Shooting in the Dark

could see the bruises deepening around the throat of Angeles Falco. He could hear an authoritarian voice, female, on the periphery of his consciousness. The voice was insistent, addressing a part of him, threatening him with arrest if he refused to step down.
    The paramedic touched his shoulder. ‘I think it’d be better if you stepped out of the ambulance, sir,’ he said.
    Sam looked past the man. Hardwicke was standing on the road, preventing the paramedic from closing the door of the ambulance. ‘I’m only going to say this once more,’ she said. ‘Step down on to the road and return to the house. Detective Superintendent Rossiter has some questions for you.’
    He looked at her. Navy power suit, slim skirt and flared jacket buttoned up to the chin, dark tights, highly polished shoes. A small face framed by a thick growth of auburn hair, chopped short. Sam spoke quietly. ‘This woman is seriously ill,’ he said, indicating the prostrate form of Angeles. ‘Get away from the door so we can take her to the hospital.’
    Hardwicke began climbing into the ambulance, her face set. Sam raised his voice. ‘You’re making a mistake, here,’ he said. He stood to meet her and recognized the hesitation in her eyes. He quickly turned her around and marched her back on to the road, pushing her gently but firmly towards the house. Then he was back inside the ambulance, pulling the rear doors closed behind him. ‘Go,’ he said to the driver.
    Before they turned the corner, he was aware of Hardwicke jumping around in the middle of the road, shaking her fists in anger and frustration. Couldn’t hear her at all, only imagine the expletives. He’d only known Angeles Falco for a short time, but she’d already made him realize that you didn’t hear things , only the sounds connected with their actions. You didn’t, for example, hear angry policemen or women. You only heard them stamping or warning or barking.
     

22
     
    WDS Hardwicke was spitting mad when she returned to the house. JD was reminded of Tinkerbell or Prospero’s Ariel, a silly spirit whose purpose has been crossed.
    ‘Where’s Turner?’ Rossiter asked, the incredulity in his voice as tangible as fudge.
    Hardwicke passed the back of her hand over her mouth. ‘He assaulted me,’ she said. ‘He fucking pushed me.’
    ‘Where is he?’ Rossiter repeated.
    ‘He went in the ambulance,’ Hardwicke said. ‘He pushed me on to the road. He’ll be at the hospital.’
    ‘Have him picked up,’ the detective superintendent said. ‘Put him in the cells and let him stew there. I’ll talk to him later.’
    ‘It’ll be a pleasure,’ Hardwicke said. She brushed past JD as she made for the door. ‘You’ll be OK here on your own, sir?’
    Rossiter looked at Janet and JD. ‘I’ll need someone to take statements,’ he said. ‘Send one of the constables in. Someone who knows how to write.’
    A SOCO team arrived with their white plastic tape, their notices and their sterility. There was a police photographer and a couple of white-overalled forensic scientists, both women, who were pissed off because they had missed the body. They cheered up considerably when they found the broken syringe. They commenced to circle around it as if echoing some tribal dance; a rite of fertility in which the syringe was transformed into a sacred and untouchable object.
    JD and Janet were ushered into the front hall by the SOCOs, but when Echo began crying Janet ducked the tape and walked back through the crime room to collect her. ‘Jesus,’ said the man in charge of the SOCOs, ‘this job’s impossible.’
    Janet sat on the bottom step of the staircase, jigging Echo up and down on her lap. She looked at the young officer who was trying to take her statement. ‘She’s hungry,’ she said. ‘I’m going to have to feed her.’
    ‘This’s not going to take much longer,’ the constable said.
    Janet shrugged. ‘She doesn’t understand “much longer”. She’s a baby.’ Janet lifted her jumper and guided a brown nipple between Echo’s lips. She looked at the young constable and raised her eyebrows. ‘Otherwise she’s gonna howl.’
    The policeman began writing at speed. ‘You said you heard something when you approached the front door?’ he said.
    Janet fussed with her child, taking care to see that both of them were comfortable. When she was ready she returned her eyes to the policeman. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘Would you mind repeating the