive, saying he was doing the best he could but
he was injured. She'd felt like shouting about her
own needs, her own loneliness and grief, but in the
end she'd pecked him on the cheek and left. Now all
she wanted was to sink into a hot bath and think of
ways to look at more children.
The tow-truck driver let her out at the end of
her driveway and she walked to the house with her
head down, the kit slung over her shoulder, the
ambulance shirt rolled up in the plastic bag in her
hand. Sounds of children playing came from the
houses nearby but she didn't want to look up and see
the parents, didn't want to listen to their sympathy,
didn't want to go through what the police thought
and where they were up to with the case. The
answering machine in the house would be full of the
same queries, no doubt many from Cynthia and her
other friends from the antenatal group, but she
wouldn't call anyone back. She just couldn't face anyone
now. She needed to be alone and think.
The doorstep was empty and she paused. That
morning it had been full of flowers and soft toys, and
she'd left it that way. Now the step was clear and

there was a pale blue ribbon tied to the door handle.
Next second the door opened and Gloria pulled
her into a hug. The house was bright and smelled of
cooking. 'Where have you been?'
Sophie stepped inside. The living room was full
of the flowers and soft toys from the step, and cards
hung on a string across the wall. Fergus Patrick
smiled uneasily from an armchair, a photo album
open on his lap. A radio played softly somewhere.
Rage swelled up inside Sophie's chest and she turned
on Gloria. 'What have you done?'
'Just tidied up a little,' Gloria said. 'Did you see
the ribbon? It was Cynthia's idea. They're even talking
about it on the news. And Mr Patrick is looking
for another picture of Lachlan, to print on the
posters.'
Patrick cleared his throat. 'I might use this one, if
that's okay with you?' He held up a recent picture of
Lachlan sitting outside on a rug in the sun. Sophie
remembered taking it, how she'd made silly faces to
get him to smile, the sound of his laughter.
She pulled away from Gloria and ran upstairs.
There were vacuum marks on the carpet. Her and
Chris's room was neat, all the clothes gone from the
floor, the bed made with fresh sheets. Lachlan's room
smelled of Mr Sheen and his toys were lined up tidily
on his dresser.
'Don't you think it looks better?' Gloria said
behind her.
Sophie bit down hard on a scream. How could
she explain her need to keep everything exactly as it
had been the night Lachlan was taken? That freezing
time in this little world when time outside marched
on made her feel more able to bring him home?
'The milk was off, in the fridge,' Gloria said.
Sophie whirled to face her. 'I mean, things needed
doing,' Gloria added lamely.
Sophie said, 'I'm having a bath.' She went into
the bathroom and slammed the door.
'Dinner will be about half an hour,' Gloria said
through the crack.
'I'm not hungry.'
'You need to eat.'
'I am not hungry.'
Sophie ran the bath deep and hot. She poured in
some of Lachlan's baby wash then sank into the
water, breathing in his smell, her tears mingling with
the bathwater.
The ringing of her mobile made her sit up, and
she grabbed it from her pile of clothes on the floor.

'It's me,' Angus said. 'I've found out some stuff
about Sawyer but I don't know if you'll want to
hear it.'
'Tell me,' she said, her voice cracking.
'They've got surveillance on him and they only
do that when they're pretty sure about a suspect.'
Sophie closed her eyes.
'But they're not positive that he went to the river
to, urn . . . You know.'
Sophie knew.'So what do they think happened?'
'They think he may have dropped him off somewhere.
Given him to someone.'
'Like to a friend?'
Angus hesitated. 'Like the baby black market.'
'I thought there was no such thing.' Her head was
spinning, from the hot water or the news or both.
'That's what people like to think,' he said.
'So why don't they haul him in and hammer him
to find out?'
'He won't speak to them any more and he's got
one hell of a bulldog for a lawyer,'Angus said.
There seemed to be steam in her mind as well as
in the room. 'And they're letting that stop them?'
'There are rules about what they can do.'
'He's my baby,' she said.
'I know it, and they know it. They're doing as
much as they can but there are legal lines they can't
cross.'
'Why hasn't Ella told me these things?'
'They worry about letting out information,
firstly in case the wrong person hears about the
progress of the case, and secondly in case people take
it on themselves to act.'
Sophie rubbed her face with a wet hand.
'I only found out because I've got friends in
there and they know I can be trusted.'
'But you can't. You just told me everything,'
Sophie said.
'But I know that you can,' he said.'If you ask Ella
about this she'll deny it, you understand. But she'll
know someone leaked information, and that could
mean trouble.'
When he'd hung up she dropped the phone back
onto her pile of clothes and sank into the water. All
her life she'd trusted and believed in the police, and
this had only increased when she'd become a
paramedic and worked so closely with them, then
married one. If they thought Sawyer was the one,
then he must be. It's my fault.
Nausea struck her and she leapt out of the bath
to stand dripping over the toilet, retching up bile.
She should've done more, she should've worked
harder at saving Sawyer's wife and child. She
should've shown more compassion. If he'd seen her
holding back tears at the scene maybe he would've
known how much she wished for them to be okay.
She shouldn't have hidden outside at the hospital but
gone to see him, talk to him, show him the effect it
had had on her.
There was a tap at the door.'Are you okay?'
'Leave me alone.' Sophie glared into the toilet.
She was furious with herself. She was furious with
Gloria for coming in and changing the house. She
was also furious with Ella for not telling her everything
- what did the detective think she would do,
kidnap Sawyer and torture the truth out of him
herself?

9 pm
Music thumped from the monstrosity that was the
Red Pheasant. Dennis looked in at the crush of
people.'This is not going to be easy.'
They had no choice. Van Pelt refused to meet
with them unless Sawyer was under arrest. Not
tonight, not tomorrow, the day of the funerals.
Maybe the next day. Maybe.
Inside the pub the noise was deafening. A DJ
bounced on a small stage at one end, and red and
green lights flashed fast enough to give you seizures.
Ella spotted Farouk, the barman they'd spoken to at
home earlier in the evening. Neither he nor the
other two staff had recognised the people in the
photo.
Ella followed Dennis to the far end of the room,
took a deep breath of humid air and put her hand on
the shoulder of a young man in torn jeans and a black
T-shirt, with a black goatee beard. He turned with a
smile that shrank when she opened her badge in his
face. She then held out the photo.'Do you recognise
either of these people?'
'What?'
Ella shouted it louder.
He screwed up his eyes over the picture.The girl
with him leaned over to look too. They both shook
their heads.'Sorry,' he bellowed.
Ella smiled her thanks and moved on.
When she held out the picture and yelled the
question for the eighth time, the man she was showing
it to nodded. "I know him, yeah.'
'You know him?'
'What?'
Ella pointed to the door. She grabbed Dennis on
the way. Outside they stood under a streetlight. The
air was cool and smelled of car exhaust. 'You're sure
you know him?' Ella said.
'Yeah, he's a plastic surgeon. His name's Sawyer.'
The man was in his late twenties with brown hair cut
short and spiked up. He wore black jeans and a grey
T-shirt with the words Crazy Mofo across the chest.
'He did my girlfriend's tits. Did a really good job too,'
he said. 'She's a stripper. Tax deduction, you know.
Enhanced her earning potential no end.'
Ella said,'Have you ever seen this man here at the
Red Pheasant?'
'Yeah, I saw him last night.' He looked at the picture
again. 'I'm pretty sure he was with this chick. I
remember cos she had no tits and I wondered if she
was his girlfriend, if he'd do hers for free.'
'You're certain you saw this man here in this pub
last night?' Dennis said.
'Yes,' the man said.
'Had you seen the woman before?'
He shook his head.
'Can you describe her?'
'She had no tits,' he said. 'That's really all I
remember.'
'Was she tall, short, thin, fat?' Ella said.
The man shrugged.
Dennis said, 'What was her height in comparison
to Detective Marconi?'
The man looked her over. Ella resisted the urge
to fold her arms. 'I only saw her sitting down so I
don't know how tall she is. Oh, but I remember she
had skinny arms. I saw those arms and I thought,
yeah, that's why she's got no tits.'
'So she's skinny'
'Skinny arms is all I saw.'
'What about her face?'
'Don't even remember it.' He shrugged again.
'Say plain. Average. Forgettable, you know.'
'Would you recognise her if you saw her again?'
'Probably not.'
Dennis took his name and contact details and
said he'd get him in for a proper statement in the
morning.
'No sweat. See ya.'The man wandered back into
the pub.
Ella thrust her hands into her pockets. 'A real
charmer.'
'At least now we know something.'
'What do we know?' Ella said. 'We already knew
Sawyer was here, and left with this woman. The only
new bit of information is a fragment of a description,
but how do we find a woman with no tits and skinny
arms?'
'The description might help Sawyer remember
her,' Dennis said. 'Or if she's a drug dealer the Local
Area Command might know her. We should get onto
that tomorrow.'
Ella pressed a thumb into her right eye, trying to
ease the growing headache there. 'Let's just go back
in there and get this over with.'
The rest of the pub was a bust. Ella got sick of
seeing people shake their heads. It was after ten when
she finally beckoned Dennis outside. They had to
squeeze through the door past the stream of people
entering the building. Almost as many were leaving.
'We can't keep up with this,' she said into
Dennis's ear. Someone bumped into her and she
turned ready to snap, but they'd already slipped away
into the crowd.
'You want to call it a night?'
She gestured at the crowds jostling at the door
and started to speak, then a strong male arm snaked
around her waist. 'Hey, babe!'
Without a second's hesitation she seized the
wrist and bent it back and sideways, causing the
Crazy Mofo to drop to the footpath with a yelp. She
kept the tension on, twisting his arm over, making
him scrabble drunkenly to keep up and save his arm.
People stopped to look and someone giggled crazily.
'He probably needs that arm,' Dennis said mildly.
Ella kept the pressure on for a moment.The man
grimaced up at her. 'I'm sorry'
She held up one warning finger then let go of his
arm. The Crazy Mofo scrambled to his feet and disappeared
into the watching crowd. Ella felt like
crying. Her head throbbed with the music and
fatigue and the sheer bloody misery of the case; she
felt it would never be over, they would never find
Lachlan and reunite the family, and she would spend
the rest of her life calculating his age and staring into
the faces of dark-eyed boys.

TWELVE

Friday 9 May, 7.20 am



Dean Rigby didn't show up and he didn't call.
Chris lay awake most of the night thinking,
and when the day-shift nurse came in to check his
pulse and blood pressure he told her his decision.
'You're joking,' she said.
'You can get all the doctors in here, you can even
bring the hospital CEO, but I won't change my
mind.'
She did get the doctor. He listened as Chris
explained again what he wanted. The doctor said, 'I
can't stop you but I am advising in the strongest possible
terms against it.'
'Understood.'
'You could die.'
"I'll  sign all the waivers you want,' Chris said.
Gloria arrived as he was filling in the paperwork. It was way before visiting hours so he guessed one of
the nurses had called her.
She stabbed a finger at the forms. 'This is proof
that you need to stay. Only a man with a brain injury
would want to leave hospital so soon after being shot.'
'I'm fine,' he said, signing his name in haste. It was
taking some effort to sit up and talk to people and
read and write, and there was more to be done before
he could collapse on the lounge at home.
The doctor insisted he go downstairs in a wheelchair.
Chris agreed, if only to keep Gloria from
getting any further on his back. She maintained a
stony silence in the lift then through the hospital
foyer and carpark. He climbed into the front seat of
the car. She took the wheelchair back to the building
then got in the driver's seat.
As she put the key into the ignition he said, 'I
need you to drive me into the city.'
'No.'
He opened the door. 'Then I'll get a taxi to the
train and go in by myself
She considered him for a long moment, her gaze
moving over the wound on his face and the bruising
around his eyes. Then she turned the key and revved
the engine. He closed the door. 'Thank you.'
When they were on the Pacific Highway in
North Sydney she said, 'So where are we going and
why?'
'The Headquarters building. I have to see
someone.'
'But why?'
'To sort out some things.'
'Can't you do it over the phone?'
'No, I can't.' The glare from the windscreens of
oncoming cars made his head hurt. He closed his
eyes, then felt dizzy.
When they were over the Bridge and in the
C#BD he directed Gloria to the Headquarters bullding.
'Stop here. I won't be long.'
She looked anxiously about. 'It's a no-standing
zone. I'll get booked.'
'If a grey ghost comes, just go around the block.'
He got out of the car, ignoring his mother's protests.
Inside the building he took the lift up to the
Recruitment Office. People busded in the corridors.
Someone said 'Hi' to him but he didn't take his eyes
off the door to the office.
A young female constable with her arm in a cast
looked up at him when he walked in. 'Can I help
you?'
'I want to talk to Dean.'
The door to the inner office opened and Dean
looked out. 'Chris?'

They sat on opposite sides of the desk.'I can't believe
you're out of hospital so soon,' Dean said, adjusting
the wide foam collar around his neck.
'You never called me back.'
'It's been crazy in here.' Dean waved towards the
boxes of mail stacked in a corner of the room.'We've
got a drive going on, the phones are ringing off the
hook all the time, people requesting packages and
sending in applications and asking stupid questions
like will a rape conviction stop them from becoming
a copper.' He smiled but Chris didn't smile back.
Dean turned serious. 'Any news on your boy?'
'You should know.'
'Huh?'
Chris leaned forward over the desk. 'You tell the
others that I'm no longer a threat, okay? You tell
them I'll do whatever they want.'
'What are you talking about?'
'What I did was wrong, I know that now,' Chris
said. 'But nobody else knows I did it. I won't say
another word. All I want is my son.'
'Chris, mate, you've lost me.'
The ringing started in Chris's ears.The room was
so hot. He took a deep breath. 'What do they want?
They want me dead?'
'Chris'
He tried to blink away the dark spots. 'Talk to
them, tell them what I said, then call me.' He lowered
his head to his knees. 'That Detective Marconi's
looking into Houtkamp, you know. It's not a huge
jump from one thing to another.'
There was silence from across the desk. With a
little more blood in his head Chris was able to look
up. Dean was staring at him.
'Tell them what I said.'
Dean suddenly smiled. 'I think you've come out
of hospital too soon. Something's wrong with your
head, making you paranoid.'
'I won't wait forever,' Chris said. 'Bring him back
today.You tell them.'
Dean gave half a laugh. 'How about I get an
ambulance, get you back to where you should be?'
Chris stood up unsteadily and moved towards
the door. 'You tell them.'
Mercifully, the lift was empty He leaned his forehead
against the cold steel doors and fought back

Frantic

tears. He'd known Dean wouldn't admit to anything
but he'd hoped that there'd at least be some sign that
the message was getting through, that things would
be fixed. Instead he'd seen no response at all -- only a
glimmer of fear when he'd mentioned Houtkamp.

10.12 am

There was nobody home in the top-floor flats.
Sophie took a moment to lean on the landing's windowsill.
The glass was broken and she looked out
over the southern suburbs and felt the breeze come
across all those houses, all those families, to touch
her face.
'You're different this morning,' Angus said.
It was true. While she hadn't yet decided to go
ahead with her idea, she could feel herself coming to believe it was the only way she'd find Lachlan. Going
flat to flat now felt pointless, little more than a timefiller
while she decided how to do it.
She watched Angus from the corner of her eye,
wondering how much he could be trusted. He'd kept
The Big Mistake a secret from Chris, and hadn't ever
embarrassed her over it. He'd come along with her so
far, had even given her information she wasn't meant
to have, but what she was considering next was much
worse than a simple con. Finally she said, 'Have you
ever done a case where the law didn't do what it was
supposed to? Where someone didn't pay for their
crime?'
'Lots of people get shorter sentences than they
deserve.'
'I mean a case where the culprit walked
completely free. Or where maybe he was never even
charged.'
Angus nodded. 'They're unfortunately not that
rare.'
'Don't you ever wish you could do something
more?'
He brushed at his tie. 'I did, once.'
She faced him.
'When I was working out Bankstown way, this
guy grabbed a twelve-year-old girl off the street. The
girl had been on her way home from dance class. She
wanted to be a ballerina. After she'd been on the stand
and had to answer questions about the exact details of
the man's anatomy and actions, after the case got
binned on technicalities, she took an overdose of her
mother's newly prescribed depression medication. She
spent a week in ICll and came out brain-damaged
enough to no longer dance or cope with school, but
not so brain-damaged she didn't know about it or had
forgotten the entire sequence of events.' He kicked the
wall. 'I saw the mother some time later; she told me
they put their place up for sale and the guy came along
to an open house under a false name and took a picture
of the girl's bedroom then mailed it to them.'
'What did you do?'
Now Angus studied her as if measuring her trustworthiness.
'I followed him for a while.'
She waited.
'And one night he came out of a pub drunk and
started walking home, and when he staggered into
a dark street I was waiting.' Angus lowered his gaze.
'I kicked the crap out of him.'
A week ago Sophie would have disapproved.'Did
he live?'
Angus nodded. 'Bruises, scrapes, a few cracked
ribs, bit of internal bleeding.'
'Did it do the job?'
'His name hasn't popped up on the system since.'
Angus shrugged.'I don't know if people like that can
really change, but I like to think he got a bit of his
own medicine.'
Sophie looked out the window again. There was
a message in what Angus had just told her: the way to
do it was on your own.There was no need to tell him
what she was thinking. It was safer that way too,
because he might be happy to pretend he worked for
the Health Department, he might beat up a child
rapist in a dark alley, but what she was considering
was a whole different matter.
'Better get moving.' She bent to pick up the red
kit then heard a noise. She froze.
'What's the matter?'
'Listen.'
Angus frowned.'I can't hear . . .' He stopped.The
sound was faint but distinct.
'That's a baby crying,' Sophie said. She went to
the nearest door and pressed her ear to the wood.
Angus checked the next one. At the third one Sophie
found the cry was louder. 'It's in here.'
Angus put his ear against the door while Sophie
stood back and surveyed the area. There had been no
signs of life in any of these flats when she and Angus
knocked. There were no peepholes in the doors, no
windows along the landing.
The baby wailed.
'I can't hear any other sounds,'Angus whispered.
'Maybe there's nobody here with it.'
'Or they're taking great care to sneak around.'
Either meant something was wrong. Sophie tested the doorknob and found it locked.
Angus went to the end of the landing and leaned
out the window. 'There's one window that might be
within reach.'
'We're six floors up.' Sophie tapped a knuckle
across the wood. She'd kicked flimsy doors down
before, getting to critically ill patients. This one
sounded solid.
In the flat the baby howled.
'Maybe between us we can kick it in?' she said. 'If
we find him, or we save someone's life, nobody's going
to be too fussed about asking why we were here.'
They stood side by side, holding each other for
balance. Angus counted down and they hit the wood
simultaneously with their heels.
'Again.'
This time Sophie reeled back, her foot throbbing.
'It must be deadbolted top and bottom.'
Angus crouched and rubbed his ankle. 'How the
hell are we going to get in?'
Inside the flat, the baby screamed.

10.22 am

Edman Hughes waved at Ella from the station doorway
as she drove into the yard.
He came down the steps to meet her. 'Hello,
Detective Marconi.'
'I'm sorry but I can't talk now,' she said, going
past him, the manila envelope of photos in her hand.
'It's just I've heard nothing about my case,' he
said. 'I was wondering what you'd found out about
the, um, accelerant?'
'The samples are still being processed.' Had she
even sent them in? God only knew.'I'll let you know
when I hear anything.'
'I can't find work,' he said, looking up at her
from the bottom step. 'All my money was in that
business.'
'I'm sorry for you, Mr Hughes, but I have other
cases going on, and I have important things to do.'
The station door clunked shut behind her and she
hurried away. Just before she turned the corner in the
corridor she couldn't help glancing back, and she saw
he was still there, peering in like a lost dog. She felt
like shouting, Hey, i'm trying to find a baby here! Let's
get our priorities right, shall we?
Around the corner she ran into Detective
Hollebeck, who was leaning against the wall. He
checked his watch. 'Part-timer?'
She went to move past.'If you don't mind, I have
things to do.'
'I know.' He pointed her down the corridor.'Top
of your list is talking to us.'
When they were seated in an office Hollebeck
leaned forward on his folded arms. Draper, the quiet
achiever, opened her notebook. Ella put the envelope
on the table and waited.
'There's been some interesting developments in
the Roth case,' Hollebeck said.
'How so?'
'Your prints weren't on the IV bag or line.'
'I wore gloves.'
'We know,' Hollebeck said.'Dennis told us.'
'When did you talk to Dennis?'
Hollebeck ignored her question. 'In fact,
nobody's prints were on the bag or line.'
'The nurse wore gloves too. I told you that.'
'We know.' Hollebeck smiled at her.
Ella smiled back.'Can we get to the point?'
'Preliminary tests on the IV set show traces of
lignocaine and insulin. Whoever went for Roth
knew what they wanted and knew how to cause it,'
he said.'We've spoken to the staff on Roth's ward and
none of them saw any strange nurse. We checked the
hospital's security footage. The woman you describe
does not appear.'
'So she changed her clothes and wig in a bathroom
somewhere,' Ella said.
'Oh, was she wearing a wig?'
'I don't know, I'm just making suggestions.'
Hollebeck turned to Draper. 'Might have worn a
wig. Write that down.' He looked back at Ella. 'See,
we don't know any of these things because nobody
else saw her. Except Roth himself, of course. But he's
dead, so no help there.'
His tone pissed her off. 'I'm surprised you didn't
have a guard posted for precisely this sort of event.'
'Oh, but we did.'
'I never saw one.'
'He was cunningly disguised as a patient in a
room across the hall.'
'So what did he see?'
'Nothing,' Hollebeck said.
'Too busy watching TV?'
'He was asleep.' He leaned further forward.
'Because he'd been drugged.'
Ella had been about to suggest he pick his team a
bit better. 'That nurse again?'
'He didn't have an IV All he'd done was eat the
meals brought to him.'
'Sounds like you've got your work cut out for
you, finding someone with access to the meals as well
as a fake nurse,' Ella said.
'I want you to think very carefully,' Hollebeck
said, 'about whether anyone walked past the room
when this nurse was in there, whether anyone at all
may have seen her. Because otherwise . . .'
She folded her arms. 'Otherwise what?'
'Otherwise we have to consider the possibility
that you may have done it.'
She snorted laughter. 'I was trying to get information
from him about the Phillips case. Why would
I want him dead? That's even if I knew how to connect
an IV line, which I don't.'
'Just so you know where we stand.' Hollebeck
leaned back in his chair. 'You can go.'
Ella grabbed up the manila envelope then
slammed the door as she went out. The nerve of him!
She knew what this meant: people would be looking
into her, searching for links to Roth, the robbery
gang, anything out of the ordinary. There was
nothing to find - except maybe that thing about
Shakespeare - but it was a nasty feeling.
In the Incident Room she slapped the envelope
down on the desk. Dennis turned from the computer.
'What are you all wound up about?'
'Hollebeck just asked me if I killed Roth,' she
said.'Not in so many words, of course.'
'They're only barking up every tree they can
find. They don't really think it was you.'
'So long as they don't suspend me from duty
while they make up their mind.'
'How'd you go with the photos?'
Ella was still thinking of Hollebeck's stare.'If only
you'd been in Roth's room with me, you could confirm
that woman was real.'
'Ella,' he said.'The photos?'
She focused.'No good. If she is a drug dealer, none
of them knew her.' Nobody at the police stations
around the pub even thought she looked familiar.
Dennis leaned back in the chair and stretched his
arms above his head. 'I talked to Arendson last night.
He's Chris's current partner. He said Sophie can't
stop searching and he's going along to make sure she's
okay while Chris is crook.'
'That's good,'Ella said.'So does she think Sawyer
did it?'
'Apparently not. Arendson said Sophie told him
about the birth and everything else, how we looked
into him, and he simply wanted to see if the guy was
in custody or not.'
Ella sat down and nodded at the computer
screen.'So what are you doing here?'
'Just rereading some stuff' He moved the mouse
desultorily. 'I feel like we're in a holding pattern. We
can't show those photos to Sawyer because the
funeral's on today, we're still trying to get access to
the TV stations' phone records, everyone's out chasing
down baby leads and getting precisely zip.'
Ella knew what he meant, especially about the
photos. She aligned the envelope with the corners of
the desk.'You don't think we could duck around this
afternoon, when the funeral's over, take some flowers
or something'
'No, I don't,' he said. 'He's not so major a suspect
that he deserves that.'
She put her palm flat on the envelope.
'Tomorrow, then.'
He nodded, eyes on the screen.
'Hey,' he said, looking up after a moment. 'Did I
tell you that the money found with Marisa Waters
and Dudley-Pearson was really hers? She actually had
sold a bunch of shares.'
'So it was true love after all.'
'Nothing dodgy at all.'
'That's so sweet.'
He grinned at her.

10.40 am

Sophie watched the paramedics emerge from the
block of units with a female patient wrapped in blankets
on the stretcher. She lay on her side with an
oxygen mask on. The drip stand was up and a bag of
Hartmann's ran through the IV line. The paramedic
at the woman's head bent down and spoke to her.
Sophie nodded to herself. Conscious but drowsy, and
hypotensive enough to need fluids: probably a drug overdose.
Prescription tablets. Maybe antidepressants.
The paramedic at the foot of the stretcher
glanced around and Sophie slid lower in the passenger
seat of Angus's car. The red kit, clipboard and tie
were on the floor. She'd come up with the idea of
having Angus in the block to visit a friend who
wasn't home, when he thought he heard a cry for
help so called an ambulance.
Now he emerged from the door of the block
carrying a baby. The baby was blond, and red in the
face, and flailing its arms in his grip. Angus hurried to
the ambulance and a slim arm snaked out from under
the blanket towards the baby as the paramedics
loaded the stretcher into the vehicle. The paramedic
climbed in beside the stretcher then reached back
out for the baby.
Angus waited on the street until the ambulance
was gone, then came to the car. 'Lucky for her we
came along,' he said.
'Tablets?' Sophie said.'And alcohol?'
Angus nodded as he started the car. 'When the
three of us were kicking at that bloody door she
actually woke up enough to come over and unlock
it.' He put the car into gear, then slipped it back into
neutral.'Where to now?'
'Home, I think.'
'Really?'
She nodded. She'd made her decision and she
had some serious planning to do. Gloria would be at
the hospital all day, so the house would be peaceful
and quiet; and if she wavered, Lachlan's empty cot
would spur her on.

Gloria's car was in the driveway, its aerial a mass of
pale blue ribbons. 'Damn.' Sophie recalled Angus
sympathising when she'd bitched about Gloria that
night at the Jungle. She wondered how well they'd
known each other. It would be odd having him in
the house, but maybe he and Gloria would sit around
reminiscing and she could retreat into her head and
scheme. 'Do you want to come in?'
'Why not.'
Gloria opened the front door.
'Gloria, you remember Angus?' Sophie said.
Gloria glanced at him and nodded, then reached
for Sophie's arm.'Chris signed himself out of hospital.
He needs to go back. You need to tell him so. To
make him.'
Sophie motioned for Angus to go in past her.'I'm
sure he knows what he's doing.'
'He doesn't.' Gloria slammed the door.'That's the
problem.'
'He always was stubborn,'Angus put in.
Gloria looked at him, and Sophie took the
opportunity to run upstairs. As she reached the landing
she heard Gloria ask about Bee. Angus started
telling her about Bee's sick son, Ben.
Chris lay on his side on the bed, his mobile
phone on the covers next to him.'I hope you haven't
been running around the streets again.'
So that's how it's going to be. She kicked the kitbag
into a corner and started changing out of the uniform.
'I hear you signed out against advice.'
He said, 'It's not safe for you out there, and anyway
are you allowed to be in uniform if you're not
on duty?'
'It's not safe for you here,' she said. 'You could
have a cerebral bleed, and what can Gloria and I do
about it?'
'Are you trying to control me again?'
She threw the clothes onto the floor. He'd been
badly injured, she reminded herself. He could have
died. His son was missing. He needed understanding.
And so did she. 'It's going to be okay'
He looked at his watch.'Says who?'
'Says me. I'll find him.'
'Because I can't?'
'No, not because you can't,' she said. 'Because it's
my fault, and I'm going to fix things.'
'It's not your fault.' But he didn't look at her as he
said it, and she suddenly saw all his anger, his silence,
even his resistance to her wanting to get on his bed
in the hospital, for what it was. He blames me.
She didn't know why it should hurt so much,
because he was right to blame her. But the two
metres of space between them suddenly seemed like
miles and his back looked like that of a stranger.
When she spoke the words fell into dead air. 'I'm
going downstairs.'
He didn't reply.

THIRTEEN

Friday 9 May, 11.30 am



Detective Murray Shakespeare was leaning in the
doorway watching officers take calls on the
public hotline. Ella pulled Dennis into a corridor
before he could spot them.
'Do you a deal,' she said. 'You keep him for the
next couple of hours and I'll take him all weekend.'
Dennis frowned.
She put her hands together in prayer. 'Houtkamp s
not going to talk if he's there.'
'He also won't talk if he doesn't know anything.'
'An hour. Just give me one hour.'
Dennis rolled his eyes and held out his hand. She
shook it with glee.
She was heading out of the station carpark when
Shakespeare ran from the building into her path. She
braked.'What?'
He opened the passenger door and got in.
'Dennis said he was going home for a break and I
should find something else to do.' He shrugged. 'So
here I am.'
Oh, great. 'That's really nice, Murray, but I've
got something I need to do on my own.'
'Like what?'
'I can't say.'
'Acting Commissioner Eagers said I'm to get full
access.'
'To the case, yes. But I'm not sure yet if this is
related.' She smiled at him. 'So you'd be better to go
back inside. Read through the computer log. You
might see something we've missed.'
He seemed to consider this for a moment.
'Thanks, but I'll stay'
She couldn't think of a way to get him out,
short of opening the door and kicking him, and
that'd no doubt end in someone else kicking her. Goddammit.
They drove without speaking to Banks Street in
Waterloo. Ella tried to clear her mind of anger and
concentrate on what she'd say to Houtkamp and
how she'd say it, but Murray's nose whistled when he
breathed and made it impossible to think.
When she parked outside number thirty-nine,
Murray narrowed his eyes at the eight-storey block
of flats.'Who lives here?'
'The person I'm going to talk to alone.'
'It might not be safe.'
'It's broad daylight,' she said.
'Like nobody gets killed in the day'
'I'll be fine.'
He shook his head. 'I'm coming with you.'
She'd have dearly loved to order him to sit down
and shut up but they were of equal rank. She
slammed the door and stalked across the footpath.
Flat five was on the second floor. Ella knocked
on the door and waited. Behind her the nose whistled.'Have
you got a cold?' she said.
'No, why?'
She knocked again.
'Doesn't look like your secret squirrel's home.'
'He might be in the shower.' She pounded on the
door with her fist.
Across the landing a door opened and an old
man looked out. 'You after Paul? He's at work.'
'Right, right,' Ella said. 'Of course. I asked at the
nursing home but they said he wasn't there. I
should've realised he'd be at work.'
At the mention of the nursing home the old man
smiled.'Do you want the address of his site?'
Site? 'That'd be great, if you have it handy'
'It's on Mooramie Street in Kingsford. Going to
be big, he told me, penthouse at the top and all.'
Ella thanked him.
He nodded. 'If you're going there now, would
you mind taking this to him?' He reached back inside
his flat and brought out a floral arrangement in a basket.
'I'm leaving for a few days' fishing up the coast.
Paul goes straight to the nursing home after work on
Fridays, so I won't be here when he gets home. Can't
leave it in the hall: who knows who might pinch it.'
He held it out with a smile.
Ella handed it on to Murray then smiled at the
old man. 'Thanks for your help.'
In the car Murray balanced the basket on his
knee. 'You bluffed that old guy'
Ella pulled out into the traffic.
'You should've identified yourself and asked him
straight out.'
'And get some poor old bloke in a tizzy about
why his neighbour's got detectives at his door? This
way's kinder.'
'Easier, you mean,' Murray said. 'It saved you figuring
out what to do if he wouldn't give you the
information.'
Oh yes. Dennis was going to pay.
Utes and trucks were parked along the kerbs near
the site in Mooramie Street, and dirty tyre tracks led
out onto the asphalt.The builders were having lunch,
sitting on their eskies with a radio playing and a fire
going in an empty drum. They watched with interest
as Ella approached. Behind her Murray stumbled
over a clod of earth and almost dropped the flowers.
One of the builders laughed.
'Paul Houtkamp?' Ella said.
The builders' heads turned towards a dusty-faced
man drinking chocolate milk from a carton. He
wiped his mouth and put the carton on the ground
between his feet before looking up. 'Yes?'
'Can I have a word please?'
He got up and came over. The fact that he didn't
ask who she was meant he'd probably already figured
it out and didn't want to talk in front of his work
mates. He wore dirty work boots, stained khaki
shorts and a navy T-shirt. He walked past her to the
footpath so she had to follow. He leaned against the
side of a grimy ute, waiting for her to speak.
'I'm Detective Ella Marconi. I want to ask you
about the assault two months ago.'
Houtkamp studied Murray. 'Who's the flower
boy?'
'I'm Detective Murray Shakespeare.' He put the
basket on the ground.
Houtkamp said to Ella, 'You could've read the
file instead of coming out here.'
'I've read it,' she said. 'I wanted to hear about it
from you.'
'I confessed. What more do you want?'
'How did you get the upper hand on two experienced
officers?'
'Just lucky'
'One of those officers, Constable Chris Phillips,
was shot and his child abducted two nights ago.'
'I've already been questioned about that. I was at
the Bower Brae Nursing Home.'
'You told the investigating officers you were
there from eight-forty until ten pm. Were you there
the entire time?'
'Of course I was.'
'Can you prove it?'
'Ask the staff, check the visitors' book.'
'I know the staff saw you arrive and leave. Did
either of them come into the room while you were
there?'
Houtkamp folded his arms. 'No.'
'And I don't suppose the person you were visiting
would remember, would they?' Ella said. 'Or they
wouldn't need to live in a nursing home.'
Houtkamp stared at her with anger. 'Am I under
arrest?'
'No.'
'Then I don't have to talk to you.' He started to
walk away but Murray grabbed his arm.
'When a detective wants to talk to you, you listen,'
he growled.
'Whoa,' Ella said. 'Let him go.'
A couple of the builders got to their feet.
Houtkamp wrenched his arm free. Murray glared at
him, red-faced. Houtkamp muttered something and
turned to go, then Murray picked up the basket of
flowers and thrust it at his back. Houtkamp spun
around at the touch. When he saw what Murray held
out he put his hands in his pockets.
'Fer Chris- It's not a bomb,' Murray said. 'Your
neighbour said these were delivered to your place.'
He dropped the basket on the ground and stalked
away.
Houtkamp pulled the envelope from the handle.
He tore it open, read the card and turned white.
'Are you okay?' Ella said.
Houtkamp kicked the basket into the street.
Petals flew as a passing four-wheel drive tried to
swerve around it.
'What's wrong?' Ella asked.
Ella reached for the card but Houtkamp crumpled
it in his fist. She lowered her voice. 'Tell me. I
can help you.'
He ran to the fire in the drum and threw the card
and envelope into the flames. Ella put her hands on
her hips. Houtkamp glared at her from the midst of
his work mates.
Murray came back. 'What's going on?'
'Nothing,' Ella said. 'We were just leaving.'

12.10 pm

Sophie stayed out on the driveway after seeing Angus
off. The media watched her in silence from a distance,
and she was risking having a neighbour
coming over to inquire about the case, but going
inside was worse, with Gloria fussing about and
Chris's accusatory silence radiating from upstairs. She
kicked a pebble into the street. She didn't blame him
for blaming her, but the burden of her guilt would be
easier to bear if he'd take her in his arms and kiss the
top of her head and lie.
An ambulance approached and parked at the
kerb. A pale blue ribbon fluttered from the aerial. A
photographer raised a camera. It was her truck, number
thirty-one. Mick got out of the driver's seat and
she ran to throw her arms around him.
'Hey, Soppers.'
The affection in his voice made her throat ache.
When she could speak she said, 'I've realised what
number one is.'
'You found something worse than the shooting
and the steamroller?'
'It's being alive and suffering,' she said, tears in
her eyes, 'not knowing where your baby is, wondering
what happens if you don't find him, how you're
going to endure the rest of your life in despair and
grief.You're dead inside, forever.'
He blinked back tears, hooked an arm around
her neck and pulled her close again. The metal
paramedic badge on his shirt pressed into her
cheek as she clung to him. This was what she
needed so badly from Chris. Plain old comfort.
'Don't the police have any leads?'
'Boyd Sawyer denied it and they let him go. The
law says they need evidence.'
'Law,' he said. 'Shit.'
That was her feeling too. She closed her eyes and
breathed in the smell of hospital disinfectant from his
uniform. The smell of her old life.
'Hi, Mick,' Gloria called from the house. 'Want a
cuppa?'
'Can't stay long, I just brought some forms for
Sophie to sign.'
She let him go and wiped her sore eyes.
'It's your leave paperwork,' he said. They leaned
on the bonnet of the truck while she signed the
pages. The return-to-work date was blank.'The boss
said for you to take as long as you want.' Mick looked
at the media. 'They always here?'
She nodded. 'They keep their distance though.
Anyway, I don't mind, as long as they keep printing
Lachlan's picture.' She gave him back the forms.
'Thanks for bringing them out.'
He smiled at her. 'Mind if I borrow your loo?'
'Careful Gloria doesn't bully you into that
cuppa.'
When he disappeared into the house Sophie
opened the side door into the rear of the ambulance
and climbed up the steps. Sitting in the seat beside
the stretcher she looked around at the labelled lockers
on the walls, the oxygen masks in the netted
compartments, the flow meters and the resus bags.
She opened the bottle of antiseptic handwash and
sniffed at it. A few days ago this had been her second
home; now the whole environment felt distant and
strange.
She pulled open the drawer at her knees. The
drugs and needles were in colour-coded packets.
Sophie studied them, her mind ticking over.
She glanced at the house. There was no sign of
Mick. She looked the other way and saw the photographers
had got back into their cars.
The drugs kept here were replaced as they were
used, sometimes after each case, or sometimes, if the
shift was busy, at the end of the day. It wasn't unheard
of for them to sometimes be forgotten altogether,
and the next crew to use the truck would find the
drawers short. Sophie calculated that she could take
two boxes of adrenaline, two of atropine and one of
hgnocaine without raising suspicion. She shoved the
boxes into her bra then slipped in a vial of midazolam
too.
She glanced up at the house. Mick was in the
doorway talking to Gloria. Sophie grabbed an assortment
of needles and syringes. She was pushing them
down her shirt when Angus appeared in the ambulance
doorway. She froze.
Angus said, 'You'd never make a criminal with
that guilty face.'
'I was only--'
He held up a hand. 'Don't let me stop you.'
Mick came down the driveway. Angus went to
meet him and they stood talking. Sophie took a
moment to breathe, then slammed the drawer shut.
She patted herself down, making sure nothing stuck
out too much, thankful she was wearing a loose shirt.
She climbed out of the ambulance feeling bulky and
guilty but determined to hide both.
'Reminiscing?' Mick said.
'Something like that.'
He put out his arms to hug her again and she
froze. He would feel the boxes! But just as he reached
her the portable radio on his hip crackled. 'Thirty
one for a code two.'
'You'd better go,' Sophie said, taking a surreptitious
step back.
He leaned to kiss her cheek while unhooking the
radio. 'Keep me posted.'
'I will.'
He raised the radio to his mouth as he ran down
the driveway.'Thirty-one's ready for details.'
When Mick drove off, Sophie turned towards
Angus, wondering if he'd raise what he'd seen.
He smiled at her. 'I just came back because I left
my mobile in your lounge room.'
He went into the house and came out clipping it
onto the waistband of his trousers. 'Just be careful,
okay?' he said, before crossing the street to his car. She
saw that it, too, now flew a light blue ribbon. She
watched him drive off and wondered if the warning
was an invitation to trust him and tell him what she
planned. Once upon a time she would have liked the
comfort of sharing her thoughts. Now, however, she
found strength in keeping things to herself. In a way,
Chris's holding her at arm's length helped, because his
affection would make her want to open up and tell
him everything. As it was, she felt single-minded and
focused. Purposeful. Powerful. Nothing was going to
stand in the way of her getting Lachlan back.

12.25 pm

'This time, if you don't stay in the car, I'm calling up
Eagers,' Ella said.
Murray shrugged. No doubt he knew she was
bluffing but would play along to keep his position
with the investigation.
She got out of the car and walked along the busy
street in Erskineville to the florist's. Their logo and
address had been on the basket. It was a long shot that
they'd give her the name of the person who ordered
it but she had to try.
She was back in the car in minutes.
'No go?' Murray said.
'Rebuffed with extreme prejudice.' Ella started
the car and headed towards Gladesville. 'Woman was
a lawyer in a previous life.'
'Ouch,' he said. 'Think you'll try for a warrant?'
'For what? I have no evidence of anything.'
When they arrived at Gladesville Station, Dennis
was smoking in the carpark. He glanced at the car,
stepped on the butt and started off inside.
'Not so fast,' Ella called. She parked and caught
up to him at the door. 'Time to pay for your bad
deeds.'
'I didn't tell him to find you.'
'But you brushed him off after promising you'd
take him,' she said. 'He stuffed up my conversation
with Houtkamp:

'He was the reason it fell over, huh?'
'Why else?' she said. 'You owe me, you know.You
should have to look after Murray all weekend.'
'If you'll keep him this afternoon.'
'If that's what it takes.' As Murray came up the
steps, she smiled at them both and said, 'Well, I'm off
home for a couple hours' kip.'

At home she dozed in the armchair by the window
then woke at three with plenty of time to get ready.
By three-thirty she was in the car heading for
Randwick.
The Bower Brae Nursing Home was set back off
the street. She walked between well-kept flowerbeds
to the door.
A young nurse looked up from the desk. 'Good
afternoon.'
'Hi, I'm Ella Marconi, I'm an old friend of Paul
Houtkamp's.'
The woman smiled. 'You've come to see Jane,
then.'
'There's not much chance she'll remember me,'
Ella lied easily.
'I'm sure she'll be delighted to see you.' The
nurse walked along a corridor and Ella followed.
'Paul shouldn't be long.'
Ella had figured the building site probably
knocked off about four. Fifteen, twenty minutes to
clean up a little and drive on over, and he'd walk into
the room to find her and Jane nattering away like old
pals.

The nurse opened a door and ushered her in.
'Jane, this is Ella. Do you remember her?'
The occupant of the single room shook her
head. She was a chubby woman in her early thirties.
She sat cross-legged on the bed. She wore a Snoopy
sweatshirt and had a plastic flower stuck behind one
ear. She held a fat red crayon over a giant colouring
book and beamed at Ella. 'Hello.'
'Hello to you.'
'Have a seat,' the nurse said. 'Like I said, Paul
won't be long.' She pulled the door to and walked
away.
Ella sat on the plastic chair by Jane's bed and
looked around the room.
Jane held out the book. 'Do you want a turn to
colour in?'
'Maybe in a moment.' Ella spotted a framed
photo on the wall and got up to see. It was a wedding
picture of Houtkamp and a woman. Ella looked
closer. 'Is this you?'
'That's me,'Jane said. She held up her hand and
Ella saw a gold ring. 'I love Paul and he loves me.'
She looked different in the photo. 'When did you
get married?'
'A while ago.'Jane scribbled in the book.
'How long have you lived here?'
'A while.'
Ella glanced again at the picture then sat by the
bed. 'You're really good at colouring-in.'
'I can do one for you to take home,'Jane said.
'That'd be great.'
The door flew open and Paul Houtkamp
stormed in. 'Get out.' He carried a paper-wrapped
parcel.
Ella smelled hot chips.'We're just talking.'
'You lied to the nurse about being a friend of
mine and you didn't identify yourself as a cop.'
'Chippies!'Jane said. 'Ella, is it okay if I finish
your picture after afternoon tea?'
'Absolutely'
Paul smiled at his wife then leaned close to Ella's
ear. 'You have no right to be here.'
'I just want to talk to you.'
'Paul, I'm hungry'Jane reached for the parcel he
held.
He gave it to her. 'And the only way you could
manage it was by lying?'
Ella spread her hands. 'You were obviously
embarrassed to have us at your work.'
'I wasn't embarrassed,' he said.
'Who sent the flowers?'
He looked at Jane, who was unwrapping the
paper. The smell of vinegar filled the air.
'Is somebody threatening you?' Ella said.
He stayed silent.
Ella didn't take her eyes off him. 'I just want to
find the baby'
'I like babies,'Jane said. 'I like potato scallops too.'
'I had nothing to do with that and it's up to you
to prove otherwise.'
'Ella, do you want a scallop?'
'I don't know if Paul will let me,' Ella said.
'Paul, can she have a scallop? I have four here, so
that's one for Ella, one for Paul, and two for me!'
'She can have one,' Paul said after a moment.
Ella tore off a scrap of paper to hold it. Jane patted
the side of the bed and Paul sat down. She offered
him a chip. 'Aren't you hungry?'
'Not really'
Ella said,'If you want me to go, I will. But I know
there's something odd going on, and while there's
even the slightest chance it involves the Phillipses I won't stop looking into it. So you can tell me now, or
you can wait till you're sick to death of the sight of
me knocking at your door, sitting outside your work,
following you in your car.'
'I know who'll get sick of it first, and it won't be
me,' he said.
Ella ate the rest of the scallop and wiped her
fingers on her jeans. 'Bye Jane. It was nice to meet
you.'
'What about your picture?'
'It doesn't matter,' Ella said.
'Yes it does, yes it does! I'll finish it now.'When
she handed it over the red-crayon picture of a kitten
was marked with grease stains.
'Thank you,' Ella said. 'I'll put this on my fridge
at home.'
Outside, evening was falling. Ella rounded the
garden beds and almost ran into the nurse who'd
shown her in. This time Ella got out her badge.
The nurse looked at it carefully in the gloom. 'I
knew you weren't really an old friend of theirs.'
'But you still let me in,' Ella said.
'It's a nursing home, not a jail,' the nurse said.
'People can visit whoever they want.'
Ella put her badge away. 'Did you work on
Wednesday night?'
'Yes, and the other police already asked me about
that.'
'I know,' Ella said. 'Is it possible that Paul
Houtkamp wasn't here the entire time he said he was?'
The nurse frowned.'I didn't actually see him, but
the doors are locked after hours.To get out you have
to press a buzzer and the other nurse or I come and
let you out. To stop patients wandering, you know.
And we only let Paul out once.'
'There's no other way he could've got out? A
window, maybe?'
She shook her head. 'They all have security
screens.'
'Thanks,' Ella said.
'Jane do that for you?'The nurse pointed at the
picture she carried.'She's my favourite.'
'Why is she here?'
'About three years ago she left her car in neutral
and forgot the park brake and it started to roll. So she
tried to jump back in to stop it, but she was crushed
against a tree. She suffered brain damage and now has
a mental age of five.'
'That's awful/
'She used to be this big-shot hairdresser, had her
own salon in the city and everything.'
Ella said, 'Paul seems dedicated.'
'You know why he brings the chips on Fridays?
Well, it used to be fish and chips but Jane won't eat
fish any more. They started the tradition on their
honeymoon, and he keeps it going.'
'Incredible.'
'He really is,' the nurse said. The phone started to
ring inside the building. As she walked away she said
over her shoulder, 'If only there was a man like that
for each of us, hey?'

6.05 pm

Chris sat on the bottom stair, tissues to his nose.
Gloria turned at the front door to face him.'Families
should pull together at times like these, you know.'
'We're just not hungry'
'It's not only the meals,' she said. 'You don't talk
to each other, or to me. A family should share its
burdens.'
'Like--' He stopped himself, and pressed the tissues
harder to his nose.
'Like what?'
He looked up at her then away.
'Like what?' she said again, her voice a little
harder.
'Like our family did?'
She folded her arms.
'I'm just saying,' he said.
'So say it.'
He wiped his nose, refolded the tissues and
applied the clean area to his nostrils. 'A little more
gentle conversation in our house and maybe Dad
wouldn't have gone.'
She was staring at him, he could feel her gaze
burning the top of his head. After a long moment, she
turned on her heel and stamped out the door.
After her car pulled away, Sophie came down the
stairs. 'She's gone?'
'Yes.' Chris didn't look around.
She sat a couple of steps behind him. Her foot
nudged his back. He heard her breathing and felt the
tentative touch of her hand on his neck. He wanted
to turn and smile at her, take that warm foot in his
hand, but in the same way he'd got Gloria to leave he
needed Sophie gone too.
He leaned slightly forward, leaving her foot
touching nothing. She moved it in pursuit. He
shifted on the step, out of reach again. Her foot stayed
still and she took her hand from his neck, and he
blinked back tears. He would explain later. For now
nothing was more important than getting Lachlan
back.
He was aware of time ticking by. Soon, he
needed her out soon. He'd wasted the whole day
staring at the screen of his mobile. The house phone
had rung frequently but he always let someone else
answer.That line was tapped and Rigby and his mates
would know it. There'd been no contact, and it was
time to make his move. 'What are you doing
tonight?'
'Now the car's back from the garage, I thought I
might go looking again.' The garage had found the
lead had come off the starter motor. It happened
occasionally, they said, and had been simple to fix.
'Do you want to come along?'
'My head's too bad,' he lied.'The car would make
me sick, too.'
Sophie said nothing. Chris sat for a moment,

hands clenched between his knees, trying to summon
the strength for what he needed to say.
He turned on the step to look up at her face.
'You know you'll never find him that way'
The hurt in her eyes was like a knife sliding into
his already shredded heart. 'What are you doing that's
so much more successful?'
'I was shot.What do you want me to do?' He felt
cruel but the words had the effect he wanted. She
leapt to her feet and stormed up the stairs, then seconds
later pushed roughly past him without a word,
the jacket she carried whipping him in the face. He
watched her, wishing he could say something comforting
but knowing that might make her stay. She
grabbed the car keys and slammed the door on her
way out. The car screeched backwards out of the
garage and onto the street, then she was gone.
Chris wiped his eyes then pulled his mobile from
his pocket. 'I need a taxi please.'


Friday 9 May, 6.22 pm

Ella burped as she turned in to Easton Street. The
Subway sandwich wasn't sitting as neatly in her
stomach as it had when she'd scoffed it while parked
in a no-standing zone in Newtown.The scoffing was
the problem, not the pepperoni or the onions, she
was sure. She took another sip of milkshake and
slowed as she neared the Phillips house.
A taxi was in the drive. Chris came gingerly out
of the house and climbed in the back. He was holding
a wad of tissues to his nose. Perhaps he was going
back to hospital. But then why wasn't Sophie or his
mother driving him?
Ella slid low in the seat as the taxi backed towards
her then drove off. She put the milkshake down on
the passenger seat and followed.
Down Pittwater Road, then left onto Epping
Road. They went slowly with the evening traffic.
Through Epping itself, into Cheltenham, Beecroft,
Pennant Hills. Ella kept the taxi's red tail-lights in
view but would've bet money their destination was
Dean Rigby's house.
Sure enough, fifteen minutes later the taxi braked
on Wright Street in Hornsby. Ella parked some distance
back and watched through the steering wheel as Chris
got out and the taxi drove away. Chris moved slowly
from light pole to light pole, resting against each one.
Ella felt for the man but to go to him and reveal her
presence was out of the question. Nevertheless, what
he did or said when he knocked on Rigby's door could
answer all the questions buzzing around her head.
She knew from looking into Rigby's file that he
lived at number sixty-three. She put her headlights
on again and drove past the lurching Chris down the
dusky street, turned around and came back to a spot
near Rigby's single-storey brick house. The light was
on over the door but the streetlights were far enough
away that she could slouch in the seat and see without
being seen. She reached over and lowered the
passenger window, then watched Chris stumble into
Rigby's yard.
The door opened before he knocked. Rigby
stepped out and pulled it shut behind him. Chris
lowered himself onto the small wall to the side of the
porch and put his head in his hands, and Rigby
crouched beside him, looking awkward with the
foam collar around his neck.
They talked too softly for her to hear. She
wanted to thump the steering wheel and swear.
Instead she surveyed the surroundings, looking for
shrubs that might provide cover for her to sneak
closer. But the foliage on the few bushes was thin and
the streetlights revealed too much of the footpath
and gardens of the houses.
She leaned towards the open passenger window
and held her breath.
'. . . all day,' Chris said, his voice rising. Mutter
mutter from Rigby, and he put his hand on Chris's
shoulder. Then -- hello -- Chris was on his feet, his
finger in Rigby's face. 'Don't you dare act like you're
still my friend.'
Rigby stayed crouching, his hands spread wide. A
reasoning tone.
Chris shook his head. 'I told you what I wanted,
what you had to do.'
Mutter.
Chris reached into the pocket of his jacket and
pulled out a handgun.
'Holy shit,' Ella whispered.
Rigby stayed where he was. His voice dropped
even lower.
Ella swallowed nervously. Chris wasn't pointing
the gun at Rigby yet. If she got out and ran over
there he might be prompted to do so, or to aim at
her, in which case she'd be forced to draw her own
gun at him. She sat tense and taut, gripping the
wheel.
'You're not listening to me.' Chris raised the gun
and pressed the barrel to his own temple.
Rigby eased up to his feet, his hands wide to the
sides.
'Is this what you want?' Chris yelled.
The door opened and a woman stuck her head
out. She took one look and slammed the door
closed. Ella guessed her next action would be to call
the police, and knew she had to move.
She got out of the car as stealthily as she could.
There was a line to tread between being so quiet she
startled them when she drew close, and being so loud
they stopped talking too soon. She edged along the
footpath, keeping in shadow as much as possible.
Chris was trembling. His nose streamed blood
down his face and onto his shirt. 'I promised you I'd
never say anything about Houtkamp. Why couldn't
you believe me?'
'I did believe you,' Rigby said. 'It's not me doing it.'
'You or one of your mates in the gang. It's all the
same.'
The gang? Ella crept closer.
'I haven't heard anything there either,' Rigby
said.
'I'll do whatever it takes.' Chris was pale and
starting to cry. 'You want me dead, to prove I won't
talk again? Okay, I'm dead.'
'It's not us!'
Chris drew a long hitching breath, then Ella's
movement must have caught his eye. 'Who's that?'

Rigby whirled. He shielded his eyes from the
porch light.
Ella moved out onto the footpath. 'Put the gun
down, Chris.'
'It's not an offence to kill yourself.'
'I know that, but if the boys turn up in droves, as
I suspect they will any second, you'll scare the shit
out of them waving that thing around.'
Chris lowered the gun to his side. Ella slowly
approached him, her left hand out, her right on her
own gun in its holster. 'Give it to me.'
Shakily he put it in her palm. It was his service
Glock. She checked it while Rigby spoke to his
wife.
'She didn't call anyone,' he reported back. Chris
sat on the low wall, his head in his hands again.
The Glock safely under her folded arms, Ella
looked both men up and down.'Care to tell me what
that conversation was about?'
Rigby swatted a mosquito. Chris sniffed, a wet
sound.
'I heard you arguing about Houtkamp and about
the gang. About you, Chris, not talking again,' she said. 'Spill it.'
Chris spoke in a low voice. 'I came here because
I was upset. Dean was comforting me.'
Rigby nodded.
Ella took a step closer. 'I heard what you said.'
'You must have misunderstood,' Chris said.
'I heard you say Houtkamp.'
'I was telling Dean how upset I was. I said I felt
like killing myself
'I was trying to comfort him,' Rigby put in.
'You pair of bastards,' Ella said.'I'm trying to find
your son, Chris -- how the hell can I do that if you
keep lying to me?'
The men were silent.
'Which one of you sent flowers to Houtkamp
with some kind of message?'
They didn't reply.
She took another step closer.'Sooner or later I'm
going to find out what's going on, so you may as well
tell me now.'
After a long moment Chris looked up at Rigby.
'Mind calling me a taxi so I can get home?'
'Sure.'Rigby turned to go inside but Ella said,'I'll
take you.'
Chris considered her. 'Okay. Thanks.' He got to
his feet and walked slowly across to the street, pulling
a handkerchief from his pocket. Ella gave Rigby a
long hard look then followed.
At the car she found the milkshake had fallen
over and the front seat was wet. Chris got into the
, back and sat with his head against the window, his
eyes closed and the handkerchief to his nose. Ella put
the Glock into the glovebox, angled the rear-view
mirror so she could see him, and started the car.
After they'd gone a few kilometres he said, 'I
know what you're going to say. "Now that we're
away from him, why don't I tell you what's going
on.'"
'That's pretty much it.'
More kilometres went by. He refolded the handkerchief.
'Mum says that I should go back to hospital
because I'm bleeding all the time.'
'She's probably right,' Ella said. 'Why don't you?'
'Because of Lachlan.'
'What can you achieve being out here? Apart
from supporting Sophie, I mean.'
'Sophie.' He cracked the window a little. The
sound of traffic came into the car. 'She's off on her
own thing.'
'The driving around?'
He nodded.
'You didn't want to join her?'
'She blames me for what happened, and she's
right to, but searching the streets won't bring him
back.'
Ella looked at him in the mirror. 'So what will?'
He closed his eyes against her gaze.
'Okay then, let's see if I can figure it out,' she said.
'You think you know who has him and why but you
can't tell me because . . . because you think that will
jeopardise your chances of finding him.'
Chris said nothing.
'Meanwhile Rigby covered for you back there
because you are friends. No, that's not it: you said,
"Don't you act like you're still my friend." So if he's
got no interest in protecting you, maybe his caginess
is because he could lose something too. Is it a risk to
himself or his family? Or perhaps his career?'
Silence, No answer.
"I	'I'm guessing it all revolves around Houtkamp/
she said. 'Something happened at that assault, didn't
it?'
'You can guess as much as you like,' he said. 'I've
got nothing to say'
'Were you expecting trouble? Is that why you
took your gun home? You wanted to be prepared?'
'If that was the case, don't you think I would have
kept it handy and used it when that guy knocked at
the door?' he said. 'I took it home accidentally'
That sometimes happened. Ella drove through
Ryde and into Gladesville. As she turned into Easton
Street she said, 'How can you be so sure that
Houtkamp will stay silent too? Or was that a death
threat attached to the basket of flowers?'
'There are worse things than death.' He opened
the door to get out but she reached over and grabbed
his arm.
'What do you mean by that?'
'Exactly what I said.' He pulled free and got out.
She watched him go into the house. No lights
came on. Her mobile rang and she checked the
screen. Dennis. She let it go to voicemail. She had to
go into Wynyard to put Chris's gun in the station safe
where it should be, and then she wanted to think for
a while, and drive - not talk.

7.30 pm

Sophie parked in Maxwell Road in Glebe and
walked across Jubilee Park in the darkness. She pulled
her jacket close against the cold air. She'd spent the
last hour driving aimlessly about the city, trying to
resist the pull of this place. She wasn't surprised that
she'd lost.
At the edge of Rozelle Bay she looked at the
black water lapping against the stone wall, then went
right, walking along the edge towards the lights of
the city. In Pope Paul VI Reserve she stood under a
spreading figtree and stared at Sawyer s house. It was
brightly lit and she could see people moving about
near the windows. She clenched her fists in her
pockets, her whole body taut with fury.
When she could breathe again, she went around
to the far side of the tree, took her mobile from her
pocket and dialled. When Angus answered she said,'I
think he's having a party'
'Sawyer?'
'Of course Sawyer.'
'Where are you?'
'In the park.' She shivered.
He was quiet for a moment. 'Do you know that
cafe on George Street, the art deco one with the old
paintings in the front window? Near the'
'I know it.'
'Go there and wait for me.'
'Okay
'I might be an hour. Don't leave. Just wait.'
'Okay,' she said again. Angus hung up and she
slipped the phone back into her pocket. It would be
good to talk with Angus. If she couldn't release her
rage with him she didn't know what she might do.

