‘Is he…?’

Porter said:

‘He’s in intensive care. We won’t know for a few hours yet.’

He gave her the name of the hospital, and she said she’d be right over. It was after she’d put the phone down that she realized she’d forgotten to tell Porter she’d made the grade. Didn’t look like there’d be any party to celebrate now and, hating herself, she thought maybe she wouldn’t have to repay Brant, then said aloud:

‘Get a grip, Sergeant.’

How to dress for a hospital? She went with her off-duty gear: jeans, plain sweatshirt, sneakers, but hold a mo. Hospital, cute doctors, right? She went with short skirt, medium heels, some light lippy, and her best jacket, a black blazer, it accentuated her colour, and gave her that casual style that seemed like an afterthought, not the hours of agony it had been. A doctor seeing her was going to go:

‘Hold the bloody transfusions.’

Yeah, that was going to happen.

Checking the mirror with total concentration, she found new lines around her eyes and lied:

‘Laughter ones, is all.’

Her life had been such fun. It was only surprising she hadn’t more, lines that is. Her car, a newish Datsun, had an envelope stuck under the wiper, she reckoned, pizza flyer or such till she saw the handwriting on

the front, it read GIRLFRIEND.

With a sinking heart, she got in the car, looked nervously round, then got the hell out of there.

4

Walking into the hospital, Falls clocked the number of cops, uniforms everywhere, flasks of coffee.

And hookers.

A whole gaggle of them

Falls had never seen so many in one place since her last patrol along Kings Cross and, even more noteworthy, they were quiet.

Silence and hookers are not usually in the same neighbourhood. Falls knew the older ones and approached them, asked: