The Price of a Life

by Brindabella

After a terrifying home invasion, Amy is left beaten and afraid, but her welfare takes a back seat when she and Alex discover their son has been snatched during the attack.

Date began: July 9, 2006

Date finished: July 31, 2006

Dedication: For Jakc and Elicia

Disclaimer: None of the characters belong to the writer. They remain property of Channel 7 and Southern Star.

Song Credits: The Finn Brothers, Daniel Bedingfield

© Riss 2006

The Price of a Life

I can hear him shuffling around the room, trying to be quiet. There's nothing worse than someone trying to be quiet. Somehow they manage to make even more noise. I don't even have my eyes open, but I can hear every move he makes – opening the closet door to get out a clean uniform, flipping the lid off the cologne bottle, gathering the pile of reports he left at the end of the bed last night, biting into an apple that's serving as his breakfast on the run. He pads quietly out of the room and to the room next to ours, and I hear him whisper a thousand goodbyes to Lochie. Finally he comes back into our room and leans over me to kiss my lips before he leaves for work. He thinks I'm asleep. He kisses me and strokes my cheek before going to walk out of the room again. But before he takes a step, I reach out and pull him back, smiling sleepily. He smiles back at me. "I've gotta go Amy," he laughs quietly, trying again not to disturb the peacefulness of the morning. I let him go after I press my lips hard into his in farewell.

As he exits the room I call out after him, still grinning. "We'll drop in today!" I declare. He stops, turns around and looks at me, rolling his eyes. I think secretly he knew all along that this would happen. He knows me well enough now to predict it. He leaves with a wave and I hear him close the front door behind him.

I turn over and stretch out my arms above my head. It still feels odd not to get up every morning and go to work and solve a world of crime. It's only been two weeks though I suppose. Two of the most unorganised, scattered and yet best weeks of my life. I love doing this, I wouldn't trade it in for anything. A part of me still longs to be in the station, but for now, anytime Lochie curls up into a little ball against me anytime I pick him up, I am happy to be right here.

Still, I've decided. We're going to get out of the house today. It's been two weeks. I've created a routine. I am no longer in my pyjamas until midday. Lochie still wakes up constantly, sometimes just ten minutes after I've put him down, but I reckon we can manage a trip out today. And of course, we're going to go to the station. I miss the old place!

I hurl myself out of bed, looking longingly over at Alex's side. I know he'll still be surprised to see me, even though I did tell him I was coming in. Got to show off my beautiful baby sometime haven't I? And I'm dying to. I wander quietly out of the bedroom and before I do anything, I creep into the nursery to see if he's still asleep. Placing my hands on the edge of the wicker bassinet, I peer down at my little sleeping man. He lies on his back, his fists clenched and his arms thrown every which way over his head. His shock of dark hair sticks out in a million different directions and he curls up his nose a little as I peer down at him. He can smell me. I know he can.

I smile, and creep back out of the room, determined to get at least a few things done before he wakes. I bustle down the hall to the bathroom to splash some water on my face and wake myself up properly. Only had to get up three times last night – pretty good. Maybe he's settling into a sleeping pattern at last. I bustle once again out of the bathroom and into the kitchen, my stomach growling already and it's only 7am.

A bowl of muesli and a coffee later, I read the last of the paper before doing a load of dishes. I feel organised – what a change! It is just as I am drying the last coffee mug that I hear the wail. I can't help but smile as I head off to soothe my son – even his crying is gorgeous. Entering the room I see him in the bassinet, eyes wide open and lungs getting a work out. I bend over to pick him up and he instantly settles. I prop him against my chest, letting him rest his head on my shoulder as I go about getting him up and ready for the day. He continues to whimper occasionally, but seems content just to be with me. He is definitely my little boy. I smile as I rub his back soothingly.

Two hours later – everything seems to take double the time it used to – I delicately place Lochie atop the blankets in his pram and wheel him out of the house. Out in the fresh air I can feel the sun toasting my shoulders and the faint breeze whistling through my hair. And not a sound from Lochie. Ahhh peace. We head for the station, just a few blocks away, and when we get there I discover yet another thing that isn't easy to do with a pram. Not only are carparks, stairs and lifts awkward with a pram, but so are heavy doors. I wedge my back against the door to reception and try to glide the prams wheels inside. With a bit of gentle jostling, I manage to get inside, pram and all. I lift the bench to allow myself and Lochie through, and cautiously open the door to the muster area, suddenly apprehensive. I hope the Boss isn't right in the middle of a big speech or anything. I don't want to interrupt.

I push the pram through the door before myself, and peer inside the room, only to be met with 5 uniformed officers working quietly at their desks. Not even the phones are ringing. I look over at Kelly's desk and notice the look of boredom on her face. As I look at her, she looks up and notices me. "Amy!" she squeals, leaping from her seat and sprinting over to me. The last syllable of my name is squealed in a hushed tone though as she notices a sleeping Lochie. She gives me a squeeze and whispers a how are you before bending down to check out my bundle.

By now all heads have turned to me, and I get four more looks of appreciation. They are all obviously thankful for the distraction, which puts me immediately at ease. When Kelly is done cooing and looking wistfully at Lochie, I wheel the pram past everyone else's desks on the way into the CI office, pausing at Alex's when he reaches out to stop the pram in its tracks. "Couldn't keep away could you?" he grins wickedly at me, and behind the barrier of his desk, where no one can see us for a moment, he pulls me down to steal a kiss. My butterflies flutter briefly, before I pull away, embarrassed still at being intimate with Alex in front of our workmates. My cheeks flush with embarrassment as Alex laughs at me quietly before turning back to his work. The others do the same, and I escape, with my pram, into the CI office.

"Amy!" Jonesy yelps as I barge my way in, pram and all. He scurries to gather up the files and reports and papers he has strewn all over my desk. I can't help but chuckle. I'm still his superior, his mentor. And he's mortified that I have seen him working like this. Four months without me in the office and he's turned into a slob. And he's taken over my desk. I let him sweat it out, just to see how he handles it.

He messily gathers all his junk together, clearing my desk again. It still has my name plate on it, I'm glad to see. I didn't pack up my things when I went on leave, because I was determined to be back before they all knew it. Not that I don't revel in being a mother, but apart of me will always be a cop. It feels great just being back in this chair, in this office, in this station.

"What are you doing here?" he asks, eyeing me and then the pram. He shuffles around in his chair, and crosses his legs, looking me square in the eye.

"Aren't I allowed to come in and visit with my colleagues?" I ask him with raised eyebrows, trying to fend off the smile that threatens to erupt onto my face.

"And show off your new baby at the same time?" he replies, mocking me slightly.

"Of course," I grin, bending over to peer once again at my sleeping baby before leaning forward and onto the desk. "So," I begin, trying not to sound eager. "What are you working on?" I look around at all the reports and documents that surround us.

Rather than blowing me off and lecturing me about being on leave, he actually looks grateful that I'm interested. Maybe he's a bit snowed under, I think to myself. Can't manage without me. It feels good to know I'm missed.

Pretty soon we are knee deep in crime stats, and I am pacing the office with Lochie again curled into a ball on my chest. I hold him tightly as I pace, coaxing him into dreamland. He throws his head around occasionally, bumping his head against my shoulder or the side of my face. I have an active one on my hands! He makes me laugh.

Evan looks up for a minute from his piles of paperwork and rubs at his temples. His eyes wander to me and Lochie and he smiles a soft smile. "I don't reckon you should be doing this Amy," he says quietly, noticing Lochie is finally drifting off to sleep. I cock my head at him questioningly. "You're in your element with that baby," he gives me a wink and goes back to his work. I shake my head and continue to pace.

Minutes later a knock comes at the door, right as I am walking past it. I jump at the noise and out of the way, and the sudden movement stirs Lochie awake again. Joss looks wide eyed at us and immediately starts apologising for what he has done. I tell him it's fine, because it is. He seems so shocked at waking a sleeping child, you'd think he'd never done it before.

"Joss," I reassure him. "It's all right." These things happen. Flustered, Joss accepts my reassurances and turns to Evan, the detective in residence, asking him a detailed question about a crim he has looked up on LEAP. Frowning, Jonesy doesn't quite get the question and follows him out into the muster area to find out more. As he does so the place suddenly comes alive, and three phones begin to ring, including the one in this office, a fax comes through, the reception buzzer buzzes and the Boss emerges from his office. Evan's eyes dart from the muster room to this office, trying to decide which to go to. Finally he follows Joss to his desk and the computer screen that is lit up at it.

I shift Lochie off my shoulder and into the crook of my left elbow, and he instantly snuggles closer to me there. I pick up the phone, knowing they'll all tease me later for it, and put my official voice back on, for the first time in four months. "Detective Fox," I say into the phone. It is that moment that Lochie decides to start wailing again, and I cradle the phone between my ear and my shoulder in a desperate attempt to hear the caller on the other end. I can't hear a thing with Lochie wailing into my other ear. "Hello?" I say again, straining to hear. Seconds later I faintly hear the dial tone, and so hang up the phone with a shrug.

Lochie and I eventually make it home, an exhausting four hours later. Quiet at last, Lochie sleeps peacefully in the pram, so I wheel it into the nursery and leave him there, not wanting to disturb him by lifting him out and putting him into the bassinet. I wonder wearily down the hallway and to the bedroom that Alex and I share, a little shocked at how such a little day trip has taken it out of me. No wonder new mothers never get out of the house.

I collapse on the bed, my stomach gurgling from the lunch I haven't yet had, but I close my eyes and instantly make the decision that I'd rather sleep than eat right now. I push my face into the pillow and finally relax in the comfort of the bed, knowing if I let myself sleep now I'll probably sleep for hours. But I'm too tired to care.

I don't wake up again until half past five. I can hear Lochie crying from inside his pram, and I drag my weary body – albeit a slightly less tired body now – back into the nursery. As I enter, I rub at my eyes, getting the sleep out of them and make eye contact with my little baby from across the room. A tiny smile curls onto his lips as he stares at me and my heart melts as I smile back. Picking him up gently, I hold him close to me, swaying slightly in the dimly lit room. I hold him with one hand and throw the cushions off the rocking chair with my other hand before sitting down to feed. We rock slightly in the chair for fifteen straight minutes, and as Lochie's stomach finally fills up and he settles back into my arms, content to sleep it off, I hear Alex's key in the lock as he arrives home from his all day shift.

I listen silently as he drops his keys on the hall table and throws the rest of his things into the bedroom. Moments later he appears at the door to the nursery and leans against it, just watching us. He smiles the same smile I saw the day Lochie was born and he comes over to give me a kiss. It's amazing how quickly we have settled into being our own little family. It's only been two weeks, but it feels like we've had Lochie forever.

"Well look at this," he whispers as I stand up to put Lochie back into the bassinet. He stands before me and loops his right arm around my waist, hugging me as much as he can with a baby on my chest, and strokes the hair on Lochie's tiny head. "My two favourite people," he grins at me and our lips meet again, over our baby's head, in a passionate kiss.

Later, with dinner out of the way – if you can call beans on toast dinner – and Lochie sleeping for the time being, Alex and I settle onto the couch, the heater warming our toes. We begin to talk about anything and everything and the topic quickly moves to Lochie, as it always seems to. Alex wants him to be a footballer; I just want him to be healthy and happy. We laugh at our predictions for his future. At just two weeks old, he is already an AFL star in our heads, and destined to change the world. We chuckle quietly together.

"So do you miss work yet?" Alex asks me after a few moments of silence. I squirm slightly in his arms, finding a more comfortable position in which to lie against him.

"Of course," I reply, laughing at my commitment to the job – something that I don't think will ever leave me.

He pulls his arms around me tighter. "It was nice having you there today," he whispers in my ear. I smile and turn around in his arms to meet his lips again. I had feared the fire might go out a little after Lochie's arrival, but I am relieved to discover that it hasn't.

"Wild horses couldn't keep me away," I admit, laughing. We slide down the couch so that we are hidden behind the big red cushions, trying to keep our giggles quiet as we become locked in a passionate huddle.

For the next three days Lochie and I venture out everyday to visit the station. It feels nice to be back there, even if I am just a 'visitor'. I immerse myself in the work that Evan should be doing himself, so often rocking Lochie to sleep as I read a report or pushing the pram back and forth as I write up notes on the whiteboard. I can totally do this working mother thing – I don't know why I ever feared it.

By 10pm Thursday night though I'm not so sure. Alex and I take turns wondering around the flat with Lochie, trying to get him to sleep, but he flat refuses. His eyes remain open and staring at everything we walk past as we try to rock him to sleep so that his poor parents can sleep too. But his eyes just do not close. We stay up until 2am in our efforts to send him off to sleep, and finally at 2:30am, he drifts into dreamland at last. Alex and I collapse together onto our bed and are asleep within moments. At 4am though Lochie wakes again, and we spend the next hour and a half coaxing him back to sleep. At 5:30am we again fall into bed, Alex moaning about having to start work in less than two hours. I mumble some sympathy as my eyes close.

When his alarm squeals at 7am I sleep right through it. I feel his kiss on my cheek briefly, but continue sleeping. It's been our worst night so far as parents. I curl up into a ball underneath the blankets, trying to hide from the cold morning air. I am half awake by 7:30am, one ear trained to the nursery, but the rest of me still asleep. When I hear the front door open a few minutes later I realise it must be Alex. He must've forgotten something. Feeling bad for him and the total lack of sleep he got last night, I actually open my eyes, waiting for him to come into the bedroom to grab whatever it is he forgot.

He walks down the hallway, getting closer and closer to the bedroom where I lay. They don't sound like his footsteps though. As he steps into the room heavily, I draw in a sharp breath. Someone is in my house. And it's not Alex. Petrified, I lay huddled under the doona, hoping whoever it is will take what they want and leave. But then I remember Lochie. How can I just lay here when there is an intruder in the house and my little boy is in another room? I turn over, still terrified at what I might see.

He grabs me by the upper arms, his grip powerful. He wears a black balaclava and a dark blue knitted turtle neck. He snarls and grunts at me, and I can smell his putrid breath as it reeks over my face. I give a kind of half scream half yelp and thrash around with my legs and arms, fighting against his hold. My legs become tangled in the sheets and blankets and they tie me up in knots as he holds me down against the bed. Unable to breathe I struggle against his hold, determined to overpower him and determined even more to get to the nursery.

But he is stronger than anyone I have encountered before. He lands a fist on the side of my face, and I can feel my lip being cut as my teeth slice into the inside of my mouth. The pain is excruciating, but I am still determined to get free. I continue to kick around with my legs, finally getting one leg free from the knot of blankets, and I kick with all my might against his stomach. It sends him flailing backwards, and he tumbles off the end of the bed and onto the floor. I dart across the bed to Alex's side, by the door, my feet still trapped by the layers of sheets and blankets. I hurl myself over the edge of the bed and manage to get free of the bedclothes. But to my dismay, he is up again already and his eyes dart over to me across the room. With lightning speed, he is across the room in less than a second and I don't even have time to take another step. He grabs me around the stomach as I try to run away, out into the hallway and to Lochie.

Knowing he is strong and I am clearly at a disadvantage being a woman and having just had a baby two weeks previous, I decide to fight him. I have nothing to lose. I turn around in his hold and spit in his face, getting him right in the eye as I struggle with all my might against him. He is taken by surprise at my defence tactics that have come from nowhere, he loses grip on me for just a few short seconds, and I bolt away, out of the room.

Meters before the nursery door though, I feel his hand go to grab the back of my pyjamas, and before I know it I lose my balance. He shoves me hard into the wall and I fall into the hall table that displays pictures from our wedding. Hitting the side of my head square on the corner of it, I fall to the ground.

Ohhhhhhh….ohhh God. Everything hurts. I lift my head off the carpet, and see the small pool of blood that has formed there. I touch my fingers to my temple and feel the stickiness of the blood there. Gross. It hurts to even lift my head up, so I let it rest back on the floor of the hallway, my arms and legs splayed out in all directions around me. But half a second later I realise.

I pull myself up off the floor instantly, wondering where I got the strength from when a moment ago it hurt to even lift my head off the carpet. I stumble along the hallway and upon reaching the door, grab the freezing cold metal of the door frame, fall into the room and try to focus my eyes. I can't see anything for a second, but then the blurriness clears and my eyes dart to the bassinet. But it's not there. It's upside down on the floor, the blankets in a messy pile around it. I fall to my knees beside it, not breathing. I fling the bassinet over, hoping like I've never hoped before that Lochie is underneath.

He's not. My mind races. Someone's taken my son. I get up off the floor and, ignoring the pain that radiates from my temple incessantly, I stumble back down the hallway, gripping the walls for support that doesn't come. I reach the kitchen and press the speed dial on the phone that is a direct link to my office at the station. It is picked up after four rings. I am breathless and losing it and I screech into the phone the instant I hear it picked up. In retrospect I don't want to do a Lindy Chamberlain but I can't seem to control what comes out of my mouth.

Evan answers, sounding bored out of his brain. But I barely to notice. "Alex!" I scream, my hand to my forehead, pushing my sticky fringe out of my eyes.

"Amy?" he asks, sounding a bit panicked. "Is that you?" I can hear the concern in his voice.

"Please!" I am beginning to hyperventilate. "Just tell Alex to come home!" and with that I drop the phone, slide down the wall to the floor and put my head in my hands, feeling again the gash that throbs on my temple.

They've taken Lochie. They've taken Lochie. They've taken my baby. How could this happen? How could I have let it happen? Why didn't I protect him? Oh my God, he's gone. I can't breathe. I rock backward and forward on the floor, my back hitting the wall by the phone every time I lean backwards. I can't breathe.

I hyperventilate for another five minutes before Alex comes bursting through the door and into the kitchen. My knees are up to my chest, with my elbows resting on top of them and I've let my head hang down, trying to control my breathing. As I hear him run up to me, I lift my head, looking at him desperately with a tear stained face. Alex looks at me stunned, and drops to his knees beside me. He is so shocked that he just sits in front of me, his eyes questioning. "What's happened? Are you ok? Is Lochie ok?"

It is only now that I begin to feel the full impact of my injuries as I go to reply and my cut lip screams with pain at me. I touch it lightly with my fingers, feeling the rawness there. "Amy?" he asks me again, sounding even more worried.

A sob escapes from my mouth before any words do. "He's gone," I whisper, barely able to get it out as the emotion wells up in my throat again and I cry into my hands, letting the tears trickle through my fingers.

Alex grabs my upper arms the instant the words leave my mouth, forcing me to look at him again. "Lochie?" he breathes, disbelievingly.

I nod miserably, looking into his eyes and seeing the fear there. "This guy…" my voice cracks and wobbles as I sob. "…he got inside…somehow…and he took Lochie." I fall into Alex's arms and cry against his chest. He holds me tight and somehow manages not to cry himself. We sit on the cold kitchen floor and know we are beginning the worst day of our lives.

Just half an hour later our flat is teaming with cops. It feels awkward. With all these police around investigating a crime against my family I suddenly feel detached from it all. I don't feel like I'm a cop too. Probably because I can't even function right now. I've been sitting in a ball in the corner of the couch since Alex picked me up and placed me here when Evan and the Boss arrived. I couldn't get off the floor by myself. I feel so broken.

Evan sits down beside me and tries to capture my attention. I've stared at the wall for 20 minutes now, straight ahead of me. Blank eyes. A blank stare. It feels so wrong. My baby should just be in the next room, sleeping, like he always is at this time of the morning.

"Amy?" Evan speaks softly to me, trying to get me out of my trance. I turn my head to him slowly and give him a blank stare too. I just don't know what to do. What to think. What to feel. And most of all, what to say. Evan looks at me with a sympathetic look. "You know the deal Amy," he begins, being gentle. "I need to ask you some questions."

I nod numbly in response, not sure if anything will come out of my mouth when he asks these questions.

"What time did it happen Amy?" he starts, taking a pen out of his breast pocket.

"Time?" I ask blankly.

"Approximately," he can tell already we're not going to get very far here.

"Just after Alex left," I whisper in reply, my eyes wide, reliving the moment I heard the door open.

"So about 7:30?" he presses.

I nod in reply. "He crept through the flat," my heart beats in my chest irregularly as I describe what happened for him. "And I thought it was Alex." My composure starts to crumble. "But it wasn't."

"How did you know it wasn't him Amy?" the Boss has come over and slotted in his own question, perching himself on the arm of the couch Evan and I sit on.

Still wide eyed and petrified, I take myself back to the moment I heard him step into the room, trying to remember details, as fuzzy as my brain is right now. "It was heavier…" I whisper, barely audible. "They weren't Alex's footsteps. They were boots…but…heavier boots." I know I am not being much help.

"And then?" the Boss presses, with a reassuring hand on my shoulder, giving it a squeeze.

"I was facing away from the door, but he came around and held me down," a tear slips down my cheek. "I couldn't move…I was so scared." Suddenly I search the room for Alex. From across the living room he sees me looking for him and within moments he is standing at the back of the couch, holding my hand as I continue speaking.

"Did you fight him?" Evan asks tentatively. I nod silently in response. "Was that when you sustained your injuries?" It all sounds so text book, the way I always talk to victims of crime. How could the shoe possibly be on the other foot now? How could this have happened? Why isn't anyone out there searching for my son? I jump up off the couch, my first burst of movement since I ran into the nursery only to find Lochie's bassinet empty. Running down the hall, away from all the cops who are milling around my house, I run into the bedroom, wrap a jacket around myself and slip my feet into some shoes. If no one is going to look for my son, then I will do it myself.

"Amy!" I can hear them calling from the living room, and running down the hall after me. I don't care. I run out the bedroom door and smack bang into Alex, who is standing like a brick wall in front of me. I struggle against him, trying to push past. I finally get away from him as he goes to speak, finally breaking his silence.

I bolt away from him and towards the front door, my mind racing, determined to find Lochie before they do anything to him. Alex runs after me, but I can barely hear his footsteps. I hurl myself at the front door, yanking it open and burst out into the cold stairwell. As I begin my decent down the stairs, tears spilling down my cheeks, frozen against my broken composure, Alex catches up to me and grabs me around the waist before I even make it down three steps.

"Amy!" he yelps as he grabs me, making me double over at the waist, desperately trying to get away and further down the stairs. "Amy stop," he turns me around in his grip and makes me look him in the eye. Suddenly I feel unbelievably small against his hero like figure.

I fight against his hold, beating my fists uselessly into his chest and thrashing my head from side to side. My hair falls in front of my eyes in my struggle and I can't even see what I'm doing, let alone get anywhere. But it feels so wrong to sit and wait. I don't have it in me not to be out there doing something. I'm a cop. I can't be a victim.

I grunt and whimper as I try to get out of Alex's grip, but he has a firm hold on me, all the while saying my name softly over and over, trying to soothe me. But I'm hysterical. How can I possibly be soothed when something like this has happened? When I let something like this happen?

After several minutes of struggling though, the fight goes out of me. Alex won't let go of me. I can't get away. And it hurts. What is going to happen to my little boy? I look, devastated, into Alex's eyes, and become limp in his hold. His arms aren't prepared for it and he loses his footing trying to cope with the extra weight. We crumble to the floor together, my knees unable to support the weight of my body. Alex holds me to him and I cry into his chest – long, gasping, hysterical cries. My chest feels tight and I breathe in and out unevenly, rasping and choked. My body shakes violently as I weep against him.

Two hours later we are travelling from the flat to the station, Alex and I seated in the back of the CI car I've spent the best part of two years driving. I grip Alex's hand as we filter through the wet streets of Mt Thomas, but we both stare out opposing windows, away from each other. I watch the footpaths and driveways pass and think that inside any one of these homes could be our son. I look over for a fleeting moment to Alex and just know he is thinking the same helpless thing.

We pull up outside the station only minutes later and I am surprised to find the place swarming with extra cars and officers I don't recognise. We run inside, holding our jackets over our heads as shields against the rain and I marvel for a second at how much on auto pilot I have become. Everything else is secondary now – now that Lochie is missing. I do everything without the quickest of second thoughts – even something as normal as running through the rain – because the first thing on my mind is finding Lochie.

As Alex and I walk through the reception entrance and into the main hub of the station I suddenly feel like an alien. I'm on the other side of the interview table now. It's not supposed to be like this. And it is only then that I realise why the place is overrun with extra cops – when one of our own goes missing, nothing tops the list more than that of things to do. I am quietly comforted at the thought that my colleagues will rest at nothing to find Lochie.

Now that I have ceased being hysterical in the stairwell of our block of flats, the questioning can resume. It still feels incredibly wrong – I need to be out there, finding him – but they insist. I am too weak to argue. I must put my own welfare on the back burner for now, until we track him down. Alex and I follow Jonesy down the dimly lit hallway to interview room 1 and he closes the door firmly behind us. Inside I sit opposite Jonesy and Alex sits to the side – a move that makes me uncomfortable. He is Lochie's father, yet he still remains on the cop side of this investigation, not the victims. I stare at him longingly until he picks up his chair and shuffles over to be beside me.

Evan continues his gentle questioning, just like he did at the flat. He has learnt this from me – I am the master of gentle probing, and it has always worked in my favour. So it feels weird to have my own questioning technique used against me. But that's what happens. I'm on the other side now, I remind myself.

"Can you give me a description at all Amy?" he asks, poising his pen above his paper, reading to write down anything I divulge.

"He wore…" I strain my brain trying to remember. Clouding it is repeated memories of falling into the nursery and finding the bassinet empty, and so I frown at him as I attempt an answer. "…a balaclava…" I can see that part so clear in my head that it sends a shiver down my spine. "And…a turtle neck…knitted…blue maybe?" it frustrates me that I cannot remember the details I usually pride myself on as a detective.

Evan nods and writes down every word, seemingly impressed that I can remember even that much. But to me it feels like nothing. Every second crim wears a balaclava and how many blue turtlenecks do you see every single day, especially in winter? I become angry at myself for not remembering more.

"Anything else?" Evan asks again. "Anything that stuck out?"

I'm trying so hard to remember, but practically nothing is coming to me. I lean forward, resting my elbows on the table and putting my head in my hands as I wrack my brain. I feel Alex's hand rubbing my back reassuringly, but it helps little. He still seems detached from what has happened, after not saying a word during the entire interview.

I exhale as my head begins to throb. "He was strong…but also weak at the same time," I look at Jonesy pointedly to see if he understands my cryptic description. He doesn't. Dammit. I try to elaborate. "Like…he was a big guy…and he held me down but…you'd think he would've been stronger than he was. He was stronger than me, but not by a lot." Evan's antennae are beginning to poke skyward as he holds onto every word I say. "And he grunted…" I frown deeper, remembering. "But he seemed out of breath and…like…ill. He was really pale."

Evan looks confused for a brief moment. "Even through his balaclava? You could still tell?" he asks sceptically.

I nod my head vehemently. "Yes yes," I insist. "It was not the most perfect fitting mask. Plus…" I shake my head at nobody in particular. "…he was just…pale. Clammy. Ill. So much so that it was almost the first thing I noticed."

Evan nods and writes it all down before pushing his chair out and exiting the room, hurrying away. I look at Alex, who remains seated beside me. I see the sadness in his eyes – the same devastation that I know is in my own – and it makes my composure crumble again. To my relief his does as well, and we hold each other for dear life, wallowing in the pain of having our child taken from us.

Moments later Evan re enters the room and looks directly at me. "Amy," I can feel something bad coming. "I need to talk to Alex." It's a not so subtle hint for me to get lost for ten minutes. I nod solemnly, it being all I can muster, and drag myself out of the chair and walk numbly out of the room. As I walk down the hallway to the bathroom I can feel the eyes of the Evanleigh and Swan Hill officers boring into me. 'She's the mother' they whisper. It's intimidating and awkward, but I know it's not their fault. They're here; they're searching for my son. That's all I can ask of them I suppose.

I push open the door to the female toilets and notice immediately how two sided I am feeling right now. While I am grateful they are all here working away, what is really being done to find him? They're not even out on the beat! Why isn't everyone out there looking, instead of camped in front of computer screens and speaking into telephones! Again it feels like I'm the only one desperate to find him. But I feel so weak. I lean into the mirror over the wash basin and take in my cut lip and bruised cheek, still fragile and tender from the attack. Suddenly I feel sick – sick at the sight of myself and how I let this happen – and something stirs in the pit of my stomach seconds before I barge into a stall and throw my head over the toilet, throwing up nothing in particular. I dry reitch for five minutes, my tears falling every so often into the toilet bowl before I hear the door being opened.

Reminiscent of so many times before - one in particular – I feel Susie behind me, reaching out a hand to help me up. I take it, admitting silently to the state I am in and head back over to the basin where I rinse my mouth out, wincing a little at the stinging it creates on my lip, and accept the paper towels Susie hands me. "You should go to a doctor Amy," she says, concerned.

I shake my head vigorously, determined to forget the injuries that pale in comparison to what Lochie could be going through right now. At the thought I again hurl myself into a stall and bring up more of last nights dinner. Susie grabs me around the waist and helps me up, again handing me damp paper towels to clean myself up. As she goes to protest at my objection to seeing a doctor, a knock sounds at the door and it opens a crack. Evan pokes his head in.

"You can come back now Amy," he offers. With a pat on the arm Susie sends me off with him and as we walk down the hallway it suddenly occurs to me why I had to leave the room. Why did he need to speak to Alex alone? Why could I not be there? Is Alex hiding something from me? Has he put our sons life in danger somehow? I power walk ahead of Evan and burst into the room, eyes only for Alex.

"What have you done?" I scream at him, my voice louder than I thought possible. Alex jumps back in fright, but only slightly, forever remaining the tall soldier he always seems to be.

"What!" he asks me, almost as loud but not nearly as angry. He stands up and walks around the table and over to where I am standing, my head continuing to throb even worse now. I shove him hard in the upper chest, so mad, and at the same time so disbelieving I am being so brutal with my husband.

"What have you done?" I repeat, my voice only slightly quieter because in the back of my mind I can still picture those young probationaries out in the office whispering about me. "Is this your fault?"

"How could you think I would possibly have put Lochie in danger Amy?" he gasps, catching on to my screamed accusations at last. "How could you think that?" he seems so genuinely hurt that I immediately want to apologise, but I hold such a fear for our baby that it never enters my mind.

It is then that Evan intervenes, sensing the situation getting out of control. For the few moments Alex and I have screamed at each other, he has stood awkwardly by the door, I'm sure feeling intrusive. But he suddenly comes over and grabs me by the arm and pulls me away from breathing fire into Alex's scorned face. He holds his folder up to me and his penned hand to Alex, separating us. The look on his face says it all – Alex has nothing to do with it. I've gone off at him for nothing.

"Alex has nothing to do with it Amy," he reassures me with a strong tone, forcing me to sit back in the chair I occupied earlier. He points with his pen to the other seat, coaxing Alex into it before sitting down again himself, opposite the two of us. "Now," he begins, taking a breath. "Are you calm Amy? Can I talk now?" he sounds a little annoyed, yet still understanding of my hysteria. But the way he says it makes me realise the way I am acting is so very unlike me. But then this is a very un Amy and Lochie day.

"We were just discussing possibilities Amy, that's all," he informs me. "I didn't want you to be upset by any conclusions we may draw," he says it off hand and looks back down at his notes as he finishes the sentence. It makes me go a little hysterical again and I stand up and lean over the table, looking menacingly down at him, helped in great length I'm sure to the ugly abrasions to my face.

"You listen to me Evan," I breathe warningly. "This is my son. And he is missing. I am not going to sleep, nor eat, nor stop working until the moment he is found. And if you keep me at arms length during that time…" I don't even need to finish my threat. He gets it. Alex pulls me back down to the seat, shushing me.

"Amy," he says, trying to take my attention away from Detective Jones. "Don't be stupid. We're going to find him. Together. We all are," he insists. "But look at what you've been through today. You're in no fit state. You should be at the hospital," he scratches his chair across the floor closer to me so that our knees touch and he holds onto both my hands. "But I know you won't go. And I know that you're true to your word and you won't sleep til Lochie is found. So you need to calm down at least." He squeezes my hands to encourage me to take a breath. I do, visibly, and he goes on. "Jonesy and I were just discussing who we think might have done this."

"And?" I refuse to appear weak. I might be able to fall to pieces in a stairwell with just Alex, or in the bathroom with Susie, but not here, not in the place where we solve crime.

"We were trying to think of who has been connected in the past to either of you…" Evan contributes. "…Anyone that might have the motivation to do this," he sounds so serious all of a sudden and I regret for the briefest of moments ever joining the police force and getting myself so many enemies. The look on Alex's face says the same thing. But we can do nothing about it now. What's done is done.

I turn to Alex. "Could you think of anybody?" I ask him desperately, my voice barely more than a whisper.

He shakes his head back at me sadly. "Not anyone that isn't behind bars or dead," he confesses. My heart sinks.

"What about you Amy?" Evan asks. I look at him blankly as I think through my entire career and anyone I have ever had words with. The memories come back to me surprisingly easily, but I can think of no one either. Just like Alex, the only people that do spring to mind are in jail or dead. My heart sinks further as I shake my head at Evan.

"So," he breathes a sad sigh. "We have to entertain the possibility that it's someone you guys don't know. A random attack."

