She was relatively new, had gotten the break he’d dreamed about, she’d been a reluctant hero, and even Falls, who cut slack for nobody, seemed to almost like her. On hearing about Brant, she began to weep, she still bought the crap, how the downing of one of their own diminished them all. She actually voiced this to Chief Inspector Roberts, who looked at her like she was mad. She put this down to shock, she knew how close he was to Brant.

Close!

That would be stretching it. They had history, lots of it, primarily bad, but they were connected, Brant continually managed to amaze Roberts, the risks he took, his whole attitude to the world fascinated and appalled Roberts. The chief inspector stared at Andrews, her fresh face, the whole gung ho spirit, he wanted to tell her he wasn’t surprised Brant had been shot, simply dismayed it had taken so long. You danced on the edge like Brant did, they were going to get you, and that was just the good guys.

He asked:

‘I’m on my way over to the hospital. You want a lift?’

She was delighted. They could share and bond, form a special relationship born of grief and empathy, and he wasn’t unattractive, plus, it would add to her cred, heighten her profile.

They were on their way out when Foley, the desk sergeant, called Roberts, who snapped:

‘Not now, for heaven’s sake, Brant has been shot.’

Foley wanted to protest:

‘Hey, don’t bite my bloody head off. You think I don’t hurt, don’t I bleed too, am I not human?’

He’d recently seen The Elephant Man and had been profoundly affected. There was other whiny stuff he wanted to say but felt it wouldn’t fly, he’d keep it for his wife and, who knew, he might even get another of them pity shags. Instead, he adopted his officious tone, let the bastard know he knew what was important, said:

‘I wouldn’t, of course, have bothered you, sir, at such a moment… ’

Paused.