8.12 pm

Ella parked the car outside Houtkamp's block then
listened to the voicemail message Dennis had left on
her phone.
Sawyer's sister persuaded him to call me about that picture
from the pub CCTVHe says he remembers nothing,
doesn't recognise the woman, continues to have no idea
whatsoever. you missed this afternoon's meeting.
Give me a call sometime so I know you're still alive.
It came as no surprise that Sawyer remembered
nothing. Claimed to remember nothing, that was.
However, this thing with Houtkamp and Rigby
and Chris made her reconsider her judgement of
the doctor. Maybe he really was drugged and
abducted. But why? And was it just a coincidence
that it happened two days after the death of his family,
which served as such a neat motive, and the same
night Lachlan was kidnapped?
Ella entered Houtkamp's building and climbed
the stairs. Stewing about Sawyer was pointless. If
things went to plan here she'd be able to forget him
entirely.
The lights were on in Houtkamp's flat: she
could see the glow through the peephole. She
knocked on the door. The peephole darkened and
she smiled at it.
The door stayed shut.
'I know what's going on,' she said.
The peephole turned bright again. She imagined
him moving to the side of the door, standing there,
listening.
'I heard Rigby and Chris Phillips arguing. Your
name came up. And Chris told me there are worse
things than death.'
No sound from inside.
She lowered her voice. 'I know what they have
over you.'
No response.
'Five minutes,' she said. 'You can give me that,
surely. I don't want you as a witness, I don't plan to
investigate any further than to find the baby. That's all
I want.'
Finally he spoke. 'You don't plan to.'
'That's right.'
'You're not the only copper in the force. What
about your bosses?'
'They only know what I tell them,' she said.
'Look, nobody knows I'm here. Nobody knows I'm
even looking into this.'
'Flowerboy knows.'
'He doesn't know about Rigby and how it all ties
in with Chris Phillips.' She shivered. It was cold on
the landing.'Five minutes and then I'll go.'
A chain slid back, a lock turned and Paul
Houtkamp opened the door. 'I must be an idiot.'
She was grateful for the warmth of the small,
sparsely decorated living room. He waved a hand at a
chair and sat on the lounge opposite.
'Here's what happened,' she said.'That assault was
not the simple incident you're all pretending it was.
Something took place, either then or beforehand,
and you and Chris ended up with information
Rigby wishes you didn't have. Now Chris thinks his
son was taken because of it, and you're keeping mum
because you're scared for your wife.'
Houtkamp seemed to think about this. Then he
leaned forward. 'Stand up. Lift up your shirt and turn
around.'
'I'm not wired.'
'Lift up your shirt and turn around.'
She got to her feet. This was humiliating, infuriating,
but might get her the answers she needed. She
did as he said, sat down, crossed her legs and folded
her arms.'Happy?'
'I'll never repeat any of this in court or to anyone
else,' he said. 'If I'm asked, I'll deny this meeting ever
happened.'
'Fine.'
'And I'm only helping you for the sake of the
baby' He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes.
'God, what am I doing?'
'It'll be okay,' she said.
Just like it was for Roth?
Man, she hated that smart-arse voice in her head.
Houtkamp shook his head for a long time then
spoke in a low voice. 'After the thing with Chris
Phillips, when I was lying cuffed on the ground,
Rigby sat there clutching his neck and told me that
Jane would pay if I ever told what was going on. He
said he and his friends know which nursing home
she's in, and you've seen yourself they have no security
at all, and he said they'd get to her like this,' he
clicked his fingers, 'and they wouldn't just kill her.
You met her, she's like a little kid. She understands
nothing. She loves everyone. She'd be all excited
about visitors.' He held out his hands. They were
shaking. 'There are things way worse than death, you
know?'
Bile rose in Ella's throat.
Houtkamp drew a deep breath. 'I went to that
alley to meet Rigby and give him some information.
I did that sometimes, when I needed money,
but it wasn't your regular help, to catch crims. He
wanted to know about particular people. People
who worked in competition to some business he
and his friends - some cops, some civilians - and
before you ask, no, I don't know who they are - had
going.'
'What kind of business?'
'Some gambling scams, though I didn't know
much about that. It was mostly drugs. They were
trying to take over areas of the city. I heard they got
some purer stuff, they were selling it cheaper, all that
kind of thing.'
Ella thought of the rash of recent accidental
overdose deaths, of Lily Zander cold and stiff under a
shrub. 'And what happened then?'
'That guy Chris was there too. I'd seen him
around but never met him. He wasn't in on it. Rigby
made him wait in the car while we talked, but finally
he got out and came over. He wanted to know what
was going on. They got into a big argument, and
from what Chris said I guess he'd figured out a few
things. He accused Rigby of being dirty, being corrupt,
said was he in on the robberies, said he was
totally sick of cops like him. Rigby threatened him,
and went for him, and they got into it. There was
nobody around. Rigby had Chris on the ground and
was saying, "I'll kill you, I'll kill you, don't you know
how much money this brings in?" I wanted to run
away but I was scared he really would kill him, so I
grabbed this metal pole and belted him across the
neck.'
He'd probably saved Chris's life. 'You deserve an
award, not an arrest.'
'Yeah, well, Rigby went down for a moment
then he leapt up and grabbed me. Next thing I'm in
cuffs and he's standing over me holding his neck and
kicking the crap out of me. Chris called for back-up,
I guess knowing Rigby wasn't going to listen to him,
and just before they arrived Rigby backed off'
'Was anything else said between them?'
'Nothing that I heard. Just lots of glares.'
'And then you got charged, and the story is that
you hurt them both,' Ella said. 'And you'll probably
get locked up.'
'If that's the price to pay to keep Jane safe, I don't
mind,' Houtkamp said. 'Who would listen to me
anyway?'
'I am.'
'I mean officially. What boss would take my word
over two cops'? And even if Rigby got slammed
straight in jail, he's still got friends.'
'There's witness protection'
'Where can you hide a thirty-year-old woman
with a mental age of five?'
He was right. All Ella could do was use what
he'd told her to solve her case. For the moment anyway.
She put out her hand. 'Thank you for trusting
me.'
He held onto it. 'Don't let me down.'

Ella threw her mobile phone on the passenger seat.
There was no way she could ring Dennis about any
of this tonight. She needed time to decide what to
say and how to say it.
She started the engine and turned the heater
up high, rubbed at the goosebumps on her arms.
She now knew exactly what the robbery gang was
capable of. If Rigby was involved with them, as
Houtkamp claimed, and if the gang had taken
Lachlan, the odds of finding him alive were not
something she wanted to consider.

9.07 pm

Sophie was sitting bolt upright when Angus burst
into the cafe. He stormed to the booth and sat down
opposite her. She waited for him to speak. He put his
clenched fists on the table and pressed the knuckles
together, then leaned forward. She leaned forward to
meet him.
This job,' he said softly, 'is fucked.'
She stared at him. 'What did you find out?'
'They've gone completely hands-off on Sawyer,'
he said. 'It is such bullshit. Guy's a big-shot doctor,
surgeon, whatever; looks after rich and important
bastards; so he knows people and obviously they
know people and the detectives do nothing but wait
for him to step out of line. Which he won't.'
'They're doing nothing?'
'Oh, they have this piss-weak surveillance on
him, but all that is is watching his house and seeing if
he goes out,' Angus said. 'But if it's already all been
done, he doesn't need to go out, does he?'
'But Lachlan is an officer's child,' Sophie said.
'I know. It should count for something.'
'It should count for a lot,' Sophie said.
Angus's knuckles were white. 'I knew there'd be
a day when I'd have to leave the job. When we can't
even look after one of our own any more, I don't see
the point in struggling on.' His voice cracked.
Sophie felt cold and hollow. 'So what will they
do?'
Angus wiped his eyes with his sleeve. 'In a few
days they'll call off the surveillance, then they'll cut
back the team working the case. They'll say the leads
have dwindled out, they don't have the work for all
those people any more and they're needed elsewhere.
Soon there'll be just a couple still on it, but they can't
do much.' He lowered his gaze. 'Then it'll be marked
unsolved and filed away'
Sophie stared at him but was seeing instead the
moment when Sawyer's daughter was born, remembering
how she'd cradled the tiny body in her hands,
feeling the heat of the baby's skin, the slippery texture, the smell of the blood and vernix. She had done
her absolute best for that child, she had worked so
hard and willed her to live as strongly as she'd ever
willed it for anyone. Couldn't Sawyer understand
that? How could he have done what he did, knowing
that Sophie and Chris had gone through a delivery
just like he and Julie had?
Angus was shaking his head. 'This friend of a
friend, on the surveillance team, he said they are having
a party, of sorts. Lots of people there, they can
hear the glasses clinking from across the street. And
apparently Sawyer's going back to fucking work
tomorrow. Jesus.'
Sophie focused. 'Work? On a Saturday? Where?'
'St Helens, in Camperdown.' Angus rubbed his
red eyes. 'He's saying he's got paperwork to catch up
on, and needs to get out of the house. You ask me, he
wants to try to give surveillance the slip.'
Sophie thought for a moment, then started to
talk.


Saturday 10 May, 7.11 am


Dennis was smoking in the carpark when Ella
arrived for the morning meeting. She locked
her car and leaned on the wire fence beside him.
He said,'Seems like Sophie was outside Sawyer's
house again last night.'
'With Arendson?'
'Nope. All alone.'
'Doing what?'
'Standing, staring.' He stubbed out the butt on
the top of a post. 'Surveillance spotted her in the
streetlight but they don't think Sawyer did. He had
people over, an after-funeral type thing. She was
there for about five minutes then she left.' He looked
at Ella. 'That's two days in a row.'
'I'll go and see her after the meeting.'
Dennis nodded. 'So where were you yesterday?
Did you get my messages?'
He'd left one on her landline as well, she'd found
when she got back home. 'I was out and about.
Looking into things.'
'You're supposed to let me know what you're
doing.'
'Yeah, sorry' Last night she'd thought at length
about what to say and whether she could keep
Houtkamp's confidence. 'Briefly, Chris Phillips
argued with Rigby about Houtkamp, and then I
found out that Rigby might be involved with the
gang or, at the very least, something else dodgy.'
'You found out how?'
'I can't say'
'Houtkamp told you.'
'His family's been threatened. I promised him
nobody would know we talked.'
'You can't promise stuff like that,' Dennis said.
'The ends justifies the means if we find Lachlan.'
'But you can't pick and choose,' Dennis said.
'Follow up some allegations, some cases, and not
others.'
'He'll never testify, so what can I do?'
'Maybe he won't testify because he knows it's all
lies,' Dennis said. 'And anyway, you said Roth said
Chris wasn't involved in the gang.'
'I don't think he is,' she said.'I think he found out
something about it. I think he rang the TV stations
and now he believes his son was taken as payback.'
'Chris told you this?'
'Not exactly' She explained what she'd overheard
and the men's reactions.
'So you've got a man with a criminal history
who may be lying, but who you believe, and two
officers who you claim are lying though you have no
evidence to say so.' He shook his head. 'This is why
you should always take me along on your excursions.'
'If I can get a warrant I can find out who sent the
flowers to Houtkamp, maybe prove a fink between
him and Rigby.'
'Murray told me about the basket.'
'All I need is that first crack. I jam in the crowbar
and away we go.'
'You've got no grounds for the warrant though,'
he said. 'And listen, there are other things happening.
We got the phone records from the TV stations. I've
had people going over them half the night and with
any luck they've found the origin of the calls.'
'Maybe we can prove it was Chris who rang,
then.'
'Crowbar mark two,' Dennis said.'Let's go in.'
Before they reached the station door a uniformed
constable came out. 'You were on an arson
case?' he said to Ella. 'A guy named Edman Hughes?'
'Don't tell me -- he's made a complaint against
me.'
The constable shook his head. 'He was found
hanged at home this morning. Left a note about having
no future, according to the officers called there.'
He went back inside and Ella leaned on the railing.
'Shit.'
'Sorry,' Dennis said.
'It's only been five days,' she said. 'Who gets their
case solved in five days? How could he expect me to
run around on that when we've got this missing kid?'
She didn't want to tell Dennis how she'd brushed
Hughes off the day before, on these very steps. She
stuck her fists on her hips. 'Oh shit.'


8.20 am

Sophie sat in her car up the street from The Rocks
ambulance station, her mobile in her hands. She'd
seen the tired night-shift crew wander out to their
cars a minute after eight, and the day-shift crew
power out of the building just a couple of minutes
after that. They turned left, the siren wailing and beacons
flashing as they went under the Bridge.
Saturdays were busy - hell, every day was busy. They
wouldn't be back for hours.
Her phone rang.
'It's a go,'Angus said.'See you soon.'
When she entered the station she went first to
the storeroom and put back the drugs she'd taken the
previous day from Thirty-one. She went next to her
locker and changed into her last spare uniform.
Someone had left a portable radio on and the voices
echoing through the empty building put her on
edge. From above the roof came the constant sound
of traffic crossing the Bridge. She went into the station
manager's office and searched through the desk
drawers for the spare locker keys. In the men's change
room she opened the locker of Joe Vandermeer, a
nice guy who was the closest to Angus's height and
build of any of the men on the station. She took one
set of uniform then replaced the keys in the drawer.
The plant room had space for three ambulances.
This was the minimum they could have on a station
of their size - one for day shift, one for night shift if
the day shift wasn't back yet, and one spare in case of
breakdowns. On the whiteboard was a log of
mileage and service due dates for each car. Beside
car thirty-three Sophie scrawled 'workshop' then
took down a set of keys. Mechanics and vehicles
came and went all the time. Nobody would wonder
about Thirty-three.
In the ambulance she put Joe Vandermeer's uniform
on the passenger seat and activated the roller
door. Sunlight streamed in. She drove out of the
building, closed the door and was on her way.

Sophie slowed on Carillon Avenue in Camperdown.
There was the phone box on the corner, but where
was Angus? An older man standing there raised his
hand as she drew level and she realised with a start
that it was Angus.
His hair was grey and combed back, and he wore
tan slacks and a plain jacket and carried a plastic
shopping bag. His face was different, even his stance.
She pulled over and he climbed into the passenger
seat. Even close up she had trouble recognising him
until he smiled. 'Holy shit.'
'Good make-up, good dressing-up and good acting.
That's what working undercover teaches you.' He
put the bag on the floor, took the uniform and
scrambled into the back of the vehicle.'How are you
feeling?'
'Fine,' she lied.'Good.'
His face appeared in the rear-view mirror. He
was buttoning the paramedic shirt.'I've been around
and into the hospital. There's one guy watching his
car, and two inside, I'm pretty sure, on the exits. I
don't know any of them but they're easy to pick
when you know what to look for.'
'And Sawyer?'
'With a judicious flower delivery and a story
about my dear departed wife and her breast reconstruction
after cancer, I found out from a sympathetic
receptionist that he should be on the fifth floor for
the next hour or so.'
'Good.' Sophie's hands were sweaty on the steering
wheel. 'No problems getting the stuff?'
'None at all.' He climbed back into the passenger
seat and smiled at her. She was struck for an instant
by the absurdity of life, how just days ago she had
squirmed with guilt every time she saw him, and
now they were about to commit a serious crime
together.
Angus said, 'We're going to find Lachlan today. I
know it.'
She knew it too. A fire burned in her chest,
fanned first by the plans they'd made last night, then
the thoughts that had come when she'd lain in bed at
home, unable to sleep.
She drove further along Carillon Avenue then
turned right into Milson Road. St Helen's Private
Hospital lay directly ahead.
She took a deep breath as they approached the
hospital driveway.They could do this; she just needed
to control her nerves.The key to the entire operation
was to hide in plain sight - to make no attempt to
sneak about but to be fully visible at the same time as
looking like they belonged. If things went to plan, no
witness would recall more than the uniforms.


9.00 am

Chris opened the door to find Ella standing there.
'No news, I'm sorry,' she said. 'May I come in?'
Behind him Gloria clanked pans in the kitchen.
He said,'If you want.'
They sat in the lounge room. 'Is Sophie home?'
'No.'
'Driving around?'
Chris nodded. He had no idea where she was,
really. She'd gone off in the car at seven without saying
a word.
'Was she here last night when I dropped you off?'
It went quiet in the kitchen. Chris's skin tingled.
'Yes.'
'That was about seven-thirty, wasn't it?' she said.
'And did you or she go out later?'
'No.'
'You slept in the same bed, you would've known
if she went out, right?'
'Of course,' he said. 'Why are you asking?'
'Someone matching Sophie's description was
seen outside Boyd Sawyer's house last night. I want to
talk to her, find out if it was her. Explain what a bad
idea it is to be doing that.'
Chris shook his head. 'We were both definitely
here.'
Ella looked doubtful, but she leaned forward, her
elbows on her knees. 'The other thing is, we're tracing
the calls made to the TV stations about the
robbery gang.'
'How does that help our case?'
'I thought you should know. So you can be
prepared.'
'You won't find my number there,' he said. He'd
started to sweat and he hoped she couldn't see it. He
was safe, he told himself. There was no way they
could link that public phone to him.
Ella lowered her voice. 'It would be best for you
to tell me what you know now.'
'What I know about what?'
'The robberies and the gang,' she said.
'I know nothing.' He badly wanted to wipe his
forehead.
'I don't believe you.'
His nose started to drip blood and he grabbed a
handful of tissues.
Ella said, 'When the facts come out, and we can
prove you chose not to tell us what you know, do you
think people will believe you weren't involved?'
Chris's blood rose. It didn't matter what people
thought. Finding Lachlan was all he cared about. 'If
you've got no news on our case I'd like you to leave.'
When Ella was gone, Gloria came in from the
kitchen, wiping her hands on a dish towel. 'You
shouldn't lie to the police.'
'I am the police,' Chris said. He was tired of talking,
of trying to stay mentally one step ahead when
his head ached and he was dizzy.
'You told that detective Sophie was home when
you got home, but you told me she didn't get in till
midnight.'
'Sophie's trying to deal with her grief. If she has
to be out there driving on her own, then that's fine
with me,' he said. 'The last thing she needs is to be
accused of stalking somebody'
'What if she is?'
'Come off it, Mum.' He squeezed his pounding
forehead. He wished she'd go back into the kitchen
so he could lie down. If he did it now she'd say he
was sick and should go back to hospital.
'It's a mother's instinct,' she said.'You don't know
what you might do until your child is threatened.'
'He's my child too!'
'It's different for men.'
'That's old-fashioned crap.'
'Oh really?' she said, eyes flashing. 'When your
dad and I broke up, who was it that left? Who never
had any contact with you again?'
Chris shut his eyes. 'Here we go.'
'Don't take that tone,' she said. 'You have no idea
how it was.You were just a baby'
'I was four and I remember more than you
know.'
'Four,' she said. 'So what do you remember,
Christopher?'
'I remember you yelling at Dad.You told him to
get out. And he went.' Chris blinked back tears.
'Without saying goodbye.'
'So why was I yelling? You know so much, you
should be able to tell me that.'
'You were just fighting,' Chris said. 'Like you
always fought. Shouting and screaming.'
Gloria's mouth was a tight line. 'Yes, he was
always careful to keep the actual punches behind
closed doors.'
Chris looked at her. 'Dad didn't hit you.'
'You think because you didn't see it, it didn't
happen?' She was trembling.
'But'
'But what?' she said.'You thought you knew how
it went and now you're learning the truth. Your dad
was nobody worth looking up to, and the reason I
finally got the courage to kick him out was that he'd
started to turn on you.'
Chris was speechless.
'That day' Gloria started to cry.'You were playing
outside. He took his belt off and hit me once, and
you walked in. He rounded on you and raised his
arm. You were looking at me, you didn't even see
him.'
Chris shook his head. 'I don't believe you.'
'He left us with nothing, and for your sake I
didn't try to get child support, I decided it was best to
live our lives alone, just us, with nothing to do with
him.' Her voice was rising. 'All my life I've protected
you and sacrificed for you. I put myself at risk to help
you. How can you sit there and accuse me of lying,
when I was the one who stayed with you, getting up
to you in the night, helping with your homework,
encouraging you, loving you? Who held the bucket
and washed the sheets when you had that awful gastro
for days on end? Who gave up a promotion
because it would have meant more hours away from
you? Who took care of things when your sixteenyear-old
girlfriend turned up at the door pregnant?
You think your no-good father would have done all
that for you?'
'What?'
Gloria paled under his stare.
'You got Bee an abortion? Is that what you just
said?'
'You were away at cadet camp.' Gloria wiped her
eyes with her palms. 'Bee didn't want you to know.
She didn't want her own mother to know, or Angus.
She said as a nurse I must have friends who could
help her.'
'How could you do it?'
'It was for the best,' she snapped. 'You were both
sixteen! There's no future for a family that starts Like
that. And how could you have gone to medical
school with a wife and child?'
'She was underage.You didn't have her mother's
permission.'
"I did what I thought was best, and maybe
Sophie's doing the same,' Gloria said. 'Like I said, it's
a mother's instinct.' She came around the end of the
lounge to sit with him but he turned away.
'I can't talk to you,' he said. 'You need to go
home.'
She sat down anyway.
'Mum, I mean it.'
'It was for the best,' she said again. 'You think it
hasn't hurt me? That I didn't think about that baby
when Lachlan was born? You think it hasn't been
a burden, knowing what I did to my own first
grandchild?'
'Oh, now you feel sorry for yourself?'
She started to speak but he cut her off.
'Just leave, okay?'
She slammed the door on her way out. Chris lay
on the lounge, his face in the crook of his arm, his
heart peeling away from the wall of his chest Like a
piece of dead dry paint.

9.10 am

Sophie's heart pounded with anxiety and hope as she
wheeled the stretcher through St Helen's. Angus
walked beside her, the Oxy-Viva backpack slung on
one shoulder, the contents of the plastic bag tucked
inside it. They waited for the lift then squeezed on
board along with three chattering nurses and a
grumpy-looking wardsman. Sophie resisted the urge to reach up and touch the ten milliHtre syringe of
midazolam in her shirt pocket and instead stood as
though she were bored, as though this were a normal
day of ferrying patients from one place to another.
On the fifth floor she and Angus got out and
parked the stretcher against the wall. The floor had
two wings that met in the lift foyer. One wing was a
ward, the other was full of doctors' consulting rooms.
Sophie leaned casually against the stretcher and
looked down the corridor. She felt conspicuous, like
there was a neon sign above her head flashing CRIMINAL, CRIMINAL, but nobody ever looked
twice at a pair of paramedics and a stretcher in a hospital
corridor. Patients weren't ready to go, or the
doctor wasn't finished writing some report, or you
were just having a bludge.You were part of the furniture.
She breathed in the familiar hospital smell and
consciously lowered her shoulders.
Angus heaved the Oxy-Viva onto the stretcher.
'That's his office there.' He nodded. 'Third on the
right.'
The blue door was closed. Sophie stared at it. She
ran through the plan one more time in her head.
Worries crowded in on her: what if he wasn't there,
or wasn't alone? What if he called for help?
'Ready?'
Sophie gripped the stretcher frame and tried to
breathe. Sawyer could not hold out against them,
surely. He would reach a certain pain threshold then
tell them everything. When she imagined it, the time
afterwards was a fog. She didn't care about what the
police and courts might do. She didn't care if she was
sent to jail for years. Once they found Lachlan, she'd
get to see him when Chris visited. She'd know where
he was, that he was fine, and that was all that mattered.
Despite her fears of the previous night, she
couldn't imagine any result other than Sawyer telling
them where Lachlan was hidden, alive and well. She
worked up a bit of saliva so she could speak.'Ready'
They wheeled the stretcher towards his office.
Angus opened the Oxy-Viva and pulled out the plastic
zip bag containing a cloth soaked in chloroform.
He tucked it under his arm then used a tissue to open
the door. It closed behind him, and Sophie waited in
the corridor, sweating, acutely aware of the sound of
voices in the lift foyer and a radio playing in an office
further along. She pulled the syringe from her pocket
and shoved it under the pillow, and waited for
Angus's signal.
After long seconds she heard his low whistle and
pushed her way into the rooms. The first room was
an empty waiting area. An open door led into
Sawyer's actual office, where she saw an upturned
chair and Angus standing over Sawyer's Limp body. The air smelled of chloroform even though the cloth
was already back in its plastic bag by Angus's feet.
Sophie was dizzy, looking at Sawyer lying there.
She could almost believe this was a case, this man
unconscious on the floor her patient, and she had to
protect his airway, check through the possible causes
of his loss of consciousness, think which hospital was
closest, which had neurosurgery perhaps. Because she
surely was not really doing this; she wasn't really
about to kidnap a grown man and force him to tell
the truth.
'Sophie,'Angus hissed.
She looked at him. It was hard to breathe.
'We have to get moving.'
She was close to crying. She looked down at
Sawyer again then Angus leaned over and grabbed
her arm. 'He knows,' he said in a low voice. 'Don't
forget that.'
Sophie bit the inside of her cheeks.
'It's him or Lachlan.'
Sophie rubbed a shaky hand across her eyes, then
picked up the syringe and squatted by Sawyer's side.
'Hold his arm Like I told you.'
Angus wrapped his hands around Sawyer's forearm
and squeezed till the veins stood out. Sophie
tried to breathe deeply as she uncapped the needle
and slid the tip into a vein on the back of his hand.
'How did you do it?' she croaked.

'He was staring out the window,' Angus whispered.
'He never heard me come in.'
She injected three millilitres of the drug then
withdrew and recapped the needle. 'Okay.' Angus
lifted the Oxy-Viva off the stretcher then grabbed
the unconscious man under the shoulders, while
Sophie, trembling, grasped his belt with one hand
and slid her other arm under his knees. 'One, two,
three,' she whispered, and they heaved him up onto
the stretcher.They rolled him onto his side, and while
Angus arranged the pillow and blanket to cover as
much of him as possible, leaving only part of his face
exposed, Sophie set up an oxygen mask and slipped it
over his head. It was another cover, distorting the
appearance of his face for anyone who happened to
glance at him. She clipped in the stretcher's seatbelts,
pulled the blanket a Little higher over the side of his
head, hung the Oxy-Viva on the side of the stretcher,
then nodded at Angus.
Angus peered out of the main door then opened
it wide. Sophie manoeuvred the stretcher into the
corridor with sweaty hands.They walked to the lifts.
Angus pressed the button with a knuckle and they
waited, Sophie gritting her teeth, staring at Sawyer's
motionless form, willing him to stay unconscious,
wondering if she should have given him more midazolam
but knowing that could have stopped him
breathing. She watched his chest rise and fall under
the blanket. Her own breathing was twice as fast. A
couple of nurses came towards them along the ward
corridor; she looked anxiously at Angus but the
women turned into the stairwell.
The lift gave a ping, the doors opened, and
Sophie pushed the stretcher in so that Sawyer was
facing the wall. She was trembling.
'Almost there,'Angus said.

The lift opened on the ground floor. Angus
walked by the stretcher's head, an additional shield
for Sawyer's face, and they moved along the passageway
to the Emergency Department.With great effort
Sophie controlled the urge to run, the desire to be
safe inside the ambulance. The surveillance officers
would be looking for an upright and walking
Sawyer, not one unconscious on a stretcher, but any
oddity could stick in their minds. Not wanting to
know where or who they were, fearful of even making
eye contact with them, Sophie kept her gaze on
Sawyer's chest, counting his breaths for distraction as
they walked through the ED and out into the sunshine
of the ambulance bay.
Angus took the keys from his pocket and
clicked off the ambulance's central locking. He
opened the back door, and together they lifted the
head of the stretcher inside. Sawyer didn't move.
Sophie went to the foot of the stretcher and pulled
the release handle to collapse the legs as she pushed
the stretcher in fully. Any second she expected a
nurse to wander out of the ED for a chat, or another
ambulance to pull in and the paramedics inside to
recognise her, and as soon as she could she climbed
into the back with Sawyer and motioned for Angus
to shut the door.
He started the engine. Sophie peered out the rear
window as he drove from the bay. Nobody was
looking after them curiously. Nobody was looking
after them at all.
'We did it,' she said.
'Did what?' Sawyer mumbled.
She clipped a tourniquet around his arm, found a
vein and injected another half-millilitre of midazolam.
She didn't want him awake until they reached
their destination.




Saturday 10 May, 9.50 am

As Angus drove west, Sophie rolled the unconscious
Sawyer onto his back. She made four limb
restraints from triangular bandages and tightly tied
his hands to the stretcher rails and his feet to the
stretcher frame. She watched him carefully and when
he started to snore she inserted an oral airway. Having
come this far, the last thing she wanted was him
dying from an airway obstruction before she learned
anything.
'Five minutes,'Angus said.

Sophie clipped the tourniquet around Sawyer's
arm again and this time inserted a cannula into his
vein and connected an IV line. She taped it down
well, knowing he would be struggling later, trying to
pull it out. She connected up a bag of Hartmann's
fluid and hung it from one of the hooks screwed into
the wall.
'Two minutes.'
Sophie watched out the window as Angus took a
winding route through an industrial estate. Being
Saturday many of the businesses were closed, but here
and there roller doors were up and she saw sparks
from welders and heard music playing. Nobody
stood on the street and watched them go by, but that
didn't mean they weren't noticed. Well, if the police
knew to come here and ask if anyone remembered
the ambulance, they'd already know the rest.
Angus rounded a bend, turned into a driveway
and circled around the back of a deserted warehouse.
He got out to open a door then drove in.
Sophie drew a shaky breath. She looked at
Sawyer, flat on his back with the plastic airway in his
mouth. It wasn't too late, she thought, they hadn't
done anything really bad yet. They could take him
back, make up some story about what happened.
'Sophie?'
'What?'
Angus was watching her in the mirror. 'You
okay?'
She felt sick. She looked at Sawyer again. We have
to do this for Lachlan. She imagined holding him in
her arms, rubbing her cheek on the top of his head.
She pictured herself taking him home to Chris. We
have to.
'Sophie?'
'I'm okay' She made herself look out the window,
away from the man on the stretcher.'How big is
this place?'
'Come up here and see.'
She went forward and leaned into the front as
Angus drove through the enormous space. The concrete
floor was cracked and littered with smashed
bottles.'How'd you find this?'
'Good cops have contacts,' he said.
'Isn't that just in movies? Chris has never mentioned
any'
'Oh, he'd have them too.' He turned behind a
wall in to a smaller sectioned-off area. It was the perfect
size for the ambulance and the extra walls would
muffle any sound even further. It was exactly what
she'd asked for. Angus said,'Seriously, if you have the
money you can get anything.'
'That is from the movies.'
'I'm not kidding,' he said. 'I could get you a fake
passport, driver's licence, birth certificate - a whole
new identity if you wanted one.' He turned off the
engine.
Sophie looked back at Sawyer. She was drenched
in a cold nervous sweat. But they were here now, and
maybe he would be reasonable. 'Let's get him out.'
Angus opened the back door and they pulled the
stretcher out onto the concrete floor. Sawyer didn't
move. Sophie felt under the stretcher mattress for the
metal drip stand and stuck it in its hole on the
stretcher frame, then hung the IV bag from the top.
Angus was staring at Sawyer. 'How long till he
wakes up?'
'Not long.'
Angus reached out and flicked Sawyer's cheek
with his fingernail. 'Hey' He flicked again, leaving a
red mark.
Even this ran against the grain of everything
Sophie knew and believed in. She stood in the cavernous
warehouse, shivering and afraid. How could
she threaten to seriously hurt a man if he didn't tell
them the truth, when she knew she couldn't really
hurt him at all?

10.15 am

Ella sat at the computer, her chin in her hand. Since
getting back to the station from the Phillips house
she'd been looking up information on Chris, Dean
Rigby and Peter Roth, trying to find links between
them. All she found was what she already knew: that Roth and Phillips had attended the same in-service
course, and Rigby and Phillips had worked together
atWynyard.
She yawned. Her head ached. The bustle and
noise of the station washed around her as she tried to
think of what to do next. She could wander down
and see how Dennis was progressing: the calls to the
TV stations had been traced to a public phone in
Raglan Street in Waterloo, and he had people checking
for CCTV and any parking tickets given out in
the vicinity. She yawned again. Maybe in a few minutes,
after she rested her eyes.
'Wakey wakey,' Dennis said. 'We struck gold on
the parking tickets.'
She woke up smartly.'Chris's car?'
'No - Angus Arendson's.'
'The guy who was with Sophie outside Sawyer's
house?'
'Booked in a no-standing zone almost opposite
the phone box at the time the calls were made.' He
offered her his hand. 'May I take the dozing nanna for
a drive?'

10.20 am

Sawyer gagged on the airway and Sophie pulled it
from his mouth. She had to resist the urge to talk to
him reassuringly as she'd do with a patient, biting her
cheeks to keep from speaking. Sawyer blinked groggily
and tried to raise his hands but the triangular
bandages held him tight. The stretcher shook as he
struggled to move his arms and legs. He grunted and
coughed.
Angus slapped his forehead. 'Time to wake up,
dumbo.'
Both Sophie and Sawyer flinched at the assault.
Sawyer peered at Angus, then at Sophie. Recognition
spread over his face and he raised his head and stared
wildly around the empty echoing warehouse. 'Are
you nuts?'
Sophie said, 'I want my son.'
'What did you -- you kidnapped me to ask me
where he is?'
'Smart man,'Angus said.
'I don't know anything about him.'
'I think you do.'
Well, I fucking don't!'
Sophie checked the flow of the IV bag. She was
shaking and hoped he didn't see it.
'Oh, I get it,' he said. 'Next you're going to inject
me with something. Threaten to kill me if I don't tell
you.'
'Did we say anything about killing?'Angus said.
'You think I'll promise not to tell the cops if you
don't?'
'See, now, you're smart in some areas and not in
others,'Angus said.'You need to realise that we don't
care. Getting Lachlan back is all she wants. If the
price we pay is jail, then that's fine.'
Sawyer struggled against the arm restraints with
renewed vigour.
Sophie collected her strength. 'I've tied up violent
psychotics with those,' she said loudly, hoping to
conquer the waver in her voice. 'You'll never get
free.'
'I don't know anything!'
Sophie climbed into the back of the ambulance
and opened the drug drawer. The cardboard boxes
were colour-coded. Her hand shook as she reached
for them and she closed her eyes for a moment. Lying
in bed last night she'd imagined having Sawyer at her
mercy, and he always gave in before she had to act.
The scenario was always in her control. How could
she proceed, now that he wasn't giving in? She
looked around the ambulance interior as if the
answer might be written on the walls.
Bluff.That was what it boiled down to.When she
had a patient she wasn't sure what was wrong with,
she never let it show. It was the same here - Sawyer
had to believe that she was willing to hurt and even
kill him. If he saw that she had doubts, it was all over.
She'd have no chance.
She took out a box and climbed down from the
ambulance. Sawyer nervously craned his head around
to see. She stood by his side and showed him the
grey-striped box of adrenaline, fitting her thumb to
the indented line at one end so the cardboard tore.
Inside the box lay a glass vial and a plastic tube with
a needle inside it. Both were sealed at one end with
yellow plastic caps. She held one in each hand and
flipped the caps off with her thumbs, then fitted the
exposed ends of the glass vial and the plastic tube
together and twisted. The needle in the tube ruptured
the seal inside the glass and the drug was drawn
up, ready to be injected. She attached a needle to the
end and pressed the plunger until a glistening bead
appeared on the point. A couple of millllitres injected
into a vein was enough to reverse a severe asthma
attack or kick a too-slow heart rate into a good solid
rhythm. It also had the potential to shoot your heart
rate through the roof and kill you. Sawyer, a surgeon,
would know that. She held up the syringe so he
could see it held ten milliletres.
'Untie me and let's talk about this,' he said.
'Where's Lachlan?'
'I don't know.'
Angus stepped close. 'Tell us where the baby is
and all this will stop right now.'
'I don't fucking know!'
Sophie concentrated on hiding her shakes as she
brought the needle towards the IV line. Was he really
going to let her do it? The second he felt the drug hit
his system, accelerate his heart beat, would he shout
out where Lachlan was?
The needle slid into the plastic port. She fitted
her thumb to the base of the plunger. 'Last chance.' Please, tell me.
'If I knew where he was I'd tell you, but I don't!'
'Wrong answer.' Sophie braced herself. For
Lachlan. She pushed the plunger in. One millilitre:
enough to produce a reaction yet still be safe. In seconds
his skin turned cold and clammy as his
peripheral blood vessels shut down. He broke out in
a pungent sweat, his pupils dilated, and Sophie saw
the racing pulse in his neck.
'You bitch!' He was crying and retching.
Sophie felt like crying herself. Why wouldn't he
just give in and tell them?
Sawyer retched again and spat a gob of mucus at
her. Angus punched him in the stomach. Sawyer
groaned and Sophie felt sick. She wanted to scream at
Angus for hitting him but Angus had told her it was
important to appear united, that if Sawyer saw a gap
between them he wouldn't tell them the truth. She
tried to breathe deeply, evenly. If she could keep control
of the situation Angus might not hit him again. It's Sawyer or Lachlan, she told herself, and gathered
her courage to take hold of the syringe again.

10.25 am

During the drive to Angus Arendson's house in
Enfield, Ella and Dennis discussed the possibility that
he was the person who had called the TV stations. It
was the first time they'd had a particular person other
than Chris to consider in that role.
'There's nothing else to suggest it was him,
though,' Ella said.
Dennis rubbed his chin. 'We've got very Little to

say it was Chris.'
They pulled up outside his house in Flax Street
and Ella said, 'Well it'll be interesting to hear him
explain why he was there.'
The house was a small, plain fibro building,
painted grey with darker grey trim. The lawn was cut
short and there were no garden beds.
'Carport's empty,' Dennis said.
They approached the front door and knocked.
The house was silent. Ella looked at the collection of
dead leaves along the bottom of the door. 'Try the
back?'
The back yard was almost as stark as the front. A
lone mango tree stood in the far corner, its dark
green leaves shivering in the breeze.
Dennis held open the screen while Ella knocked
on the door. There was no answer. 'You did check
he's not working today?'
'I thought you did.' Dennis let the screen go.
'Kidding. Of course I checked.'
Ella knocked again. She could hear no sound in
the building. 'I guess he's out.' She wrote "contact
me' on the back of one of her cards and stuck it in the
doorframe.
Dennis let the screen slam shut and they walked
back to the car.

10.35 am

Sophie crouched in the back of the ambulance, trying
to catch her breath. She'd twice more injected small doses of adrenaline and Sawyer was still crying
that he knew nothing. Angus had hit the doctor three
more times in the stomach, once hard enough to
make him vomit for real, and they'd shouted at each
other so much Sophie was worried somebody outside
would hear them. The situation was completely
out of her control. She needed time to think, time to
breathe, but while Angus was yelling and punching
she had neither. He was Like a madman and Sophie
was afraid of where he was taking them.
'You can't let him be for too long.' Sophie looked
up to see Angus leaning into the vehicle. He said in a
low voice, 'If he gets his equilibrium back he'll be
harder than ever to break.'
'You don't have to hit him so much.'
'People like this are tough targets,' he said.'Softly
softly will get us nowhere.'
She stared at him, and it suddenly seemed odd
that he would go to such lengths for someone else's
child. She thought of his story of the young girl and
his revenge on her attacker. Maybe he enjoyed violence
and this way was able to do it for a reason?
Behind him Sawyer started a fresh struggle with
the bandages that held him down. The stretcher rattled
with his movements.
'A Little more and we have him I reckon,' Angus

said.
She faced the drawer but knew Angus was still
there. She tried to think. Why was Sawyer holding
out? A thought crept into her mind -- What if he really
didn't do it? -- but she forced it away. Of course he did
it. He had motive and opportunity. The police just
hadn't been able to prove it yet.
But maybe . . . maybe . . .
No. She grabbed needles at random and jumped
out of the ambulance. The small dose wasn't enough,
that was all. It was time to get serious with the bluff.
Sawyer was saying to Angus, 'I know why the
bitch is doing this, but why are you here? Just getting
your kicks out of watching someone suffer? I'm
memorising your face, you know. She can fill me up
with whatever drugs she likes. I'll remember you and
you'll be in the deepest shit.'
Sophie steeled herself. 'You're assuming I'm still
going to let you Have.' Shaking, she stuck the needle of
a new syringe of adrenaline into the IV port and
depressed the plunger slowly. One millilitre, two,
three. Any more was too risky.
Sawyer gasped.'Oh God, oh God.' He panted for
air. He looked on the verge of cardiac arrest.
Sophie grabbed his arm, terrified he would die.
'Tell me where Lachlan is,' she begged.
He gagged, choking on a mouthful of vomit. She
seized his chin and turned his head to the side.
'Cough,' she told him. 'Cough it out.'
Crying, he managed to clear his mouth and
throat. 'I don't know anything about your little boy'
he wept.
Sophie started to cry too. She looked up at
Angus, shaking her head. It was time to stop. They
had to take Sawyer to hospital. Any more and he
would die, and then they'd know nothing.
'Liar,' Angus said.
'I don't,' Sawyer groaned.
'LIAR!'Angus launched himself across Sawyer and
grabbed the syringe still attached to the IV line, slamming
the plunger down and emptying the syringe.
Sophie gasped and grabbed for the IV line to crimp it
off and stop the flow of adrenaline into Sawyer's bloodstream
but it was too late. Sawyer turned white, took a
short sharp breath then went limp.
'Shit.' Sophie leapt into the ambulance and
grabbed the defibrillator. She tore open Sawyer's shirt
and slapped pads onto his chest. The screen showed
the wriggling line of ventricular fibrillation, the state
when the heart muscle was quivering uselessly. A
shock was their best chance of restoring a natural
rhythm. She charged the machine to two hundred
joules. 'Stand back.'
'Sophie'
Sophie hit the shock button. Sawyer's body
jumped as far as it was able with his feet and hands
tied down.The screen still showedVF.'Shit!'
'He was lying, Sophie.'
She charged the machine, shocked him again. Still VF.'Why the hell did you do it?'
'I wanted to frighten him, make him realise we
could see through all the crap, and he'd finally have to
tell the truth.' Angus clasped his head. 'I didn't know
this would happen.'
'Jesus, Angus.' Sophie charged the machine to
three hundred and sixty joules. Sawyer's body jolted
but his heart stayed in VF. 'Jump in there and grab that
resus bag.'
She started chest compressions while Angus
climbed into the vehicle. 'Where is it?'
'There, on the wall.' She felt a rib crack in
Sawyer's chest and lightened up. 'Right there in front
of you.'
'I don't--'
'There!' Sophie grabbed Sawyer's face. She
pinched his nose shut, raised his chin and blew into
his mouth. His chest rose and fell. She breathed into
his lungs again then began compressions.
'This thing?'Angus held out the bag.
'Hold it on his face when I tell you. No, not
now.' She charged the machine and hit Sawyer with
another three-sixty joules. No change fromVF.'Okay,
press the mask to his face.Tilt his chin up a bit. Hold
it on with one hand and squeeze the bag with the
other.'
She kept on with the compressions, trying to
think what drugs she should give him. Basic treatment
of an arrest included frequent doses of
adrenaline, but what did you do if that was the cause?
She shocked him again. Angus squeezed the bag
and she heard air leaking from the sides of the mask.
'Press it on tighter.'
'I am,' he said.
'Change places.'
She worked hard with the bag to get plenty of air
into Sawyer's lungs. She stopped for seconds to inject lignocaine, hoping to settle the heart down, then
sodium bicarbonate to reverse the metabolic acidosis.
But the monitor continued to show the irregular
rhythm ofVF and Sawyer's skin turned from purple
to mottled. Sophie wept as she worked, and her tears
fell onto the resus bag and rolled down its curved
sides then dropped to the dusty floor below.
Angus took his hands from Sawyer's chest.
"Don't you dare stop,' she snapped. She heard
another rib crack as he pressed down again. Oh God,
what have I done?
She charged up and delivered a shock. The smell
of singed chest hair filled the air. She forced the mask
tighter on his face and squeezed the guts out of the
bag.
'Sophie, he's gone.'
'Not until we stop he isn't.' She charged the
monitor again. It reached two hundred joules then
stopped, the words 'low battery' flashing on the screen.
She hit him with the two hundred and charged up
again. This time the machine made it to a hundred
then the screen turned black. The batteries were
dead. There were spares in all the cars except the
spare one itself, this one.
'I'm calling for back-up,' she said.
'You can't.'
'I have to.'
'He's dead, Sophie. Look at him.'
The surfaces of Sawyer's half-open eyes were dry.
His forehead and nose were turning bony white as
the blood drained towards his back, the lowest point
of his body. The skin of his neck and chest was cooling,
the mottling turning pale. She'd seen more
people in this state than she could recall. It was the
point at which you got out the body bag.
The enormity of the situation fell on her Like a
monstrous cresting wave. She dropped the resus bag
on the warehouse floor and slumped onto the ambulance's
back step, her head in her hands. Shock and
grief engulfed her and she felt she might collapse. What have I done? What have I done?
After a moment she croaked, 'How will we find
Lachlan now?'
'We can't.' Angus jabbed a finger into Sawyer's
motionless chest. 'He killed him.'
Sophie shook her head.
'You've seen all the cars out there with the blue
ribbons.' His voice was hoarse with emotion. 'All
those people looking out for Lachlan, yet nobody's
found him. Soph, what do you think that means?'
Sophie stared at him, unable to speak.
He lowered his voice. 'Can't you see there was
only one reason he was parked at the river?'
Sophie couldn't get her breath. She collapsed on
her hands and knees on the cracked concrete floor,
her vision blurry, her stomach rolling. She hung her
head and her tears dripped onto the floor. Everything
in her chest dried up and blew away in a grim and icy
wind.
gone. Lachlan was gone.


Saturday 10 May, 10.53 am

Sophie sat on the cold concrete floor, her hands
over her face. She felt Like going home and killing
herself.
'Get up,'Angus said.
She couldn't move. He crouched before her and
grasped her upper arms, pulling her to her feet.
'Ow,' she said.'Stop it.'
'You should go home and rest.'
'For what? My time in jail?'
He shook his head. 'That won't happen. I'll take
care of it all.'
She looked at Sawyer's cooling body, the mess of
vomit and drug boxes on the floor, the IV line that still slowly dripped fluid into the dead veins. 'How?'
'Just go home,' he said. 'Don't think about it.
Think about you and Chris. Look after yourself.'
Her head hurt.Wind whistled through a crack in
the building's wall somewhere. 'The ambulance,' she
said.
'Tell me how to put it in the station, what to say
if I meet anyone.'
She sat on the ambulance's back step, weak and
sick. It didn't seem possible that they could get away
with this, she wasn't even sure she wanted to, but her
mind was so muddled that she couldn't think it all
through. 'The remote for the station roller doors is
attached to the dashboard,' she said.'Reverse in, close
to the wall.'
'And if I meet anyone?'
She tried to think.'Say you're new to the city. Say
that Control told you to bring the truck back from
the workshop and your mate's getting code twenty at
the Quay. Then get away as quickly as you can.'

'Okay,' Angus said. 'Now, to get you home.' He
looked around, then went to a pile of rags and rubbish
that lay against the wall and fished out a tattered
and dirty blue shirt. 'Put this on, then go outside.
Back down the road was a public phone. Call a taxi.'
She held the shirt at arm's length. There was already grease on her fingers from it.
'It's better than your uniform shirt,' he said. TO
take that and get rid of it along with mine.'
'The taxi driver will remember me anyway,
won't he?'
'He's guaranteed to if you're in full uniform.'
Sophie pulled her ambulance shirt off and
yanked on the grimy blue one. Angus turned away
while she did so. 'Need phone money?'
She patted her pockets, thought of her wallet in
her car at The Rocks.'I do.' He gave her some coins.
'My car keys are in the front of the ambulance,' she
said.'Maybe you can use my car to get home yourself.'
'Thanks, I will if nobody's around.' He came
close and put his hand on the side of her neck. 'It's
going to be okay'
She looked past him at Sawyer's body, feeling
certain that nothing would ever be okay again.

12.15 pm

In the carpark Ella watched Dennis light a cigarette.
'Have you noticed that any opportunity you get now,
you have a smoke?'
Dennis tilted his head up and exhaled smoke.
'Your point being?'
She ignored that. 'Angus Arendson rang. Said he
was at golf earlier. I gave him the spiel about how the
calls to the TV stations about the robbery gang were
made from a phone box across the street from where
he was booked in Waterloo, right around that time. I
asked if he was the caller or if he'd perhaps noticed
somebody in the box. He said no.'
'Why was he there?'
'Apparently there's a vintage record shop on
that stretch and he was looking through their collection.
Thought he was in an hour zone but when
he found the ticket he realised he'd looked at the
wrong sign.'
'Buy anything? Got receipts?'
'Yep,' Ella said. 'Well so he says.'

Dennis finished his smoke and stepped on the
butt.'We might go and have a look after the meeting.'

When they entered the station the desk officer
waved them over. 'Call for you, Detective.'
Dennis took the handset she held out.'Orchard.'
He listened for a moment then motioned for Ella to
pick up another handset.
'--searched the hospital grounds and found no
trace,' she heard a man saying. 'He was last seen in his
office about eight-thirty this morning. His car's still
there and none of us saw him go.'
Dennis rubbed his forehead.'Are there other exits?'
'Well if he'd gone out with the laundry he
might've managed it,' the man said.
Dennis looked at Ella, then said into the phone,
'Keep us posted, will you?' He put the handset down.
'Sawyer's done the bolt.'
'I knew it.' She clenched her fists in glee. 'He was
hiding something from the start.'
'Put his description out,' Dennis said to the desk
officer. 'We need to find this guy'

12.33 pm

Chris opened the door when Sophie knocked.
'Where have you been?'
She pushed past him, got some money and paid
the taxi driver, then went inside the house again.
Chris followed, an icepack held to his forehead,
bloodied tissues in his nostrils.'I need to talk to you.'
'Just don't,' she said.
'Are you crying?'
'Does it matter?' She tore off her clothes and
threw them in the washing machine.
'Whose shirt is that?'
She left him in the laundry and went upstairs to
shower.

Chris came into the steam-filled room. 'Sophie.'
She didn't answer. Her skin burned under the
hot water and the scrubbing brush. It didn't make
sense, she hadn't been in close prolonged contact
with Sawyer's dead-man sweat, but if she inhaled
deeply enough she still caught a whiff of it.
'Sophie.'
'Not now.' She turned the shower off but stayed
in the cubicle.The last of the water trickled down the
drain between her feet. She stared into the Little holes
and wished she could slip away with it.
He opened the cubicle door. 'I've got to talk to
you. Something's happened.'
She shivered and he handed her a towel. She
couldn't look him in the eye.
'Soph?'
She felt sick and faint, and crouched down, hands
hard against the tiled walls. Despair over what she'd
done overwhelmed her. Great racking sobs rose up
from deep inside her chest.
'Jesus, Sophie.' Chris crouched beside her, his
arm over her back, pulling the towel up to cover her
goosepimpled shoulders, hugging her to him.
She sank even lower on the shower floor. Oh
God, I didn't deserve him before. What will he say when
he finds out what I've done?
was he doing? Did he have Lachlan hidden somewhere
and was in the process of moving him? If so,
was the baby dead or alive?
Dennis's mobile rang. 'Orchard,' he muttered. He
blinked then started to scribble on a notepad. Ella
peered over his arm to see an address in the inner
western suburbs. He said,'Thanks,' ended the call and
stood up. 'Meeting adjourned, folks, we've found a
body'
Ella felt a sharp pain in her chest and the detectives
sighed and slumped down in their chairs.
'It's not Lachlan,' Dennis said. People brightened.
'Who then?'Ella said.
'Not sure yet.'
In the car she said, 'But obviously you have some
idea?'
'A real estate guy arrived at this warehouse and
found a dead man in it.' He accelerated out of the
carpark. 'He was in a state when he rang triple 0, saying
something about an ambulance being there but
nobody else around, but his description made it
sound Like Sawyer.'
'An ambulance.'
'Yes.'
She put a hand on her head. 'That's bad.'
'First we make sure it's him,' Dennis said. 'Then
we know.'





12.40 pm

In the meeting Ella sat with her elbows on the table,
barely listening to people reel off their lack of success.
Her mind was on Sawyer. Where was he? What

12.45 pm

Chris walked Sophie to the bed, sat her on the side
and pulled the quilt up around her. She couldn't stop
shaking. I killed a man. The thought went round and
round in her head. "I killed him.
Chris wrapped his arms around her and pulled
her close. She felt simultaneously comforted and
guilty in his embrace. She laid her head on his shoulder,
looking at the side of his face, as every bad thing
she'd done rose up in her memory from the cheating
to the events of today. At Mrs Macquarie's Point
they'd kissed while fireworks shot from the Harbour
Bridge, and she'd felt his heart beating against her
chest, and now they were so separate. When all this
was over she had to live differently, holding nothing
back. She should start now.
'I need to tell you something,' he said. He looked
down at her with tears in his eyes. 'Lachlan being
taken was my fault. I'm so sorry.'
'No, it was mine.' Sophie started to cry. 'Sawyer
took him because I couldn't save his wife and baby'
She drew a long faltering breath. 'And today I killed
Sawyer.'
Chris looked horrified. 'What?'
'Angus and I kidnapped him. I wanted to make
him tell me where Lachlan is. He wouldn't say, then
he got an overdose and died and I couldn't get him
back.'
Chris started to cry too. 'You killed an innocent
man.'
'No, we didn't. The detectives think it was him
too.'
'You did,' he said. 'Lachlan being taken was my
fault. I rang the TV stations about the robbery gang
being all police. I wasn't completely certain that they
were, really, but I found out that officers like Rigby
were doing some bad stuff and I thought this way the
government would be pressured into a general investigation
into corruption. But people in the gang
somehow found out I did it, and they shot me and
took him as payback.'
'That's wrong,' Sophie said. 'I know it was
Sawyer. Angus said so too. He kept me up to date
with the things Ella wouldn't tell me, Like how she
felt Sawyer might have got rid of Lachlan on the
baby black market.'
'He said that? Are you sure?'
'Positive.'
'But there's almost certainly no such thing,' Chris
said. 'Ella would never seriously suspect that's what
happened.'
'Then why would he say it?'
Chris was silent for a moment. 'Where's Sawyer's
body?'
'Angus is taking care of it.' She explained what he
was going to do.
'So your getting away with killing Sawyer
depends on Angus's carrying out his part of the plan.'
Chris suddenly stared at her with such a fire in his
eyes she felt afraid.
'What is it?'
'Mum told me today that she arranged an abortion
for Angus's sister, Bee, when we were sixteen,' he
said.'But the baby wasn't mine. We never had sex.' He
grabbed her arms so tightly it hurt. 'Do you see what
I'm saying?'

1.05 pm

Four uniformed police waited for Ella and Dennis
outside the warehouse. Two local area detectives
stood inside, some distance from the ambulance. Ella
and Dennis approached slowly, careful not to step on
any drug boxes or syringes. It was all evidence and
would be photographed in situ before being logged
in, packaged up and taken away for analysis.
The body was tied to the stretcher by both wrists
and both ankles.The once-white shirt was torn open
and what Ella guessed were defibrination pads were
stuck on his chest. She walked parallel to the
stretcher, studying the body's face. 'It's him.'
Dennis nodded. 'I agree.'
Sawyer looked even skinnier than before, perhaps
an effect of being dead and flat on his back, though
Ella remembered he'd looked more gaunt each time
she'd seen him even while alive. There was dried
vomit around his mouth and on the floor. His eyes
were half-open and an IV bag hung from a metal
pole on the stretcher, its tubing connected to his arm.
A needle and syringe stuck out of it. Ella twisted her
head to read the printed label: Adrenaline.
'Look at that.'
Ella turned to where Dennis was pointing and
saw a crumpled ambulance uniform shirt thrown
partly under the ambulance.
'Detective Orchard?'
Ella looked towards the door, where a uniformed
officer and a detective stood with a man in blue
workman's clothing. 'This man has information.'
The man worked as a welder in a factory down
the road. 'I was on my break,' he said, 'about eleven,
when I saw a woman come out of the building and
walk to the public phone down there. She was almost
staggering, so I watched her, thinking she was maybe
sick. She stayed in the phone box for a while, I could
see she'd sat down in there, then about five or ten
minutes later a taxi pulled up and she got in. I didn't
think anything else of it until I saw all you guys here.'
'What did she look Like?' Dennis said. 'What was
she wearing?'
'She was tall and slim, and she had long hair tied
back in a sort of bun thing. She was wearing a really
raggedy-looking shirt, a blue one. And dark trousers.
Blue or black, I'm not sure.'
'Which taxi company was it?'
'The red and blue one, I can't remember their
name.
'Thank you.' Dennis turned to the detective.'Get
his statement, track down that taxi and then call me.'
He headed outside, Ella right behind him.
He tossed her the car keys then pulled out his
phone and dialled a number. 'I need a warrant for
Sophie Phillips's house.'

Saturday 10 May, 1.25 pm

When she knocked on the door Ella heard running
footsteps then the door was almost torn
off its hinges.'Chris?' Gloria Phillips's eyes were red
and her face tear-streaked.
'Mrs Phillips, we have a warrant to search these
premises,' Ella said. 'Are Chris and Sophie home?'
'No, I don't know where they are. When I got
here I found the back door unlocked and windows
open, and they never do that,' she said. 'It's as if they
took off in a big hurry. I thought maybe you'd called
and said you'd found Lachlan.'
'I'm sorry, we haven't,' Ella said.
Dennis squeezed past them and started upstairs.
Ella went into the living room and looked around.
Gloria followed, sniffling. 'I'm sorry to be in
such a state but Chris and I had a big argument
today'
'It's a stressful time,' Ella said, peering into the
kitchen. 'Perhaps you'd Like to sit in the living room
while we take a look around?'
Gloria took a box of tissues with her.
Ella went upstairs to Dennis. 'They're not here
are they'
He shook his head. He was standing in the main
bedroom. There were piles of clothes on the floor. An
ambulance uniform lay in a corner. It looked as
though it had been there for a few days. 'Just like she
said, seems they left in a hurry'
The sliding door of the built-in wardrobe was
open. Ella looked in, expecting to see clothes and
suitcases missing, thinking now they were on the trail
of a fugitive murderer. Instead she saw an open shoe
box on the floor, its contents tipped out among black
work boots and men's running shoes. She knelt for a
look. 'Eight years and under, 50 metres backstroke,'
she read from a small faded blue ribbon.'Boys'junior
soccer, runners-up.'
'Funny what some people keep.' Dennis went
into the next room.
Ella stood up and saw a collection of letters on
the bed. She smoothed out the top one. Dear Chris, it
began. / will always love you.
'Got some love letters here,' she called. She
scanned down to the bottom of the letter.'To Chris,
from someone called Bee.'
'New or old?'
'Undated.' Ella shuffled through the pile but
there were no envelopes, no helpful postmarks. They
didn't look recent but it was important she find out.
They could be evidence that Chris was having an
affair after all.
'Distinctive name,' Dennis said. 'Mrs Phillips
might know.'
Ella took the letter downstairs. Gloria was sitting
on the lounge, rocking back and forth, twisting a tissue
in her hands.
'Do you know a person named Bee?'
Gloria looked up. 'That's Angus's sister.'
'Angus Arendson?'
'Well not really his sister,' Gloria said. 'Angus was
adopted by Bee's mother when he was small. His
mother and Bee's were friends, but his mother was a
bit of a no-good, well I mean, she took off with this
bloke, to India or somewhere, and never came back.
Bee's mother took Angus in and after a while she
adopted him.' She dropped shredded tissue on the
floor.'None of the other kids knew and Bee's mother
asked that we never tell them. I don't think Chris
ever knew. Well unless Bee told him. She might have
done. I don't know.'
Ella tried to keep it straight in her mind.
'And Bee and Chris used to go out when they
were teenagers. Now she has a Little boy and he's sick,
he's got cancer, poor Little thing.' She started to sob.
'Life isn't fair when such bad things happen to such Little babies.' She pulled another tissue from the box.
'Why do you ask?'
'I found some letters from her upstairs,' Ella said.
'Chris must have been reading them after I left.'
Gloria wiped her eyes. 'She was the reason for our
argument.'
'Had she been around? Was Chris seeing her again?'
'No, nothing like that.' Gloria covered her face
with her hands. 'I helped her get an abortion when
she was sixteen. Chris didn't know until today'
Ella stared at her.
'He was furious,' Gloria went on. 'He hates me
now' Her voice cracked. 'I don't blame him either.'
Ella went out in the hall to read further in the
letter. I'm sorry that I was nasty yesterday. Sometimes I
feel so bad, so ugly, about things going on in my life. Things
I can't tell anyone about, they are that bad. But at the same
time it feels so nice! I don't understand that. If it's all so
wrong, shouldn't it feel bad at the time, not just later?
Ella struggled to get her thoughts in order. Angus
and Chris knew each other years ago; Chris went out
with Angus's adoptive sister, Bee; Chris's mother
arranged a secret abortion for Bee when the girl was
sixteen.
Chris obviously thought the letters were relevant
because he'd got them out of the box, either today or
very recently, and he and Sophie had left the house so
quickly they hadn't even locked up. It was possible
that they'd rushed out because of what Sophie had
done, but Ella didn't think that was the reason.
It was a long shot, but she pulled her phone out
and called the Incident Room. Murray answered.
She said,'Grab a piece of paper.'
There was a shuffling sound.'Okay'
'Woman by the name of Bee Arendson.'
'Bee's short for Belinda,' Gloria said from the
doorway.
'Belinda Arendson,' Ella said into the phone. 'Put
her in the system, see what we've got.'

'System's down,' Murray said. 'All the metro
computers are offline. They're working on it, but'
'As soon as they're back up, then,' Ella said.
'Meanwhile, call Births, Deaths and Marriages and
check for registered births. A son.'
'Named Ben,' Gloria said.
'Ben,' Ella told Murray, then covered the phone.
'Have you ever seen him?' she asked Gloria. 'Or a
picture?'
Gloria shook her head.
'Call me back when you know anything,' Ella
said to Murray, and hung up.'Dennis!'
'Why are you asking about Bee's little boy?'
Gloria said.
Dennis came halfway down the stairs. 'What?'
'A lead.'
'What is it?'
Ella nodded at the door.
Gloria followed them outside, clutching at Ella's
sleeve. 'What are you thinking? Do you know where
Lachlan is?'
'We'll call you the second we know anything,'
Ella said. 'I promise.'

2.10 pm

'I don't know,' Dennis said, frowning in the passenger
seat. 'I can't see it.'
'It is a lead, though,' Ella said.
'Absolutely Just not one strong enough to get us
a warrant.'
'We'd better start hoping he's home then,' Ella
said. 'Try Murray again, see if things are working
yet.'
Dennis did so. After a short conversation he
closed his phone. 'No go, and so far nothing back
from Births, Deaths and Marriages.'
Ella braked to a halt in front of Angus's house.
The carport was empty.'Shit.'
They got out anyway and went to the back door.
Ella opened the screen and was about to knock, then
stopped. 'Hello.'
'What?'
'Door's open.'
Dennis leaned in to see the centimetre gap
between the door and the frame.
They looked at each other.
'Could be somebody injured in there,' Ella said.
'Could be,' he said, pulling his gun out. 'We'd
better go and see.'
She got her own gun out, pushed the door open
with her foot and waited a moment. 'Police, coming
in.'
The house was silent. Ella shivered, then stepped
inside, Listening hard. A car droned past outside. She
could feel Dennis's breath on the back of her neck as
she started down the narrow hallway
The first doorway on the right was the bathroom,
painted green, small and unrenovated.
Opposite was a tiny laundry with a dented washing
machine and a sink.
At the end of the hall was the small kitchen. The
sink and cracked linoleum benches were bare.
The living room contained a worn lounge and small TV. There were two bedrooms, one obviously
kept as a spare with a mattress leaning against the
wall, the other with a double bed made up with
flannelette sheets and wool blankets. A rug was
pushed up close to the bed and Dennis almost
tripped on the folds when he went to check under
the bed. 'Place is empty.'
The dresser drawers stood open and held just a
few crumpled T-shirts. Dennis looked into the
wardrobe as he reholstered his gun. 'Someone's
packed and left in a hurry.'
Ella put her gun away then stood in the hall with
her hands on her hips. 'But where's he gone, and
why?'
Dennis didn't answer. He was smoothing the
rug's worn pile with his shoe.
Ella went back to the kitchen. Magnets held two
photos to the fridge door. One showed Angus and a
young woman sitting smiling on a lounge, the other
the same young woman holding a baby wrapped in a
blanket. Ella looked closely at it. The baby was hardly
visible. It could be anyone. She focused on the
woman, noticing skinny arms and small breasts. 'Do
you think this could be the woman from the pub
CCTV?'
Dennis came to look. 'She's a simlar build.'
Ella thought she looked a little familiar from
somewhere else too, but couldn't place her.
'Next stop Bee's house, once we get the address,
right?' she said. 'Dennis?'
'Mm.'
'What is it?'
'Just thinking.' He was walking through the
rooms, hands in pockets, staring at the walls.

Ella headed down the hall. TO ring Murray'

Dennis followed, frowning.
She was on the step at the back door, starting to
dial, when she saw him whirl and charge back up the
hall. She ended the call before it went through and
ran after him.
He was in the bedroom, tapping his knuckles
along the wall, then he grasped the corner of the
dresser. His eyes were bright when he looked up at
her. 'Help me with this.'
They dragged the dresser away from the wall. Its
legs came to rest against the folded rug. 'I knew it,'
Dennis said.
'Knew what?'
He pointed at the rug, then at the corners of the
room. 'There's a false wall here.'
Ella squinted at the walls.'Really?'
He ran his hands across the wall and pinpointed
a crack in the paint.'He closed it up but forgot about
the rug.'
'If you say so,' Ella said.'You want me to ring for
a warrant?'
'Take too long.' Dennis went into the kitchen
and started opening drawers. He came back with a
screwdriver, and slotted the tip into the wall. 'I don't care any more about the rules of evidence. I just want
to find this kid before something bad happens.' He
managed to lever off a panel. Behind it was a small
dark space. Dennis grabbed a lamp and turned it on,
and they peered in.
The place was tiny but organised. A laptop, printer
and digital camera lay on a bench to one side, below a
sheet of cork to which colour photos were pinned.
'Canon printer,' Ella said. 'And look, half a ream
of Reflex paper.'
The other walls were covered in shelving. The
equipment the shelves had once held was now
mostly in a jumble on the floor. Dennis raised the
lamp higher and Ella saw pages stapled in bundles,
labelled audio tapes, photocopies of maps with particular
routes highlighted, and newspaper articles
spilling from torn cardboard files on the floor. There
was a clear plastic disc and microphone, and a small
directional 'gun' microphone, the likes of which Ella
had seen used in surveillance operations. A tangle of
wires and a pile of small black Listening devices had
tumbled from an upended cardboard box.There were
three cameras with long lenses, and four boxes of different
ammunition. Ella's gaze fell upon one open
box.'Twenty-two subsonics.'
'Can't see any guns but we'll pull up the floor, go
into the roof space,' Dennis said.
'He might have them with him.' Ella took the
lamp to examine pictures on the corkboard. It was a
series of colour shots of Chris, Sophie and Lachlan
out shopping somewhere, a close-up of Lachlan
sucking on a dummy the same as the one found by
Sawyer's car, a shot of Sophie talking on the radio in
an ambulance, and one taken through a window of
Sophie feeding Lachlan in a highchair. The dates
printed in the corners ranged from two weeks to
three months ago.
Dennis picked a photo up by its corner. 'Here's
the phone box in Raglan Street.'
The shot showed Chris on the phone looking
anxious. In the background was a shop awning that
read, Raglan Street Drycleaners. In the bottom corner
of the photo was a time and date stamp.
'May 6, 10.22 am. I guess we know who the
caller to the TV stations was,' Ella said.

'So Angus or Bee followed him, took this happy
snap and-' Dennis poked the directional microphones
lying on the floor with his foot '-listened in
as well?'
'Looks Like it.'
'So they heard Chris call the stations and say the
robbery gang was all police.' Dennis pinched his chin
between his finger and thumb. 'And then what?'
Ella was about to answer when she spotted a
couple of bills in the mess on the floor. 'These are
addressed to Bee. Lot 37, Marshall Road, Palm Glen.'
'And look at this.' Dennis pointed to a twin pack
of dummies lying on the floor. One was missing. The
one that remained had a sun and moon pattern Ella
recognised from the dummy found next to Sawyer's
car at the river.
Ella's phone rang. She handed the lamp back to
Dennis. 'Marconi.'
'It's me,'Murray said, excited.'Belinda Arendson's
had four registered births but they were all stillborn.
Apparently once the pregnancy gets over twenty
eight weeks and the baby's born dead it has to get
registered as a birth, but it's not registered as a death
because--'
'Four dead babies. We get the picture,' Ella said.
'No live ones?'
'Nope.'

She punched Dennis's arm. 'Let's go.'
In the car she accelerated hard, while Dennis
fumbled with her phone, trying to put it on loudspeaker.
'That button there,' she said.
Suddenly Murray's voice came through. 'Hello?'
'We hear you,' Dennis said.
'Okay. Record-wise Bee has a good behaviour
bond from eleven years ago. She was a nurse and
worked in a nursing home and this old guy died from
a drug overdose. She said it was an accident but the
fairnly said he'd told them he wanted to die and that
a nurse was going to help him. Old guy dies, fairnly
kicks up stink, in come the cops.'
'What was that drug that came up on Sawyer's
tox screen?' Ella asked Dennis. 'The one that knocks
you out and makes you forget stuff?'
'Midazolam.'
'We need to find out how closely that's controlled
in hospitals, especially anywhere Bee's worked.'
Dennis gripped the door as she took a bend at
speed.'You're thinking Bee and Angus are behind the
entire scheme?'
'Maybe,' Ella said. 'Bee wants a baby. She can't
have one. She sees Chris and Sophie with Lachlan,
she feels cheated, she decides she'll just take what she
wants. Angus, being the helpful adopted brother, goes
along, spying on the famlly plotting out how they'll
do it.'
'And Sawyer?'
'Maybe Angus found out about Sawyer's wife
and baby dying and how Sophie was involved, perhaps
after Sawyer was arrested for that scuffle' Ella said.

'He sets Sawyer up so we'll find him unconscious by
the river. Bee picked him up in the pub and gave him
the drugs so he wouldn't remember any of it, which
in turn increases our suspicion of him.'
Dennis murmured something incredulous.
Murray jumped in. 'Angus could've done the
actual shooting of Chris and kidnapping Lachlan. He
left the "keep your mouth shut" note because first of
all it would cost us time to look into it and then if we
found out Chris had indeed called the TV stations,
we'd believe the kidnapping was tied to that.'
Ella started, realising where she might have seen
Bee. 'I think it was Bee who killed Roth, too.'
'Really?'
'I'd have to see her in the flesh to be sure,' Ella
said,'but what I've seen so far fits.'
Dennis rubbed his eyes. 'I'm too old for this.'
Murray said, 'You think Angus is involved with
the gang as well as being behind the kidnapping?'
'Maybe he's planning a quiet Life for the three of
them and his takings from the robberies were making
a litile nest egg.' She was all excited. 'Even the cancer story fits. You said there weren't many disguise
options for babies, but one was to shave his hair off.
They could tell everyone he's being treated for cancer,
that's why he's got no hair, and they keep shaving
him to keep him that way'
Dennis was still frowning. 'You have some
imagination.'
'It works for me,' Murray said.

Ella smiled at the phone. Maybe he wasn't so bad
after all.
'But where does Sawyer getting killed fit in?'
Dennis said.
'I guess that was Sophie believing he was behind
the kidnapping,' Ella said. 'We know that Angus spent
some time with Sophie the last few days, including
driving past Sawyer's house. Perhaps he egged her on.
Perhaps he even helped kidnap him, maybe even kill
him.'
'But why, if they just wanted the baby? Why not
take him and disappear?'
'Good question.' Ella sped through an intersection.
'Maybe it wasn't just the baby,' Murray said.
'What?'
'Maybe they were out for more than the baby' he
said.'If Bee's got trouble with her upstairs wiring, as
sounds increasingly likely, what if she blamed that
first abortion for all her stillbirths since?'
A light went on in Ella's brain. 'That's it!'
'Eyes on the road,' Dennis said.
'Gloria started it all by arranging that abortion,
right?' Ella said. 'Say things went to plan for Bee
and Angus. Chris ends up brain-damaged, maybe
really badly. If Angus helped Sophie today he's
probably arranged things so that all evidence points
to her and not him, and she winds up in jail. He
even told us his alibi on the phone, remember?
Meanwhile Lachlan is never found. So what happens
to Gloria?'
'She's lost her family and she's left alone,' Dennis
said.
'A fate worse than death, some might say,' Ella
said. 'I reckon Chris and Sophie have reached the
same conclusion about Angus and Bee and that's why
they left their house in such a hurry.'
'Without letting us know?'
'Sophie may have just killed a man,' she said. 'I'm
guessing she thinks we'd arrest her first and ask questions
later.'
Murray put in, 'And maybe they think if the
Arendsons get away now, none of us will be able to
find Lachlan.'
Dennis put down Ella's phone and pulled out his
own. 'I'm arranging back-up. If Angus and Bee have
guns and we've got an unarmed paramedic and an
injured copper going up against them before we get
there, they're going to need a hell of a lot of help.'


Saturday 10 May, 2.24 pm

Chris scribbled as he listened into the
phone. 'Got that.Yep.Thanks, Mick.'
Sophie glanced over from behind the wheel at
the Little map he'd drawn. They were almost at Palm
Glen. When Allan Denning atWynyard had told him
that all the city computers were down, Chris had
called a friend on the South Coast to look up Bee's
address; then, because they had no map of the area,
he'd rung Central Coast Ambulance Control for help
on the location of Marshall Road. Mick was the controller
on duty and he had looked up the
computer-aided dispatch map for them.
Now Chris held the phone out.'He wants to talk
to you.'
'Hold it up to my ear,' she said.
'I don't think you should go in,' Mick said, his
voice tinny on the phone.'Wait for the cops. There's
a siege in Gosford at the moment, so response might
be a bit down, but they'll come when I tell them
what Chris said.'
'This guy can get passports, fake ID, anything. If
they get away from us, how will we know what name
they're going under? How could we stop them at the
airport if we don't know that?'
'But how risky is it, you just charging in? What
happens if you both get shot? Then where will
Lachlan be?'
Mick made good sense but Sophie had no
choice. She was a churning mess of emotions: fear
that they might get away, or that Lachlan might be
harmed; guilt that she'd had a one-night stand with
the man who'd taken her child (and was that part of
his plan? Had he been manipulating her even then?);
the roaring fury of the betrayal of his 'assistance' to
find Lachlan while all along he was actually steering
her further in the wrong direction; and the awful
sinking knowledge that she had been involved with
him in the torture and death of an innocent man.
'The exit's coming up,' Chris said.
'I have to go,' she said to Mick.
'Please don't do it, Soppers.'
'I have to.' She moved her head away.'Turn it off.'

They were on the exit. 'Head up here then turn
left onto Palmdale Road,' Chris said. 'Travel along
about a kilometre then Marshall turns off to the
right. Lot thirty-seven is on the right, a couple of
clicks along, past a creek.' He held up the map, his
finger on a crosshatched section. 'See this?'
She glanced over.
'It's State forest. Full of four-wheel-drive tracks
that come out all over, Mick said. Their house backs
right onto it.'
'We can't let them get in there,' Sophie said.
'We won't.'
They shot onto Palmdale Road. 'So what are we
going to do? Just drive through the front gate?'
Chris pored over his scratch map. 'Mick told me
there's a right-hand bend around a hill and their
house is on the other side of that. I think our best bet
is to try to take them by surprise - go through the
forest and come at the house from the back.'
Sophie hurtled onto Marshall Road, taking note
of the speedo. A couple of clicks, he'd said. She tried
to look everywhere at once: the letterboxes on the
roadside with Lot 12 and lot 17 painted on them, the
road ahead in case they met Angus coming out, the
speedo again. They covered the few thousand metres
quickly and crossed the creek. 'right-hand bend,' she
said, slowing the car. On their right was a tree-covered
hill.
'Along here would be best.'
She pulled over and popped the boot. From it
she took a tyre lever and a jack handle. Chris wiped
his nose, which was starting to bleed. 'You okay to
go?' she said.
'Don't even ask that.' He took the tyre lever,
grabbed her hand, and crossed the road.
They climbed a fence into a paddock. The grass
was long and caught at their feet, and it hid hollows
which made them stumble. The paddock was a narrow
strip running along the lower slope of the hill
below the forest. Sophie looked up at the tree line as
they neared it. She was breathless with nerves and
exertion. The afternoon sun was hot on her back and
she felt conspicuous in the open.
They clambered through another wire fence into
the forest. It was cooler here and the ground sloped
more steeply and the undergrowth was thick and
spiky. Branches of shrubs scratched their arms and
faces. Chris slashed at bushes with his tyre lever but
they sprang back at him.
Adrenaline and effort made Sophie's heart
pound. What would happen when they found the
house? She had to assume Angus would have at least
one gun. He was a trained cop, while the best
defence strategy she knew as a paramedic was to run
away. They'd need to take him by surprise, but how
could they do that? What if he had seen them coming
and was lying in wait? What if he held a gun on
them, put Bee and Lachlan in the car, then left? What
if he told Chris about her cheating to throw him off,
even momentarlly? She smashed the jack handle into
a tree trunk. She couldn't think Like this. If it cost her
her Life she would do everything in her power to stop
Angus getting away.
Chris struggled through the scrub beside her. His
nose streamed blood and he didn't bother wiping it
away. His legs were trembling, and sweat soaked his
shirt. She reached out to stop him and briefly feel his
racing pulse, measure his gasping breaths. He took
her hand from his neck. 'I'm fine.' He tugged her
forward.
'How are we going to do this?'
'Find the house first,' Chris panted. 'Then see
what we've got.'
They crested the hill together. Going downhill
was easier but the undergrowth was thicker. Sophie
looked ahead for the glint of a farmhouse roof or for
movement of any kind. 'There,' she said. 'Something
reflecting.'
They worked their way ahead more cautiously.
The scrub thinned, then the trees thinned too, and
they could see a small unfenced dam full of brown
water, three cows lying in the shade of a eucalypt, and
a grey weatherboard house. It was a Queenslander,
elevated two metres off the ground, the underneath
area fenced in with wooden slats. Angus's white
Magna was parked at the side of the house. There was
no sign of any people.
Sophie only realised how much she had been
hoping that the police would be here when she saw
they weren't. She gripped the jack handle and stared
down at the Little house.
Chris whispered in her ear, 'See how some of
those slats are broken? I reckon we should get under
the house itself then attack from there.'
A cry broke out in the house and the hair stood
up on the back of Sophie's neck and she grabbed
Chris's arm. It was Lachlan!
They both burst into tears. Chris slid his arm
around Sophie's neck and hugged her tight. Sophie
wrapped her arms around Chris's body and pressed
her face into his sweaty, bloodied shirt and wanted to
scream out her relief and joy. Thank God, oh thank
God!
But there was no time to waste. She turned her
head to speak. 'We've got to get down there. If they
make it to the car, we won't be able to stop them.'
Chris wiped the tears from her cheek with his
thumb. 'We approach from different angles so there's
less chance he'll spot both of us.You go from here. I'll
work my way around there a little and then down to
the house.' He raised the tyre lever in a warrior pose.
'See you under the house, okay?'
They hugged briefly then he was gone. Sophie
tightened her grip on the jack handle and started
down the slope. She moved from tree to tree, trying
to be quiet as the scrubby bushes caught her legs.
Crickets chirped and birds called in the bush around
her, and a breeze rustled the leaves. She stared at the
house as she crept forward, searching for gun barrels
protruding from windows, but saw nothing. Lachlan's
crying subsided and the house was silent. She wiped
her tears away It was time to be strong.
The trees stopped ten metres from the house.
Sophie eyed the open area of grass she had to cross
and the single window that overlooked it. A tattered
blind hung from the top. Further along the back of
the house six concrete steps with no railing led up to
the back door. It was open. A wooden-framed screen
door banged in the breeze.
Chris peered from behind a tree at the other end
of the house. He scanned the windows then gave
Sophie a thumbs-up. She checked her window again,
took a deep breath, fixed her eye on a gap in the slats
and ran.
under the house was gloomy after the bright
sunlight outside. Sophie stood panting on the bare
earth floor, Listening for any sounds above her that
would indicate she'd been seen. She could hear footsteps
and the murmur of voices, but none were
panicked. She allowed herself a couple of deep
breaths. She'd made it - this far, anyway.
Chris squeezed through a break in the slats and
came towards her, past old farm implements and a
dusty workbench. A beaten-up and rusty Landrover
was parked facing out. He glanced at it then
crouched by a rear tyre.
'We don't have time,' she whispered.
Air hissed from the tyre as he depressed the valve.
'I'm cutting down their options.We should do something
about the Magna too.'
'He'll spot us for sure.'
Chris peered out through the slats, then around
at the jumble of tools on the workbench.'I could cut
the fuel line, stop them going anywhere.'
'I'll do it,' she said.
'No way'
'You need to fix your nose and have a rest, even
for thirty seconds,' she whispered. He was ghostly
pale and clammy to touch. When she moved close to
look at his pupils she could hear his breath rasping in
his throat. He was shaking hard, and she pressed her
hand on his shoulder to try to make him sit down,
but he shrugged out from under it.
'Tell me where the fuel line goes and I'll be out
and back before you know it,' she said.
He started to speak but was interrupted by a
voice from the house.
'Hurry up, will you?' It was Angus. Sophie
looked up at the floorboards over her head. He
sounded curt and angry. There was a murmured
reply. He said,'I told you to always be ready'

'I usually am,' a woman's voice said. Bee.
'I don't care about usually,' he said. 'I rush up to
take the two of you away and you're not even here!
You're over at that bloody creek!'
'Ben wanted a swim.'
Sophie's blood surged.
'Just pack, would you?'
Sophie felt a fresh burst of rage at Angus. She
leaned close to Chris.'I'm going.'
He was silent for a moment. 'The fuel line runs
along underneath the chassis. Cut it, crimp it, do anything,
then get back here.'
She found a dusty pair of pliers on the bench.
She stood at the slats, eyeing the Magna, wishing she
could see the windows above her. There were footsteps
across the floor in a far corner of the house and
she took a deep breath and squeezed through the
gap. She ran to the car and dived underneath.
The chassis and engine were hot. She burned
her shoulder trying to get on her back, but she
hadn't been shot and there were no shouts from the
house. She looked at the slats and saw Chris's bloodied
face peering out. The underneath of the car was
filthy with road grime and dirt and she searched for
a moment before locating the small pipe. She
grabbed it with the cutting edge of the pliers and
with a great effort snapped it in two. Take that, you bastard.
She wriggled to the edge of the car. Lying right
at the border of the sun and shade she tried to look
upwards to the windows but could see no higher
than the slats. Chris stared at her fearfully. She offered
up a Little prayer then rolled out, leapt to her feet and
bolted.
Chris caught her as she came through the gap in
the slats. There were no shouts from above, no shots.
She whispered,'He doesn't know we're here!'
'Come on!'Angus was right overhead.
The air smelled of smoke. Sophie sniffed at it.
'He's surely not burning the place down?'
'Let's not wait to find out,' Chris said in her ear.
He had a strange light in his eyes. Bits of bloodstained
rag were twisted up his nostrils. He held her tight.
'You know that we could die.'
'If they get away with Lachlan it's all over
anyway'
'I love you.'
'I love you too.' If Angus tells you what happened
you might not believe that, but I do, I swear on my grave I
do.
'Follow me.' He squeezed out through the gap in
the slats and edged along the wall to the front steps.
Sophie hunched her shoulders, frightened to think
that Angus might lean out of a window above them,
but desperate to save Lachlan. Chris put his finger on
his lips then started up the steps. Sophie got it - as
long as Angus didn't know they were here they had
the upper hand.
The front door was open. There was nobody in
the first room, a mangy sitting room with a tatty cane
lounge and a threadbare maroon rug. A cloth nappy
lay on the back of the lounge.
Sophie's heart hammered in her chest. The back
door banged and she jumped. Chris squeezed her
arm reassuringly but his forehead poured sweat and
blood was making its way around the rags in his nose.
The smell of smoke was stronger. Someone
sneezed and a shadow passed the doorway to the
next room. Chris raised the tyre lever. Elsewhere in
the house Angus said, 'You want these bottles?' and
Bee appeared in the doorway with Lachlan in her
arms. He was bald but Sophie recognised her son in
a heartbeat and she grabbed for Chris's arm, terrified
he'd accidentally hit him.
Chris's blow glanced off the side of Bee's head
onto her shoulder. She screamed and heavy footsteps
thudded their way. Chris raised the lever again as
Sophie dropped the jack handle and reached for
Lachlan.
An explosion almost deafened her. Splinters
floated from the ceiling and she realised Angus had
fired a shot. Lachlan was screaming as Bee spun and
ran. Chris ducked backwards into Sophie and she
braced herself, expecting to see Angus come through
the doorway, gun in hand, to shoot them both.
Instead she became aware of him shouting to Bee -- 'Go! Go!' -- and realised they were more focused on
getting away.
Chris peered around the corner. Sophie heard
the back door slam and Lachlan's cries recede. His
dummy lay on the floor. She was crying and she
started forward but Chris grabbed her arm. 'Better
we set ourselves up here. Once they find the car
won't start they'll have no choice but to deal with us.
I'm going to look for a gun.'
Smoke was visible in the house as she ran to a
window. Bee was climbing into the front seat of the
Magna, Lachlan squirming and crying in her arms.
Angus glanced up at the house and she pulled back
momentarlly then peered out again to see him slam
the door and start the car. It headed off, bouncing
over the grass.The three cows scrambled to their feet
and ran.
'The car's going!' she screamed at Chris. He
rushed to her side, clutching a burned and still smoking
fragment of paper. The Magna jolted in a wide
circle and picked up speed.
'You cut the line!'
'I cut something.' She sprinted for the back door,
Chris so close behind her he kicked her.
The grass on the slope was uneven and Sophie
tripped and almost fell. The car swerved and there
was a loud report. Angus was shooting at them. She
could see him, half out the driver's window, aiming a
black handgun. Judging by the way the car was all
over the place, Bee had the wheel from the passenger
seat. Ahead of the car was the dam.
There was another shot and Chris fell.
Sophie looked back. He lay still, on his face in the
grass. She was torn but could not push aside the
thought of her baby son in that car. She put on an
extra burst of speed.There was another shot then Bee
screamed something. Angus dropped the gun and
started to slide back into the vehicle. Sophie saw the
brakelights go on but the car didn't slow. The front
wheels slewed sideways but it was too late: the car
ploughed over the dam wall with Angus still partway
out the window.
It hit with a bang and a splash. Sophie heard herself
screaming as if from a distance as she leapt over
the top of the wall. The car was already sinking, the
water up to the doorhandles. She struggled through
the brown water towards the passenger door, crying
and screaming Lachlan's name. The driver's seat was
empty, the door open. Bee was slumped half on the
passenger seat, half in the footwell, blood running
from a fresh cut on her forehead as well as from the
one on the side of her head that Chris had caused.
Muddy water lapped across her legs and over the
struggling Lachlan. Sophie wrenched at the door but
it was locked. Bubbles rose from Lachlan's mouth.
Sophie screamed his name. There were rocks further
along the bank but the water grew deeper over him
as the car sank in the mud and she balled her fist and
punched the window with all her strength.
The glass shattered into hundreds of tiny cubes
and pain shot up her arm. She grabbed Lachlan with
her good hand and yanked him out the window, clear
of the water and the car. He coughed and gasped. She
fought her way to the bank, holding him up to her
face, brushing glass from his clothes, patting his back
to help him bring up any swallowed water. On the
dirt she lay him on his side and knelt over him,
crooning wordless sounds, her tears dripping onto his
soaked clothing, ready to do mouth-to-mouth and
delighted to see his colour turn pinker by the
moment. She smoothed her hand over his hairless
head and he opened his mouth and screamed. She
laughed with joy. A baby who could make that much
noise was far from death.
Suddenly an arm wrapped around her neck. She
was jerked backwards into the water. She tried to
elbow her attacker but couldn't make contact. She
thrust her fingers back over her head but caught only
hair. From the corner of her eye she saw Lachlan
lying on the dirt kicking and wailing. She couldn't
breathe from the pressure on her neck and her head
started to buzz with a sound Like distant sirens.
From all his kicking, Lachlan started to roll.The
water was too close, he was going back in. Energised
by her rage, Sophie brought her good fist around in
an arc into her attacker's face. Something crunched
under her hand and pain flashed through it, but the
grip on her neck loosened a little. She somehow
found a foothold in the mud and twisted her body to
come face to face with Angus. His nose streamed
blood and he was blinking. She rammed her palm
upwards into his nose and he cried out, grabbing her
and falling backwards, pulling her underwater.
The world was brown and full of bubbles.
Angus's face was a pale blur below her and his left
hand clawed at her throat. She found his neck and
squeezed, thinking of Lachlan on the bank, trying to
get her head up for air and to see where he was.
Angus's hand was crushing her throat and he
straightened his arm, forcing her away, loosening her
hold on his neck. She realised his right arm must
have been hurt in the crash, as he wasn't using it, and
struggled harder, trying to break free. Black dots
appeared before her eyes. She jerked her head backwards
and could feel the warmth of the sun on her
hair, knew she was so close to the surface and the
beautiful wonderful air, but Angus's hand closed
tighter and tighter on her throat. Gathering every
ounce of her waning strength she hit with her elbow
at his straightened left arm. She felt his elbow give
way and she launched herself forward, taking a fresh
grip on his neck.
She could feel the tendons in Angus's neck
against her palms. As her mouth opened involuntarally
and filled with water she slid her thumbs closer
together and found the bony structure of his larynx.
She rammed her thumbs sharply inwards, the pain
sharp in her injured hands, feeling the larynx crush,
feeling the spasm in Angus's hand on her neck. But
he kept his grip. The black dots grew and merged,
filling her vision, obliterating the pale shape of his
face. She struggled, once feeling air against the side of
her face, aware of the growing weakness in her body,
the pounding pain in her head and in her hands as
she kept squeezing his neck, the wrenching desire to
inhale even if it was water she'd take in, until finally Angus's hold weakened enough that she could jerk
herself backwards and out of his grasp, and burst up
out of the water.
Lachlan lay red-faced and screaming at the edge
of the water. Sucking air in deeply she scrambled to
him and Lifted him clear, cradling him to her chest as
he cried. She stumbled up the dam wall, putting her
ear against his back to listen to his lungs, hearing no
rasps when he took a breath that would indicate he'd
inhaled water. She nestled him against her as she
clambered over the wall, feeling she could never get
her fill of simply gazing at him. On top of the slope

she glanced away for a second to see Chris trying to
crawl towards her.
In seconds she was at his side. 'Chris, it's okay.
Look, he's here and he's fine.'
Chris raised his head to see his son. Tears ran
down his pale, blood-streaked face. Sophie put
Lachlan on the grass next to Chris's chest and he
managed to loop an arm around him. 'Thank God,
thank God.'
'Where are you shot?'
He half rolled so she could see the wound in his
lower left abdomen. 'I can't stand up.'
She tore the sleeve from his dry shirt to make a
firm pad against it. There were sirens in the distance.
'Thank God,' he said again, weeping and cradling
Lachlan to him.
Sophie bent low, kissing them both. Lachlan was
flailing his beautiful chunky Little arms and legs but
she felt every inch of them anyway, searching for
bruising, watching his face to see if he grimaced over
any particular spot. He seemed sore along his left arm
but he moved it freely. She smoothed her hands over
his head and found only a scratch from the glass, no
lumps or cuts. In the nape of his neck she found a
line of stubble as if they'd missed that area on the
most recent shaving. She kissed him and kissed him.
'Thank God,' she echoed Chris, then she heard a
bang and dirt sprayed up over them. She looked up
and saw Bee on the dam wall, sodden and bloody, a
silver gun shaking in her hands.
Oh Jesus, no.
Chris curled himself around Lachlan and Sophie
wriggled forward to shield them both. Chris
coughed once then raised his voice.'Bee, I know why
you're angry. Mum only told me today about what
happened, what she did. She was wrong to do it. She
knows that now.'
Sophie saw Bee shakily adjust her aim. She saw
the fingers contract, the knuckles turn white. She
shut her eyes.
There was another bang and something kicked
Sophie in the thigh. At first there was no real pain.
The blood running down her leg was warm in contrast
to the cold dam water in her clothes. She
clamped her hand over it but it didn't stem the flow
much. The sirens seemed no closer. Lachlan was gazing
up at her.
'I'm sorry that I didn't know at the time, Bee,'
Chris went on, squeezing Sophie's arm.'I understand
now why you broke it off with me and I'm sorry I
wasn't more sympathetic'
Bee's silence was eerie. Sophie watched her from
the corner of her eye, hoping to avoid agitating her.
The sirens stopped.
Chris lowered his voice.'What else should I say?'
In an unsteady voice Sophie called, 'You're obviously
a very good mother. Lachlan's in excellent
health. Thank you for taking care of him.' It hurt her
to say it when she would have preferred to scream
abuse. Lachlan put his tiny hand on her arm. Chris
stroked the baby's Little bald head. Her leg was throbbing
now.
'We'll tell them how well you looked after him,'
Sophie said. 'We'll make sure they know that.'
Bee stood there, the gun out in front of her.
Sophie heard cars speeding up the slope. 'Drop the
weapon!' someone shouted.
Bee made another adjustment in her aim.
'Bee, drop the gun!'
Sophie recognised Ella Marconi's voice.
'Drop it now!'
Sophie couldn't help it, she was drawn to look at
Bee. The end of the barrel was a round black spot,
aimed directly at her. A shot rang out and Sophie
flinched. Bee crumpled in a heap then rolled backwards
out of sight down the dam wall.

TWENTY

Saturday 10 May, 3.41 pm



Sophie lay shivering on the stretcher, her leg throbbing,
as one paramedic connected an IV fluid bag
to the cannula in her arm and another wrapped
Lachlan in a warm, dry blanket. The woman handed
him back to Sophie with a smile and she tucked him
in beside her as best she could with an icepack
strapped to her injured hand. He yawned and sucked
his thumb.
On another stretcher nearby, Chris was also
receiving IV fluids. A bulky dressing was strapped to
his abdomen and he propped himself up on his
elbow as he handed Ella the burned fragment of
paper he'd found in the house and talked through the
events. Dennis scribbled in a notebook, flipping page
after page. Sophie watched as Ella read the piece of
paper and clapped Chris on the shoulder.
Three police officers stood on the top of the dam
wall. Sophie knew what they were looking at: Bee
lying dead from a gunshot wound to the chest at the
water's edge and Angus floating face-down in the
brown water near the half-submerged Magna with its
drooping blue ribbon. She thought with grief about
Sawyer. She'd told Ella all the details already, and
knew she deserved everything the courts would
throw at her, and more.
The paramedics wheeled Chris's stretcher over.
'Give us a minute?' he asked them.
Sophie looked at her husband's face. The blood
had been cleaned off. He was pale but his eyes shone
with a light she hadn't seen for weeks. He stroked
Lachlan's arm with his fingertips.
'Do you remember when he was born?' he said.
Sophie's throat thickened.'Of course.'
'Holding him, looking into his face, it was Like I'd been given the world again,' Chris said.'All mistakes
were gone, and there was nothing to regret, because
we were at the start of a new Life.'
Tears welled in Sophie's eyes.

'That's how I feel now,' he said, and leaned over
and kissed her.
She clutched at his arm.'Chris.'
He kissed her again, and looked into her eyes.
'What?'
But she couldn't do it.To say the words, to release
the secret that she'd slept with another man - and
not just any man but the one who'd shot him and
taken their son - would steal that light from his eyes
forever. This was a pain she would have to learn to live with. Maybe Chris was right, some things could
not be helped by talking.
'What?' he said again.
She said,'I love you.'

TWENTY-ONE

Sunday 11 May, 2.10 am



Home at last, Ella opened the window and leaned
on the sill. The night was chilly, the sound of
traffic on Victoria Road carrying clearly on the cold
air, and the cloudless sky was bright with the city's
glow. She yawned and rested her shoulder against the
frame and watched the red and green lights of some
high plane cross the sky, heading north.
The case was over. Tonight Lachlan was sleeping
in a cot in Sophie's hospital room, and Ella imagined
the paramedic pulling the cot right up by the bed
and keeping the light on to watch her son. She was
having surgery on her leg tomorrow. In another
room, down the hall perhaps, Chris was sleeping off
the anaesthetic from the operation to remove the
bullet from his abdomen.
Bee and Angus - their bodies, anyway - were in
Gosford Hospital's morgue, awaiting the van that
would move them to Glebe in the morning. Nobody
would ever know now if that first aborted baby was
Angus's, though Chris was certain. Ella thought
about the twisted adoptive sibling relationship, losing
a baby in their teens and it perhaps charting the
course of their lives, a strange little familly trying hard
to have children and losing so many that they turned
both desperate and vengeful.
Sawyer was already in Glebe. She wondered what
the post mortem would show as his cause of death,
and thought about the case that homicide detectives
would build against Sophie. If Sophie got a good
lawyer who argued some kind of temporary insanity
due to her son being missing, Ella thought she probably
had a reasonable chance of avoiding a long
sentence, even though she'd confessed every little
detail in the statement she'd made at the hospital.
The fragment of paper that Chris had saved had
turned out to be part of a roster. The station name
was gone but you could see the surnames Wilson and
Battye, and Battye was circled, with the word Civic and the date 5 May scribbled next to it. Between that
and the bag of money and the foreign bank records
showing large deposits found in Angus's car, Strike
Force Gold would be wetting themselves. Ella
wished she could be involved with that case rather
than going back to the suburbs, but couldn't see herself
getting the call, especially with the marks she felt
she had against her name now. Poor Edman Hughes
was dead; she'd more or less allowed Roth to be murdered;
and they'd been lucky to solve this case,
stumbling across Chris and Sophie's trail rather than
working it out for themselves. Not to mention the
investigation into her shooting of Bee.
The investigators were on their way back to
Sydney tonight with her gun and the transcripts of
the initial interviews with her, Dennis, and every
other cop that arrived on scene, whether they'd witnessed
the shooting or not. They'd all had blood
taken for drug and alcohol tests, and there would be
more interviews to come, and a full-blown investigation,
and at some point in the future - maybe not for
months - she would be told whether her actions had
been justified.
Whatever the official verdict, she knew she'd
done the right thing. She'd been over and over it in
her mind, reliving the rush up the hill in the car, seeing
Bee standing on the top of the dam wall with a
handgun trained on something in the grass, and how
the closer she'd got the clearer she could see Sophie
and Chris huddled together. She saw blood on them,
saw they were moving, and that was all. She hadn't
even known then whether they had baby Lachlan.
Dennis told her later she'd leapt from the car, hadn't
even put it into neutral, and it had stalled with him still fumbling with his seatbelt while she'd gone racing
across the grass. She didn't remember getting her
Glock out, only seeing Bee at the end of the barrel,
and her own voice shouting at her, so loud.'Drop the
weapon! Drop it now!' Bee hadn't even glanced her
way. It gave Ella a shiver to think of the way the
woman had kept her focus on the Phillipses. There
they'd been, the sun shining on them all, and Ella saw, saw, the movement of Bee's hand on the gun, the
tightening of the tendons and muscles, and tightened
her own, heard the bang, felt the recoil, and Bee had
fallen. Ella ran again, first to see Bee motionless at the
edge of the water, then to Sophie and Chris, where
she'd looked down to see little Lachlan cradled
between them. Sophie and Chris had been laughing,
hugging, crying, and then Chris handed Lachlan up
to her. She'd taken him in her arms like he was the
Holy Grail, the water in his clothes soaking through
to her skin, and he sighed and lurched and his head
came to rest against hers. He was alive, he was fine.
They'd done it. It gave her goosebumps now to think
about it, and she clung to the sill with tears in her
eyes.
This.
This was plenty.


The End.