to his bed.
Frisk beat him to it and passed it over. ‘Looking to buy themselves a few extra seconds would be my guess.’
Lock grunted in agreement.
‘We traced it to the owner of a house out in Long Island. Place has been vacant since the summer, guy didn’t even know he’d been broken into.’
‘Did the girl make it?’
‘The girl in the wheelchair?’
Lock nodded, took a sip of water.
‘She’s down on four.’
‘She OK?’
‘Pretty shocked. Knows about as much as you do.’
‘You’ve got some great witnesses lined up by the sounds of it. What was the final count?’
‘Five dead in total.’
‘Five?’
‘Three shot, one run over, and one heart attack.’
A knock at the door. A young African American doctor in her late twenties who looked like she’d been awake about as long as Lock had been unconscious poked her head round. ‘I thought I was pretty clear that I didn’t want my patient disturbed until he was ready.’
‘It was my fault, doc,’ Lock said. ‘I was quizzing Agent Frisk, not the other way round.’
‘Well, if you have any questions, you can always talk to me.’
Lock glanced back to Frisk. ‘Never got to ask Agent Frisk what my federal prognosis was.’
‘Well, your weapon was legally held, although how the hell you got a concealed carry in the city these days beats me.’
Lock looked skywards to the ceiling. ‘Friends in high places.’
‘And your luck doesn’t end there,’ Frisk continued. ‘Seeing as you never fired a shot, there won’t be any charges. But next time, leave the cavalry charge to the cavalry, OK?’
Lock bristled. He’d been the only one taking on the threat and here was Frisk treating him like some rookie cop. ‘I’d be happy to, if they manage to show up before the final reel. Speaking of which, what’s happening to Brand?’
‘Police department are keen to go to bat on vehicular manslaughter. But the DA’s getting a lot of pressure to go for a lesser charge, or let it slide entirely.’
‘If you speak to anyone in their office you can tell them I’d be happy to step to the plate for the prosecution on that one.’
Frisk raised an eyebrow. ‘You and he not too close, huh?’
‘Different approaches, that’s all.’
‘Oh yeah, and what’s the difference?’
‘Mine’s correct,’ Lock said curtly.
‘Mr Lock really does need his rest,’ the doctor broke in. ‘I’m sure there’ll be plenty of time for you to talk to him tomorrow.’
‘What day is it anyway?’
‘Thursday,’ said Frisk.
‘Wait. I missed Christmas?’
The doctor arched an eyebrow. ‘You got the gift of life.’
Frisk smirked. ‘Sure Santa’ll catch up with you next year.’
‘OK, he really does need his rest now,’ insisted the doctor.
Frisk took the hint and eased out of the room. ‘Don’t go anywhere,’ he said from the door.
When he’d gone, Lock’s hand reached up to his head wound. He ran the tips of his fingers over it, like a kid worrying a scab on his knee.
‘Pretty good-looking scar you’ll have there,’ the doctor said, perching next to him on the bed.
‘You think it’ll make me more attractive to women?’
‘Didn’t realize that was a problem for you.’
‘I’ll take any help I can get.’
‘Mind if I take another look?’
‘Be my guest.’
He bowed his head so she could get a better view.
‘You had a pretty lucky escape.’
‘So everyone keeps saying.’
‘You suffered a slight haemorrhage. We had to drill into your skull in order to take out some fluid. There’s a risk that you might suffer some additional blackouts. Oh, and there have been cases where trauma to this particular area of the brain can result in a raised level of-’
‘You can stop right there, doc. I think I know where you’re heading. So when can I get out of here?’
She stood up. ‘Head trauma’s a serious business. It’d be best if you stayed here for at least the next few days.’
‘Sure thing,’ he said, already planning his escape.
Nine
‘Don’t you have a home to go to?’
The doctor was back at the foot of Lock’s bed, busy looking over his chart as he lay back watching the tube. Even this early on in his convalescence he’d made a number of interesting discoveries, the most surprising being that with a sufficiently high dose of morphine daytime soap operas were damn engrossing.
‘Wouldn’t have had you pegged as a big daytime soap fan,’ she mused as Lock flicked the TV to mute, leaving a cleft-chinned Clooney wannabe to slap around an actress whose Botox-blank face ran the gamut of human emotions from A to B and back again.
‘I was waiting for the news to come on.’
‘Sure you were.’ That killer smile again.
‘Are you flirting with me, doc?’
She ignored the question, jotting down an additional note on his chart instead.
‘What are you writing?’ he asked, doing his best to peek.
She angled the chart so he couldn’t see. ‘Do not resuscitate.’
Lock laughed. It hurt.
She edged a smile herself. ‘Sorry, but I get hit on a lot, and I haven’t been home in two days.’
‘Who said I was hitting on you?’
‘You weren’t? OK, now I feel insulted. Anyway, isn’t this all a pointless discussion? You have a girlfriend.’
‘Do I?’
‘Well there’s certainly been a woman putting in a lot of calls since you were admitted. Carrie Delaney ring any bells?’
‘Lots, but unfortunately we’re just good friends.’
‘Unfortunate for you or her?’
‘Probably both.’
‘I see.’
Lock pushed himself up into a sitting position. ‘Y’know, I’d never really thought about it until now, but our jobs have quite a few things in common.’
‘Saving people’s lives?’
‘I was thinking more along the lines of unsociable hours and only getting any real attention when you screw
