But knowing he had lost whatever interest he’d had, said:

‘It’s for Falls.’

He smirked, said:

‘She’s a loser. You don’t want to hang with her, get tainted with failure.’

She had to fight the urge to toss the tea in his smug face, tried to rally, said:

‘She’s my friend.’

He gave a short, nasty laugh, went:

‘Falls doesn’t have any friends. You want to get ahead, get shot of her.’

Then he moved on, whistling the theme from The Sopranos and doing a surprisingly fine rendition. In the basement she approached Falls, who was near hidden behind a mountain of files, said:

‘Hiya.’

Put the tea and Danish on the desk like a peace offering. Falls stared at the pastry like it was a bomb, said:

You think I can eat that?’

When Andrews didn’t answer, Falls looked at her. Only a woman would see that beneath the make-up was a bruise under her left eye. She asked:

‘What’s the deal on the eye?’

Andrews involuntarily reached her hand to it, then said:

‘McDonald took me for a drink.’

Falls waited and when Andrews said nothing more, she asked:

‘What, he bought you a drink then slugged you, that it?’

Andrews wanted to cry and thought, Wouldn’t that be just bloody dandy. Two female cops in the basement, weeping. Like a very bad episode of Cagney and Lacey She said.

‘He didn’t mean it, but he’s under a lot of pressure.’

Falls had heard this a thousand times. The ones who didn’t mean it were the most lethal, usually the killers. She’d been to the Rape Crisis Centre where such stories were the currency. She sighed, asked:

‘Are you going to see him again?’

Andrews was tempted to lie, but if she did and Falls found out… so she said:

‘He wants to take me out on Friday, make it up to me.’

‘Yeah, this time he’ll do it right, put you in the hospital.’