Alex and I sit side by side as we numbly flip through pages and pages of face fits. None of them seem like the one though. And neither of us is surprised. But the very thought of this being a random one off scares the life out of me. To think that this could happen to anyone is scary. But to think that it's happened to us, of all people, is even scarier.

By midday my lip is throbbing and my headache is worse, and so Alex finally manages to convince me that I need to see a doctor. I am reluctant to leave. "What if something happens Alex?" I hiss at him, determined not to move from my chair. "What if they find something?"

"Amy," he pleads. "They'll call us. Look at you, you need a doctor." And with that he slips an arm around my waist and walks me out of the station.

It is still raining as we run out to the car. I sit dejectedly in the passenger seat and watch the wet streets slip by as we travel to the hospital. Alex parks and leads me inside as I seem to again have lost all sensible mobility. As we enter through the visitor entrance I actually begin to feel grateful to be here. A nurse leads me into a small room and patches me up. She is suspicious of my injuries, something she wouldn't be if I'd identified myself as a cop, but I hadn't thought to, so she presses me with questions. Alex, who sits beside me on the white sheeted trolley, answers for me, perhaps in the hope of saving the nurse from thinking he is some abusive husband.

My head is fuzzy and feels like it's wrapped in cotton wool, but I take in every word Alex divulges to the nurse. She nods her head in concern and sympathy as she hands me some painkillers to swallow. Hearing what has happened again makes me panic a little and my breathing quickens its pace as I become hysterical again.

Alex and the nurse lie me down on the trolley, reassuring me I'm fine. But when I catch sight of Evan in the hallway and the frenzied eye and hand signals he is giving Alex, it does little to reassure me. Alex hurries out into the hallway to have a whispered discussion with Evan and they look back and forth at me with worried looks as they speak. It's more than I can take. I know they've got something. I slide off the bed and push past the nurse and out into the hallway where Alex and Evan stand.

"What is it?" I ask Evan urgently, demanding his attention.

Evan shakes his head, admitting to no new leads. I really must be hysterical. I'm imagining they're making progress. This is driving me crazy. "It's nothing Amy," he admits. "I was just following up on a possibility, but it's turned cold."

"We don't care if it's turned cold Jonesy!" Alex cries out at long last, finally seeming to feel as desperate as I am. It makes me feel better. "Anything! What is it?" he pleads desperately.

"Susie suggested I check out mothers," he admits, wincing.

"Mothers?" I ask, all my detective training seeming to have been knocked from my head when I was hit less than six hours before.

He bows his head, not wanting to reveal the awful truth. "Mothers who've lost their babies."

I gasp in shock, and my hand goes to my mouth. I look to the ceiling, trying to control my emotions as the tears well yet again in my eyes. As I try, Alex folds his arms around me and we stand, in the middle of the hospital hallway, contemplating the thought that some desperate mother who lost her child has kidnapped ours to keep as her own. The thought is nothing short of painful. I cry into Alex's chest before turning my head to face Evan, who is again standing awkwardly near us, feeling out of place.

"Have you got anything?" I ask.

"No," he replies sadly. As he gives me a sympathetic look, Dr Kate runs towards us, a sheaf of papers in her hands. She waves them frantically as she approaches.

"I forgot about one detective," she manages to spit put as she catches her breath beside us. The three of us stare at her unable to even say a word. She hands the papers to Evan and I see that they are patient records for a Jane Webster. Is this the name of the woman who has Lochie? My stomach gives a terrifying lurch.

Evan scans the document with his eyes faster than I have ever seen anyone read a piece of paper. "What happened?" he asks Kate, eager for details.

"Stillborn," she confesses sadly. "But she was so cold. So distant. Insisted on leaving hospital as soon as she possibly could. We usually like to keep them in for much longer," she seems worried, more worried than I have ever seen her.

It's all we need to hear though. Evan sets the pace and runs down the hallway, with Alex and I hot on his heels. We run out into the pouring rain and pile into the CI car, caring little that we've left Alex's car behind in the parking lot. With Evan at the wheel, Alex sits beside him in the passenger seat and I in the back, alone. Evan hands me the patient records and I scan through them, my heart sinking further and further with every word. Depression, abusive past, alcoholism. Could this get any worse? I lean my head back against the head rest and stare at the roof of the car as Alex turns around in his seat and takes the records from me.

My knees knock together as we drive, I am so on edge. Will we arrive at this womans house and find Lochie? Will he be there? Will he be all right? I don't want to imagine anything less. Evan squeals around corners, the lights flashing and the siren going and I decide right then that I don't want to even see her if she has taken our son. I couldn't ever face someone who would steal something so precious to Alex and I.

Within moments though, we are there. It's a worn out old weatherboard with a gravel driveway made muddy by the pouring rain. It looks uncared for and deserted, and a little part of me hopes that there is no one here, just so that, in some way, Lochie is not with this unstable woman in her dingy house.

Evan presses the brakes hard as we pull up – so much so that I jerk forward in my seat and have to put my hands out to stop myself from head butting the back of Alex's seat. Evan hops out of the car immediately, as does Alex. He opens my door and silently asks me if I'm coming with his eyes. I shake my head at him. I can't do it. Because if she's there, and she has Lochie, I can't promise myself I won't lose it.

So Alex closes my door and I watch through my window as he and Evan run toward the house, their pistols drawn. They approach with caution, as we are all taught to do, but I note with appreciation that Evan is not holding back. He scrambles up the verandah steps and rearing back, he lifts his leg and kicks down the door with all the stealth of a city drug raid detective. He and Alex barrel inside, their firearms drawn, while I hold my breath inside the car. It takes everything I have not to hop out and join them.

Three agonising minutes pass and I can see them through the grubby windows of the weatherboard going through the front rooms. Alex runs out in the rain and goes around to the outbuildings to check them out. A moment later Evan emerges from the kicked in door as well and jogs around to the rear of the house. I lose sight of him then, and with Alex checking the outbuildings I feel utterly useless and itching to follow them.

I hear a shout in the distance and recognise it as Evan's voice. Alex hears it too and emerges from the shed to run to Evan's position. It's more than I can take. I yank off my seat belt and open my door, stepping into the pouring rain. It instantly plasters my hair to my head and my shoes sink into the spongy grass of the front lawn. But I notice none of it. I bolt around to the rear of the house and find Alex and Evan facing away from me. As they hear me approach they split and I can see her. Jane Webster.

Anguish takes over. And maybe it is a bit of my mothers instinct I seem to have accumulated after just two and a half weeks. I lunge at her, unable to stop myself. "What have you done with him!" I screech, out of control, reaching out to grab her, my wet hair flailing in front of my eyes partially obscuring my view. Alex and Evan hold me back. I don't know what I was going to do to her anyway. Shake her? Punch her lights out? Slap her in the face? I could've done anything. Anything to get Lochie back.

She stares at me with frightened, wide eyes, and stumbles backwards a little, almost falling over her basket of washing she was obviously bringing in out of the rain as we arrived. She seems speechless, but I continue to struggle against Evan and Alex's hold, because more than anything I want her to tell me if she's got Lochie. And even though Alex is yelling in my ear that she doesn't, I don't allow myself to believe it until she puts her hands up in defence and I see the look in her eyes. She doesn't have our baby. My heart breaks.

Alex pulls me away, dragging me back to the car in the rain as Evan apologises for the intrusion we have staged. Hanging off Alex's arm I feel useless and helpless yet again, a feeling that has not been uncommon in the last year. But it frustrates the hell out of me. It's the not the way I am used to being. I wasn't born to be weak. I was born to be strong. And it doesn't feel right to not be that way. But with Lochie gone, I am powerless to stop it, and tears roll down my cheeks pathetically as Alex opens the door and I sit down in the back seat once again. He motions for me to shuffle over and I do, so that he can sit beside me.

"We searched inside and out Amy," he whispers, pushing the wet hair out of my eyes. "Top to bottom," he sighs. "She doesn't have him," he looks sadly at me, and I wonder, not for the first time, where he gets all his strength from.

"Why aren't you falling to pieces?" I whimper back to him, looking him forlornly in the eye.

But he doesn't have an answer. He doesn't even shrug his shoulders. I realise I don't want to know anyway. He's my tall soldier; I can't afford to have him fall. What would we turn into then? It doesn't bear thinking about. But it doesn't help the state I am in. Embarrassed and desperate, I bow my head and let the tears become invisible as they melt into my wet pants. "Where is he Alex?" I whisper. This time he does shrug his shoulders at me. Where is he?

The drive back to the station is a quiet one. The three of us sit sombrely in our seats and say nothing as we drive through the wet streets. It continues to rain, sheet after sheet of dreary, miserable rain. It reflects how Alex and I are feeling right now, and as we drive, we hold hands tightly in the back seat, just needing to hold onto each other.

When we arrive back at the station the mood seems to be darker, and the place is packed in with officers even more than it was before. I draw in a sharp breath as I walk in through the muster room door with Alex. He holds my hand still and I hear him take a deep breath in too. It's an apprehensive one – something's wrong. Something's happened. We can feel it.

The Boss emerges out of his office only moments after we enter the muster area. I see the look on his face and shudder inwardly. He walks over to us, faster than Tom Croydon normally walks, and leans in to speak to us quietly. "There've been some developments," he says in a dull tone of voice and motions for us to follow him into his office.

My heart beating wildly in my chest, I walk with Alex into the dark office. Tom has closed the blinds, giving us some privacy. But I can barely sit down in fear of what might come out of his mouth. I unconsciously hold my breath, waiting for the dreaded news every parent fears. Alex sits on the edge of his seat, his jacket in his lap, opposing the Boss and pulls me down to sit in the other one.

Tom rubs his hands together, a pained look on his face as he prepares himself to speak. "While you were out…" he winces slightly as he speaks, knowing we're not going to react well to any news. "We had a phone call."

I can already imagine what it is. He's not saying it in such a way that makes me think something terrible has happened to Lochie, so I breathe a part sigh of relief. But he says it so that I know whatever it is, is going to be a set back to the investigation.

"They've set a ransom," he informs us.

Alex leans forward in his chair and presses the Boss for details. "What did they say?" he asks, visibly shaken.

"Twenty five grand," he offers, frowning at the exuberant demand.

"Did you trace it?" I ask urgently.

"The call was made from a phone box in St David's," he replies. "But it's pouring with rain outside – everybody is indoors. No one saw a thing," he seems deflated at the realisation. "We've got the audio division analysing the voice though, and the Evanleigh boys are still door knocking."

It doesn't make us feel any better. Alex runs his hands through his hair tiredly. "We've got nothing," he sighs, frustrated. He gets up and seething, he throws his jacket across the room. It hits the wall near the door of Tom's office and slides down to the floor, a crumpled heap of blue leather. Now I know Alex is falling to pieces. Just not in the same way that I am. I get up and walk over to him, trying to calm him down. I stand in front of him, so close our hips touch, and cup his face in my hands, looking him sadly in the eye. It is my tall soldier moment – the moment where I have to be strong for him. He stares back at me sorrowfully and pulls me to him in a desperate hug. He presses his face, weeping, into my shoulder as we hold each other, and I know he feels as torn up about this as I do. We were meant to be together, and we were meant to be Lochie's parents – how dare it be taken away from us?

Later, all officers on deck assemble in the muster area, sitting themselves on anything there is to sit on. There are so many that at least half of them remain standing, as Tom addresses them, bringing everyone up to date.

"We still have very little to go on," he informs the crew sadly. "But I want us to focus on Detective Fox's descriptions, and see how far we get with that."

He continues to dole out duties to the eager officers working through the day on our case. I begin to space out as I stand beside him. My arms folded across my chest, I stand up tall, out of habit I guess, as if I am working on this case too. But I have to remind myself I'm not. I'm not even wearing what I normally wear to work. I look down for a moment at what I am wearing, realising for the first time the daggy clothes I have on. It is only now that I remember throwing my purple coat on over my pyjamas back at the flat earlier today. I pull it around me tighter, embarrassed at my appearance.

I watch as Tom heads back towards his office, the frown still creasing his forehead. As he reaches the door, a brown haired constable covers the mouthpiece of the phone she's holding and turns to face the boss. "The media have caught wind Senior Sergeant," she whispers urgently, her eyes wide.

He turns around in a flash and looks at her, but has no answer.

The constable continues to look to him for an answer. "Are we going to issue a statement?" she asks.

"No," he answers firmly, before going back into his office and closing the door. Something inside makes me spring to life upon hearing their short conversation, and I burst into the Boss's office without knocking.

"Maybe we should," I state nervously.

Tom looks up from his paperwork and over his glasses at me, surprised. "Issue a statement?" he asks, taken aback.

"Yeah," I reply, not at all sure I know what I'm saying. Alex enters then and stands beside me, wanting to be in on our conversation after seeing me flee to the Boss's office.

"Don't you think that could be a bit detrimental to the situation?" Alex asks me, shocked.

I turn to him and grip his arms tightly, just below the elbow. "But what if it unearths something new Alex?" I ask him desperately. "We have next to nothing now!" I try to convince him. I know too how such a move could be detrimental to the investigation. But I'm desperate. I can't sit and do nothing.

It means that I won't give in, won't give in, won't give in

Alex looks at me wearily. He's unsure, like the Boss is. And I know that the police force doesn't normally air their dirty laundry like this, not when it's one of their own, but this is our son. I don't know what else to do.

Tom sighs. He's been persuaded. "If it's what you want to do Amy," he knows I won't let up on my idea until he says yes anyway. "We'll have to inform the inspector," he picks up the phone to dial the number but just as quickly puts it back down again. We both know the inspector won't mind. There's no need to ask. Sometimes he's a lot more caring than you'd think. Alex grabs my hand as Tom drafts our statement.

Half an hour later the media has hold of it. It is brief and does not reveal much, and we quickly discover it is not working to the effect we wanted it to. Rather than quietening the media down, it simply makes them hungry for more, and a frenzy begins. We remain inside the station and do all we can, creating an identikit, gathering pictures of Lochie off Alex's desk and copying them. It's 2:30pm – seven hours since Lochie was taken. It feels like seven days. I sit at Alex's desk and put my head in my hands, rubbing my sore temples, wondering yet again how this could've happened to us. I think about Lochie and how by now he would be starting to realise I'm not there with him. He's already missed 3 feeds. I can only hope that they're being kind, whoever it is that has him.

Half an hour later I still have my head in my hands and I'm beginning to wallow even deeper in my despair as no new developments happen. Suddenly I feel the Boss's hand on my back. Flustered at being caught in such a dire moment, I hastily wipe the tears that have welled in my eyes but not yet spilt over. I am grateful for the distraction. My eyes are starting to get puffy from all my crying.

"Amy," he leans in and speaks softly in my ear. "The inspector has recommended you hold a press conference."

"What?" I gasp, turning to look at him with wide eyes.

"The media won't let go of it," he answers. "They're being inundated with calls from here to bloody Melbourne. Something needs to be done."

"But a press conference?" It makes me feel like some celebrity. I remember attending just one press conference when I was stationed in Melbourne, and it was such a media circus – so chilling and blunt. So starkly real. Questions fired at the victims, relentless, ruthless reporters sticking their noses in, trying to get a story. Must we go through that too? It seems we don't have a choice. If it'll get Lochie back…

Tom nods solemnly. "The statement wasn't enough. A press conference could generate some new leads. It means the public will know – there could have been someone we missed when door knocking. Someone that could've seen something…anything," he's beginning to sound desperate as well. "It's been set up at the pub for half past three," he informs me. "Kirby will be with you, and O'Rourke and Peroni will escort you there," he says. "I'll follow with the inspector and half of the people here are heading over now. They'll make sure it all runs smoothly…I hope," he adds it as an after thought.

So now I have to prepare myself for a press conference. How did it come to this? I get up and search for Alex, my eyes darting from one corner of the muster area to another. I find him is sitting at Susie's desk staring blankly at the identikit, as if trying to make it into someone he recognises. I walk over. "Alex," I whisper, standing at his shoulder.

He looks up. "I don't know if I can do it," he whispers, obviously feeling the same as me about press conferences. I crouch beside him so that we are level and lean in to kiss his lips. His face spells utter sadness, reflecting my own, and we join hands before preparing to leave for the Imperial.

Tom said he was going to try and keep everything under control. But seems it wasn't as easy a task as he had thought it would be. We escaped the media waiting outside the station by leaving through the back entrance. Hopping into the back of the CI car, Joss at the wheel and Kelly in the passenger seat, Alex and I sit silently in the back, wondering what on earth we are heading into. Another desperate bid to find Lochie that may never work? Joss heads out of the car park and towards the entrance to the station – the only way out of the compound. I look up suddenly when flashbulbs begin going off as we pass the public entrance. They're everywhere! I blink a couple of times in surprise and then quickly turn away, not allowing them to see my face. Alex does the same, and together we cower in the back seat as we make the trip to the Imperial.

When we arrive, there are more there. The place is so congested with cars from television and radio stations that it's difficult to find a place to park. We are forced to park on the street, and more than a dozen uniformed officers form a chain by holding hands on either side of our door in an effort to keep the media back. I'm so taken aback by the attention – it wasn't something I was expecting. Makes me all the more frightened.

Alex keeps one arm around my shoulder and another holds an umbrella over the top of us as he and I run for the back entrance of the Imperial. They call out to us and try to take photographs, but we are inside in a flash. Built in cop thing I think. We can get anywhere fast. And I want to get away anyway. As if our sons disappearance isn't bad enough without the media crawling all over it. But I suppose this is the story of a lifetime. The infant son of not just anybody – but of two serving officers. They won't forget it anytime soon I suspect.

Moments later we are inside, and I am confronted with Chris's ashen face. She can't even speak. It makes it all hit home to me – stronger this time. Coupled with that and the fact Alex and I are about to enter a room full of journalists and microphones, I can't stop myself from trembling slightly. I grip Alex's hand as we are lead into the dining room, a place usually reserved for quiet meals between two.

Today it is packed to the gills and several of Chris's tables have been pushed together and covered with a white sheet. Upon them several microphones are propped up, aimed at two vacant seats. The inspector is already in the room, seated at the end of the table. He has not briefed us on what we may or may not say, like he would any other victims of crime giving a press conference – he knows we will know what to say. I can't promise him the same confidence, but I know I will try to hold it together. As we open the door, the place becomes silent. Alex walks in first, and I follow, still holding tightly to his hand. We sit down numbly, get as comfortable as we can, take in the packed room for the first time and never drop hands.

We barely have time to take a breath before the first question is asked. And it is awfully general. "Can you tell us what happened?" a blonde reporter asks, her pen poised above her pad of paper, her ears straining. The rest of the room leans forward slightly at that moment to hear our answer. But we don't know what to say. Where do you start?

Luckily, the Boss appears at the other end of the table, opposite to the inspector and takes the lead for us. I am grateful he is here. He always knows what to do. Especially when I don't.

"This morning the infant son of these two officers was taken during a home invasion," he supplies solemnly, his hands clasped in front of him. The room scribbles madly on their pads of paper, getting the short sentence down.

"Have there been any developments?" another asks, looking straight at Alex and I.

"One explored lead," the inspector answers. "But it proved fruitless."

Are we just here to show our faces or what? I think to myself. I speak up. "He's only three weeks old," I state, my voice wobbling. All eyes are suddenly on me. "We just want him back," I grip Alex's hand tighter.

Faces showing no emotion, the questions continue, oblivious to my tearful plight. "Has there been any contact with the kidnapper?" from the back of the room comes the question.

Alex nods. "Whoever it was telephoned earlier today and demanded a sum of money for the safe return of our son," he whispers. His whisper is made a non whisper though by the microphone, and he reels his head back after he speaks, trying to get away from the loudness.

"How much?" comes the obvious question.

"It's not a question of money," I reply, leaning forward so that I can definitely be heard. "It's…" what am I trying to say?

"…A question of human decency," Alex finishes my sentence for me. "Our son is a defenceless baby, just three weeks old. He needs us, and we need him. We don't understand how anyone could deprive us of that right."

And as quickly as it began, it's over. A Swan Hill constable holds up a blown up photograph of Lochie for identification and reads the details on the bottom for those at that back of the room who cannot see. "Lachlan James Kirby," the constable shouts to the crowded room. "Born June 3rd, this year. Approximately 50cm long and 6 pounds, with thick brown hair and a fair complexion."

The Boss leads Alex and I out of the room and we leave yelling reporters in our wake. Away from their noise, Tom speaks. "We want to clear them out of here before you leave," he informs us, speaking earnestly. "So that you're not ambushed."

Chris speaks up then, upon hearing what Tom is telling us. "You can use one of my rooms," she offers kindly, that ashen look still there on her face. The three of us nod sombrely and Alex and I follow Chris up the stairs and the room at the end of the corridor. We leave the Boss and the inspector to deal with the flock of eager journalists.

"It's just for a bit," Chris says sympathetically. "I'll leave you two alone." She closes the door behind us and suddenly we are shrouded in a dreadful silence as we try to take in what has just happened. We perch together on the end of the bed, not saying a word. And Alex starts to cry. I am surprised – I thought it would be me that cried first. We hold each other desperately. "This feels so wrong," he wails quietly. "We need to be out looking for him." He is saying out loud everything I am thinking. "They're holding us back." I nod, understanding, too choked up myself to reply in any audible form.

An hour later the din has finally died down, the media fed up with being spun stories from media liaison and the Boss and the inspector. Alex and I are taken back to the station, still shrouded in secrecy. It feels so wrong. We never asked for this attention. We never wanted it. What if it works against us? Alex and I sit in the mess room later that afternoon with Evan and mope into our coffee cups.

I can see the pressure is starting to get to Evan. He taps the toe of his shoe constantly on the leg of the table as we all drink our coffee and try to make sense of the situation. Randomly he speaks up and Alex and I lift our heads in surprise. "This is useless!" he yells, irritated. "Nothing out of the ordinary has happened to you in the last three weeks except that you've had a baby Amy! We have nothing to go on!" He pounds his fist into the table, almost spilling his coffee.

I know how he feels. So many times I have felt this way about cases I have worked on and felt so desperate when there have been absolutely zero leads. How do I ever overcome these hurdles? I think to myself. Another talk to the Boss, another review of the case notes, a phone call, something always pops out at me eventually. Hang on. "A phone call!" I whisper urgently, my eyes wide.

"What?" Alex and Evan ask at the same time.

I bang on the table, getting excited. "A phone call!" I nod my head, it all coming back to me. "Nothing out of the ordinary has happened in the past three weeks, but that first day I came to the station…I got a phone call," I can't believe I didn't think of it earlier.

Alex and Evan are shell shocked. It's a new lead. They lean forward in their seats. "Who was it?" Alex breathes, finding my hand and gripping it tightly.

"They hung up," I tell him, remembering. "It was just a few seconds…I couldn't hear what they were saying because Lochie was screaming in my other ear." I look intently at Alex, frightened and excited at the same time about this lead.

Evan leans even more over the table and speaks urgently. "Did you identify yourself when you answered?" he seems apprehensive and I realise why.

I nod, horrified. Evan springs up from his chair instantly. "We'll get a trace," he says and runs out of the room, determined to follow up on the new lead.

I sit numbly in my chair, only now realising what I have done. I identified myself, out of habit but also because I'd been off duty for many months that I'd been longing to say my name and rank into a phone again. And I'd done it that day. What if whoever it was heard Lochie in the background? Was that when the master plan began?

An hour later we receive the news that the call cannot be traced. There is a time limit with traces. We've left it more than three days now. It can't be done. My heart sinks again at another false hope. Luckily though, before we get too down about it, word comes in from crime scene, back at our flat.

"They've found a spot of blood on your bedroom carpet," Evan informs us as the light fades outside. Alex and I are sitting again at the table in the mess room, going out of our minds with worry as each hour passes. But when Evan comes in we immediately stand up to meet him, eager to hear anything he has to say.

I catch on immediately. "When I kicked him," I whisper, if only to myself. Alex and Evan look at me. "I kicked him in the stomach," I say in a rush. "And he fell back…off the bed, and onto the floor."

"He must have cut himself or something," Evan muses.

"Have they sent the sample off?" Alex probes urgently, vying for Evan's attention.

Evan nods in an answer. "We won't get a result until tomorrow morning," he informs us sadly. "You two should go home. Rest. Eat something. Just…be there for each other." And with that, he wanders off back to the CI office. I know he won't rest until Lochie is found either.

Upon arriving home, we find the forensic guys just packing up. There is crime tape everywhere, and small scale rulers against anything that was put out of place during the invasion. They measure the size of the blood splatters and where the bassinet fell. Our home suddenly doesn't have the same warmth it used to. It doesn't feel like the same place Alex carried me into one night when we were high on champagne.

The forensic team leaves quietly and I lock the door behind them. Alex has pulled food out of the fridge and set it on the table, and we sit in front of it, but we can't eat. I realise I haven't eaten all day, but I don't care. I can't feel it. I can't feel much of anything right now. Alex sits back in his chair and stares into space for several minutes before getting up and turning on the television. The news is on. We've made headlines.

"Turn it off," I demand, not wanting to relive the press conference again in technicolour. He flicks the remote and the screen goes back to black. I turn around in my seat at the table to look at Alex down at the couch. We stare at each other forlornly but can't think of a thing to say. I still have the urge to go out and wonder the streets myself to just feel as though I am actually doing something. But I can't move from the chair.

Alex can though, and gets up and walks away, into the bedroom. When he doesn't come out, I assume he has gone to bed. But I can't sleep. How can I sleep when our child is missing? So I just sit pitifully in my chair and stare ahead of me at nothing. When I finally do move, after two hours of staring into space, I get up and go into the living room, where I pull our family photo album off the shelf. I bring it back to the table, place it and myself down, and open it up.

There is the picture taken minutes after Lochie was born. He is cuddled in my arms, his face screwed up and red. Alex leans over from the side of the bed and we all smile at the camera, a family at last. It feels like just yesterday. I continue to flip through the pages, just staring as I take in the photographs we have taken of our little boy. There are so many - a thousand and one different angles of Lochie sleeping. Of Lochie crying. Of Lochie awake. Of Lochie being held by me. Of Lochie being held by Alex. Of Lochie and I asleep together.

"What are you doing?" Alex's accusing voice makes me jump. He stands behind me, staring at me, daggers for eyes.

I shrug my shoulders back at him, unsure of what to answer. "Just flicking through," I mumble.

"Don't!" Alex's voice becomes louder, and I look up, alarmed.

"Don't what?" I ask, defensively.

"Don't look at those photos like it's the only way you're ever going to see Lochie again!" he yells at me, steam practically coming out of his ears.

I am so stunned at his tone of voice and his accusations I am speechless for several seconds. And then when I go to speak, nothing comes out. We stare at each other closely for a few moments before Alex reaches over and slams the album shut, the force blowing my hair out of my eyes. He shoves it back onto the shelf and storms back to the bedroom.

My heart aches. Why are we being like this? Why aren't we helping each other? I sit slumped in the kitchen chair and search my mind for an answer. When one doesn't come I decide to be bold and I turn out the lights in the kitchen and the living room before walking lightly down the hallway and into the pitch black bedroom where Alex lies silently. I walk up to the bed and stand in front of it without saying a word. My shoulders slumped and a frown creasing my forehead, I just stand there, without saying a word.

Alex looks back up at me and our gazes connect. Inside my head I have a million things I want to say to him – apologies, excuses, explanations, for why I was looking at the photo album – but none of it comes out. He reaches out from under the blankets and grabs a hold of my hand. With a tear slipping down my cheek, Alex shuffles over and holds up the blankets so that I can slide in beside him. It's not an easy task hopping into the bed still holding hands, but we manage it, and pretty soon we are huddled together, unable to sleep, and just stare at the nothingness around us all night long. At one point Alex whispers into the darkness. "Don't give up Amy. We can't give up." His breath is warm on my face, but my heart still hangs heavily inside my chest because we are lying here alone, without Lochie, and the flat is silent, and it all feels so wrong.

Hey now, hey now

Don't dream it's over

The phone rings at 6am. Alex and I are still awake, and we scramble for the phone, knowing it will be news from the station. Alex picks up the receiver before I can get to it though, and I sit nervously practically right in his lap as he speaks into the mouthpiece. But he says little, and with a few moments of listening, some nodding and a frown, he thanks whoever's on the other end and hangs up without saying goodbye. He turns to me. "The results are back from forensics," he says quietly.

"And?" I probe, leaning forward and holding my breath.

"He wouldn't tell me," his voice is hushed and afraid and my blood runs cold as we stare at each other for a quick second, petrified at the thoughts of what was so bad it couldn't be said over the phone, before we grab the keys and run out the front door. We slide into my car, even though the temptation is there to just run all the way to the station – we are that on edge. But it's beginning to rain, so we hop into my car and Alex pulls us out of the car park. I can't help but realise that it's been raining almost the whole time Lochie's been away from us. It makes everything seem even bleaker.

But I have little time to ponder that thought, as seconds later we are pulling into the station. Alex parks hurriedly by the front entrance, and with a slam of the cars doors, we are inside. And Evan is waiting. He leads us into the office he and I still share, despite me being on leave, and sits us down. Like the previous day in the Boss's office, I find it hard to sit still due to the intensity of the situation. I hold my breath waiting for Evan to reveal the bad news, even though I can't possibly think of what forensic might have said.

Thankfully, Evan gets right to the point. "The results came back from the blood spot on your carpet," he winces as he says it, but tries to act professional and hold himself together. "Whoever was in your flat was HIV positive."

I hear Alex take a sharp breath in. AIDS is still so taboo, even around police, who deal with it in crims more than most people do. But it strikes fear into you no matter what your profession. Alex and I lean forward in our seats. "So, does that give us anything at all?" I ask, feeling dejected already. "I mean, heaps of people have HIV and take it to the grave with them." I shrug my shoulders, wondering how this information could possibly help us. It doesn't feel like good news.

A tiny smile erupts onto Evan's face though as he goes to answer me. "Well, actually, it does help us."

"It does?" I ask, my teeth almost chattering I am so hyped with nervousness and emotion. A lead at last? Could it be?

Evan nods his head vehemently. "While some people do take their secret to the grave, this bloke hasn't," he says. "He's taking part in a drug trial at the hospital for a new AIDS drug." Alex and I stare at him wide eyed. "Therefore, the hospital has samples of his blood, which forensic has matched to the blood found on your carpet. He goes by the name of Victor Scanlon, and he was last at the hospital on Thursday."

"Thursday?" Alex breathes.

"The day before Lochie was taken," Evan fills in the blanks for us, nodding his head.

As the three of us muse over this, Susie knocks on the office door and pokes her head in. "You might want to see this," she informs us, motioning to her desk. We spring from our seats and follow her out, hustling for the best position in front of Susie's computer screen. It is lit up with the details of one Victor Steven Scanlon. We all read the details on the screen silently, and try to take it in. Victor Scanlon is a career criminal – a coloured past, multiple criminal connections and drug offences going back to age 18.

I feel deflated. Is this the man who has our son? I turn to Evan. I might feel deflated, but I am still going to stop at nothing until we have Lochie back. "How often does he need the drug?" It's only just occurred to me that he should be frequenting the hospital if he's taking part in a drug trial. I shake my head to rid it of the thoughts that quietly enter into it telling me that this could be as easy as ambushing him the next time he's there. Nothing is ever that easy.

"Every three days," Evan informs me. We all stop for a second, counting back. He last took the drug on Thursday, today is Saturday and he is not due for another dose until Sunday. But can we wait that long? By the looks on our faces, none of us are prepared to wait that long.

"We have to decide whether or not he's going to be there today," Evan concludes as we gather in a tight huddle to work out a plan. In passing, Matt leans over to listen and instantly becomes the fifth member of our team. "He's not due at the hospital again until Sunday, so I think we can safely say that he won't be there unless he has to be." Evan connects gazes with Susie. "Have you got his home address?" he asks.

She nods and, as organised as ever, hands him a slip of paper with an address on it. It's on the outskirts of town – practically what was once Danny O'Keefe territory I think to myself with a shudder. If this guy is another O'Keefe, we are really in trouble. We all take a look at the slip of paper, nod our heads at each other and move quickly to grab jackets and sign out weapons.

Moments later we are in the CI car again, and Susie and Matt are bringing up the rear in the patrol car. We speed along, eager to get to the address of what I'm sure will be a mansion. As Evan squeals around corners and races along with wet roads, Alex speaks into the radio, telling Susie and Matt to put out an alert for anyone matching the description of Victor Scanlon, or anyone of a suspicious nature. Maybe the general public can catch him before we do. I don't care, as long as he's caught. I'm not interested in boasting that I pinched Victor Scanlon myself.

We're here. Evan skids up driveway, halting just metres from the front door. The three of us tumble out of the CI car, weapons drawn, sleeves rolled up, and eyes wild and alert. Evan runs to the front door, squashing himself against the meter box that sits silently on the wall beside it. He is out of view of anyone that might look through the peephole from the inside – a clever move on Evan's part. Alex crouches low under the front window and I skulk behind one of two massive concrete pillars that guard the entrance to the house, ready to back Evan up if he needs it.

I scan my eyes quickly around the perimeter, as far as my eyes can manage, and I see Alex and Evan doing the same. The property is quiet though, with no lights on and no movement or noises detected by the three of us. Matt and Susie have pulled up and, with their weapons drawn, and bullet proof vests on, they scramble madly over to us. Alex, Evan and I haven't even thought of flak jackets – such details escape me during such a dire situation. Even one of us being injured seems to pale in comparison to a three week old child being hurt. So we don't give a second thought to the fact we have no protection for ourselves.

After several moments of taking in the scenes before us, we silently agree to strike. Evan inches closer to the door and rears back again, lifting his leg to kick the door down. I'm beginning to think he likes this. A future career move for Evan Jones could very well involve the drug squad. Those guys love storming into homes. Evan brings his pistol up from holding it near his hip, out of view, to straight out in front of him, and like toy soldiers, the rest of us follow in the same fashion, barging into the front of the house.

The five of us suddenly are struck with the pure vastness of the enormous front hall. Our heads go in all directions, partly in awe and partly to try and take it all in, but it only lasts a quick second as we instantly split up, covering as much of the house as possible. Moments later we have all lost sight of each other as we madly search for any signs of life. But the rooms are quiet. There are a lot to explore, with the size of this house being so over whelming, but with the five of us on the job, we cover the ground faster than you would think. It's obvious there is no one here. And while this place is really far too big for the average person to consider it a holiday home, maybe that is what it is to Victor Scanlon, because it doesn't look like he is here too often.

We all meet back in the entry way, breathless and with hair in our faces. But we are still pumped. Susie, Matt and Evan hop from foot to foot, jittery and driven, as we stand again in a huddle trying to decide what to do next. Alex and I are not – when you've been like that since 7:30am yesterday morning, it feels like you're doing it anyway, even when you're not.

We confirm with each other that the rooms are all clear. The place is unoccupied. Before we have a chance to get down about it though, both Susie and Alex's radios crackle out messages. We listen eagerly, leaning forward. Tom is at the other end of Alex's call and speaks into it urgently. "A patient taking part in the drug trial has fronted up at the hospital," his voice comes loud and clear over the airwaves. "He wanted his fix for Sunday a day early, and the hospital staff became suspicious of him after hearing your alert this morning." You can almost hear Tom rubbing his forehead in frustration. We all look at each other wide eyed before bolting out of the house, leaving the curtains on the windows blowing in the wind behind us.

We pile back into our respective cars and with a squeal of rubber and a spray of mud under the tyres that lands on those pristine white pillars at the front door, we are away. In the patrol car we can hear Susie answering her radio call, as the transmission also comes through the CI cars radio and we listen just as eagerly to the voice of Kelly informing Susie of a suspicious sighting. "Joss and I are at a domestic we can't get away from," Kelly speaks fast into the radio across town. "But we've just had a call from Paul at the pharmacy on Lake Street saying he's got a woman in his shop asking about cloth nappies and appearing not at all like a mother. Can you attend?"

I gasp. Lochie wears cloth nappies. I reach over between the two front seats and grab the radio with my left hand, pressing hard on the button on the side. "We can attend 307. Susie, Matt, you go to the pharmacy. We'll go to the hospital. See if you can nab her," I demand into the radio. As I place it back in its cradle, I look at Alex. He grabs my right hand and I sit back in the back seat, still holding it. Alex slings his left arm across his body and over his shoulder to keep in grip with my hand and stares, frightened, straight ahead as we drive towards Mt Thomas hospital. I do the same out of my own window.

The drive to the hospital takes more than five minutes, even with our sirens and lights and the speed Evan is constantly accelerating to. At the lights on Heatherington Way, our cars separate, and we race to the hospital whilst Susie and Matt race to the pharmacy on Lake Street.

We squeal into the emergency bay at the hospital just five minutes later, and again tumble out of the car and run for our lives through the hospital hall ways. We don't know even where we're going, and as we each realise this we stop dead in the middle of a busy area near a nurses station. We look, terrified and clueless, at each other, before suddenly lunging over to the desk where the nurses are working quietly behind their computers and clipboards. "You've got a man here taking part in the drug trial?" Evan asks urgently, banging on the desk rudely to get their attention.

Thankfully, the nurses know exactly who we mean. One of them, a young redhead with a tiny frame, springs up off her chair and runs us down the hallway to a closed door. She wrenches at the handle, a frown on her face. "It shouldn't be locked," she whispers, frowning even harder. As we all wrench at the handle, trying to get it open, we hear scuffles on the other side. My eyes open wide. Is Victor Scanlon behind this door?

"Excuse me?" A doctor is running towards us, and like the rest of us, is frowning. "What do you think you're doing?" he asks, approaching us.

"Doctor," the redheaded nurse asks. "These officers are after that drug trial patient you were seeing. Wasn't he in your office?" she asks, staring up at him. We all turn our heads to him for an answer, curious as all hell.

He nods his head, obviously confused as to why we haven't just gone straight in. "He's just in her-" he stops when he tries the door handle as well and finds it locked. We all look desperately at each other.

"Well don't you have a key!" Alex yells at the doctor and the tiny redhead. They both shake their heads sadly, suddenly realising what a dire situation this is. As the nurse runs away back to the nurses station to try and find a key, we hear scuffling inside and we press our ears to the door, listening. How frustrating is this! I am tempted to do an Evan and kick the door down myself. Evan looks about ready to. Maybe we could do it together. But we look at the door, instantly realising what a heavy set door it actually is. Even he wouldn't be able to bowl it over. So we stand uselessly in front of the door for just seconds before the nurse comes back with a key. As she goes to unlock it I turn to Alex, a sudden realisation dawning over me.

"Get outside!" I say madly as I realise he's probably jumped out a window. Mt Thomas Hospital is all on one level – no lifts, no stairs, and no second floors. He's got the advantage, while we have the odds stacked against us. Alex catches on immediately and bolts down the hallway and skids to a stop by an exit door before barging through it. The doctor's office door finally opens and Evan and I barge our way in, ahead of the doctor and the nurse. My eyes dart around the tiny office and are just in time to see a hand slip off the window sill outside. He's gone. I run to the window and look out, only to see him in a crumpled heap on the grass below. I could almost reach out and touch him. But he gets up like a shot and scrambles away.

Eerily, he is wearing the same blue turtleneck I had a close encounter with just 24 hours ago. I shudder as I lean out the window looking for Alex. Suddenly he appears, taking a giant leap and jumping off the verandah and onto the grass. His legs pumping, he chases Scanlon across the grassed area that is shaded with trees and lined with roses, like most hospital grounds are.

But Scanlon had a head start. He'd already started running when Alex emerged out of the exit door and into the outside world. And maybe fatigue has taken over Alex, or maybe I'm just not seeing straight right now, but I've seen Alex run faster than he is running right now. We lose him. He runs down the street and around a corner, Alex still giving chase, and just like in a movie, disappears into a car with the blink of an eye.

We run out of the room again and down the hall and outside. Running across the wet, glistening grass, Evan and I run down the street too, and around the corner where we find Alex doubled over, his hands on his knees, his chest heaving with the effort of such a lung workout. I sprint up to him and pull him back up to standing roughly, making him look at me. "Tell me you got the rego!" I yell as the rain starts to come down yet again.

Alex shakes his head sadly at me, unable to meet my eyes. Probably a good thing – if looks could kill, he'd be dead and buried by now. I can't think of a thing to say as we stand facing each other in the rain. My mind races though. We've lost him. Bloody lost him. I can't believe it. We almost had him. If we hadn't searched that bloody house we could've been here before he was, waiting for him to show his face. And we could've got him right then and there. I can't believe we wasted time searching that mansion. Another dead lead.

A chance is made, a chance is lost

I carry myself to the edge of the earth

Evan comes rushing up to us then, and almost slips over on the wet grass as he skids up to us. His arms flail out to steady himself and he pulls on the first thing that comes within reach – my shoulder. I stumble a little and reach out to hold him up and prevent him from falling into the mud. He smiles appreciatively at me for a second before holding up a shoe. "I reckon he's twisted an ankle climbing out of that window," he looks happily at Alex and I. In his hand is a muddy Nike sneaker, the laces partly undone.

Alex gasps. Has Scanlon unwittingly slowed himself down, allowing us to get closer? We muse over it for all of three seconds when another body joins us in the rain. It's the doctor, and, like Evan just moments before, he slips and almost falls on the grass in his haste to reach us. Evan grabs him by the wrist though, and stops him from falling. "He won't last much longer without the drug," he informs us breathlessly. We all give him puzzled looks in answer. The doctor takes a deep breath and goes on. "Victor Scanlon is strong. He might be old and have HIV but he's still got it." He emphasises the 'it' with a nod of his head. I nod my head back at him, easily able to picture him escaping like he just has from every bad situation he's ever been in. Because he's a career crook. He's had a lifetime of practise at getting away. "But then, at the same time, he is in the very late stage of the virus. He's at the beginning of the end," he looks pointedly at us. "And when they're at that stage, anything preps them up. Just by taking this drug, it makes him believe he's going to be cured. But he's only getting a placebo. He's one of the unlucky ones," the doctor doesn't seem bothered that he is letting out such information that would normally stay confidential.

"So because he couldn't get anything today, he might not have the energy to fight on?" Alex asks.

The doctor nods his head. "Without this drug – whether it's the real drug or the placebo – his morale will be very low. We've noticed during the trial that the sufferers in the late stages really hang out for their days here. They almost can't function without it."

Our brains tick over. I feel energy pumping through me again, even after so many failed attempts. We huddle together a little ways away from the doctor, bluntly excluding him from our discussion. Suddenly the tables have turned and we are ahead now in the race to get Lochie back. We have the numbers, and the energy, to outrun him. I lay out the plan for Alex and Evan as we race back to the car in the rain. We're finally thinking logically and on the same line, and decide to head back to the mansion on the edge of town after Susie's voice over the radio confirms their sighting at the pharmacy. They too missed her by just minutes.

"But Amy," Susie hesitates as she speaks to me across the airwaves. I am in the back seat again, but leaning forward, having wedged myself through into the front area between the two seats that Alex and Evan occupy. I lean my elbows on the centre compartment that I know from years of working with Evan is filled with Choc Wedge wrappers and pop sticks. We all strain our ears to listen to what she's about to say. "We've heard she lives out near where we were this morning…we're going back out there," she declares.

I look at Evan and then at Alex and they both nod their heads at me. I speak answer Susie's call. "We'll meet you there," and hang the radio back on the cradle. I sit back in the backseat again, and think over what we're about to do. It seems like we've been on the run all day long. I've been running so hard that I haven't had the time to be upset about not having Lochie here with Alex and I – I've just been so focused on getting him back. Only then can I allow myself to let go of anything police related and we can just go back to being our three person family.

But it's only 9:30am – the day has barely started for normal people. But already we're on our second trip out to the Scanlon property. I can't help but be mad at myself – when we were there last time we should've been at the hospital. We might've been able to get him if we had've been. But you can't predict these things. I can only hope we get them this time.

The route feeling like the back of my hand, I watch the familiar streets slip by again. I sit nervously in the back seat, wishing that Alex had sat in the back so that we could hold hands. I need something to hold onto. The seat already has my nail indents in it. I go back to looking longingly out the window and wishing we could fly there instead of drive. It would be so much faster.

So the moment we pull up I am out of the car, my weapon in front of me, clearing my way. Alex and Evan follow me. I can see Susie and Matt already by the sides of the house, preparing to go in. We all take a collective deep breath in anticipation. It feels different this time. We didn't catch them last time, but this time the stakes are higher. We've chased them for hours now - one step behind every step of the way. They're here. I know it. They've got to be. I climb the steps up between those two massive pillars that shroud the front door in such a royal way. I step lightly as I approach, comfortably sure that Evan and Alex are at my heels ready to back me up if the need arises.

I am right in thinking they are close by. They've begun making careless mistakes, which serve as clues for the five of us hell bent coppers. The door is open and damp splashes of rain colour the doorway. The splashes are recent. I hold my breath as I enter, weapon still out in front of me. I push my shoulder against the wall of the entry way, skimming along it, sticking to the shadows and trying to blend into the paint work. Like last time, the place is silent, but like I suspected, it doesn't feel the same. There's a presence in the house – one that has just left. And one I can feel still, despite the enormity of this place.

The five of us slide along the walls and again snake out in different directions, determined to hunt down anyone who might be within these walls. I head for the upstairs bedrooms, thinking of all places, that is where Lochie might be. I pad silently up the stairs, my heart in my throat at the thought of my son actually being so close to me again. Will we find him…right here? Right now? In this house? It feels so surreal. I could reach out and touch it - it feels so close. But I pad up the stairs and try not to get my hopes up, as badly as I do want Lochie back. I don't want to be devastated every time we search somewhere and don't find him – I've already made that mistake several times in the last 24 hours. It hurts too much to do it again.

I round a corner, my pistol entering the first bedroom on the right before I do. That terrified feeling creeps back into my stomach, except this time it's doubled. Doubled because half of me is terrified of entering a room and not knowing who I might come face to face with and doubled because the other half of me is beside myself with worry for what could have happened to Lochie since he has been away from Alex and I. I hold my pistol out steady in front of me – thankfully it's the only part of my body that isn't trembling with fear. The weapon has become an extension of my body today – sadly it's part of a copper's life.

My shoulder against the doorframe, I am almost in. It's the window of death – where, if anyone is inside this room, they can see me, but I cannot see them. I have to take a leap and hope that they don't have a weapon. Taking a deep, quick breath in, I storm into the room, only to find it empty. My heart rate lowers appreciatively as I go on to explore the rest of the bedrooms on this floor. They're all as empty as the first one was. I go, depressed, back downstairs. There, I find Evan and Susie waiting for me. They look distressed. Their searches have been as bleak as mine was.

"Where's Alex?" I ask the two of them in a quiet voice. It is all I can muster.

Evan points to a short hallway to our left and I run along it, starting to tear up at the realisation that we have still not got our son back. I look around, scanning the rooms that branch off the hallway and find Alex as he exits what appears to be a study. He stops in his tracks when he sees me in front of him, and then reaches to the back of his belt and puts his gun away before reaching out and holding onto both of my hands with his own. My face crumples as he holds them and I look at him, distraught. "He's not here," I sob in front of him, the tears suddenly rolling down my face at an incredible rate. Alex shakes his head, only confirming the awful truth for me. A third failed attempt at finding our baby, and I'm beginning to think we're not going to.

Alex hugs me to him for just a moment, squeezing me tight, knowing it is what I need to pull through this. He kisses my forehead as I close my eyes in desperation as he does so. As he pulls away, he slides a hand around my waist and together we walk back out to join the others. It is a comfort to be close to him at such a time, and somewhere inside I have a little hope that together we can find him. It's that little hope that keeps me from falling to pieces completely.

And when Matt gives a yell from somewhere outside, I endeavour to further push my sadness from my mind. It won't help. We run outside again in the direction of his call. The cold wind bites at our bodies as we run, but we accept the feeling. It's better than the rain. For once today the skies are not dumping rain onto us, and I am thankful. We find Matt at the side of the house, a good fifty metres from where our cars are parked jaggedly. He is leaning over a green garbage bin, one of many that sit mutely by the side of the house.

We rush up to him, almost surprising him in our haste to see what he has found. He holds up a small tin of powdered baby formula, and looks, staggered, at the rest of us. Evidence. We all gasp at different volumes. So they have been here! Susie whips out a plastic evidence bag for Matt to drop the can into, and we then proceed to stand around uselessly for several moments without saying a single word to each other. They must be as stumped as I am. Sometimes even cops don't know what to do.

Finally, Evan speaks up, but I get the sneaking feeling that he is just thinking out loud. "So where the hell are they?" he muses quietly. We all mentally scratch our heads as we head back to the cars. It's something to do. I don't know where to turn now. We've missed them by just minutes it seems, yet again. It shouldn't be this hard. Or else we're just having the worst luck in the world. Why did I think the tables had turned earlier? I was so wrong.

As we climb into the car, Alex glances over at me and I know he has decided to sit in the backseat, by my side. The tall soldier for me in the hallway, he is dwarfed in the outside world, not knowing what to do next, despite a new piece of evidence being found. But really, it proves nothing, except that they've been here and fed our precious little boy formula that he isn't ready for at three weeks old.

We slide into the car with heavy hearts. Evan pulls out of the compound and back onto the dusty road that lead to this place. As we drive away from where we were certain we would find Lochie, Kelly's voice comes over the radio again, even more urgent than the previous time, perhaps realising at last how important the messages are that she is relaying to us. "A black Landcruiser has just gotten petrol at Doreen's servo on the road to Melbourne." Alex, Evan and I look clueless at each other as she continues.

"Did he get into a black Landcruiser when you chased him?" I whisper, aghast, at Alex, turning to him in the back seat. I watch him for several seconds as he searches his subconscious and tries to remember the car. But moments later he shakes his head at me. In the front seat Evan has turned around as much as his seat belt will let him and sighs at the same time I do. If Alex didn't see the car, how are we to know that the car at Doreen's is actually them? It could be anybody.

I grab the radio again, beginning to feel frustrated. "And how does that help us Kelly?" I ask desperately, trying not to let it show in my voice.

She sounds a little hurt as she answers my question. "Doreen said that they seemed to be nervous and in a hurry, and were stocking up on staples – bread, milk, canned food." The information ticks over in my brain and I thank Kelly and ask her to head over there with Joss to get the details. At something like a servo, we would definitely have missed them. Just in the time it took for Kelly to relay the information to me, they would've driven away and down the highway, getting further away with every passing second.

I lie back against the backseat and close my eyes. This seems hopeless. When are we going to get a lucky break here? A tear falls down my cheek silently. It hurts. Nothing is proving to be in our favour. The Boss's voice comes over the radio as I reach for Alex's hand and he looks at me sympathetically as he squeezes it. As we try and draw strength from each other just to get through whatever the next few hours may bring, the Boss instructs us to return to the station. We don't argue.

We travel back to the station in silence, only half listening when Kelly's voice again comes over the radio and informs us that the black Landcruiser is long gone, but they do have a description of the driver, which they are taking to the hospital to see if any of the staff recognise it. I feel exhausted even though we have come up with so little in the way of finding Lochie. I hold Alex's hand the entire way back to the station.

As Evan turns onto the street the station is on, the rain again begins to come down. Not only down, but in sheets this time. The windscreen wipers go onto hyper speed as we approach the station and upon parking, the three of us run inside, eager to get out of the miserable weather that seems to follow us anywhere we go. Alex and I go straight to my office, still not saying a word. The fight has almost gone out of us. We're beginning to fade.

We sit for a little while, I in my chair and Alex on the edge of the desk, his shoulders slumped, his chin to his chest, his legs hanging limply against the side of the wooden desk. It's awful trying to stay upbeat, because everything seems so helpless, and I swallow hard as I remember back to just a few days ago when I paced this office with Lochie curled up on my chest, rubbing his back and sending him off to sleep as Evan and I discussed crime stats. How I long for that day again. If only I could turn back time.

I let out a strangled, almost silent, cry as the Boss enters the office with a grave look on his face. I can tell that he's beginning to realise just how serious this is. With every hour that passes, we are worse off. And the hours are scooting by faster than any of us want them to. He shoves his hands in his pockets and rocks slightly as he speaks to Alex and I. "We've set up roadblocks around the state," he informs us quietly. "Every cop in Victoria knows about this. We're going to find him. They're not going to get away." He sounds defiant and quietly confident, but he still speaks with a hushed tone. It's a bit like that I guess. I haven't been able to muster anything much more than a whisper for the last 12 hours myself. "Why don't you two go home?" he suggests half heartedly, almost as if he's scared of getting his head bitten off.

But Alex and I aren't biting today. Alex nods numbly in reply, and slides off the desk slowly before grabbing my hand and I stumble along just as numbly beside him as we walk back outside into the rain. Evan drives us back to the flat and we mope up the stairs and inside as he drives away. I have confidence in Evan Jones, which makes it easier to come home and let everyone else handle this case, but even Evan Jones isn't made of steel. He's been awake a long time now, although probably not feeling this as much as Alex and I are, it can't be too far off. But I know he'll be right at the frontline until it's over. He reassured me he was going to find Lochie as I got out of the car. He was headed to the roadblock about an hour out of Melbourne, ready and waiting for Victor Scanlon if he was to show his face there.

Alex and I for some reason head straight for the bedroom, not even looking in the direction of the nursery as we enter. That would be pushing it. I sit down on the edge of the bed and Alex wanders over to the wardrobe, where he kicks off his shoes and nudges them inside with his toe. Closing the wardrobe door, he looks over at me. I was hysterical yesterday, but today I can hardly move. What's happening to me? What's happening to us?

He lies down on his side of the bed, and I remain seated on the edge for several minutes before either of us speaks. "Amy," he calls out softly. I turn around and look at him. Like so many times before, his face reflects mine and I know nobody feels this the way I do. Except for Alex. We're two of a kind. I ease myself down to lie close to him, and he wraps his arms around me in a big, enveloping hug that is as much for my benefit as it is for his. I lie silently in his arms, my head just under his chin, and stare wide eyed at nothing as we lie there for hours on end, not knowing how to speak, or cry or even move. As the rain continues, the skies turn darker, and Alex and I lay together, engulfed in our worry, and the room silently turns darker and darker, until it is almost pitch black.

As the room grows darker, succumbing to the stillness of the night, the feeling of uselessness comes back to me. I turn over in Alex arms, facing away from him to look at the digital clock on the bedside. It reads 11:17PM in its glowing red numbers. It's almost been 40 hours now. 40 hours that Lochie has been missing. 40 hours away from us, his parents. I shudder to think of the state he must be in. I close my eyes, upset, trying to push the dark thoughts out of my mind. I roll back over to face Alex and he asks me a million questions with his eyes.

"I can't stay here Alex," I whisper, swallowing hard again to keep my emotions in tact. I look at him desperately as I shuffle around on top of the bed clothes. His arms loosen around me as he listens carefully to my pleas. "I need to be out there. What good are we doing sitting here?"

He looks longingly at me and nods his head, understanding. He doesn't even need to say he agrees with me – I can just tell. He feels exactly the same and together we hurl ourselves off the bed and, just like this morning, grab shoes and jackets and race again out the door, leaving the silent flat to sit alone in our wake. We have places to be, crooks to catch, and never more so than tonight. Alex leaps into the drivers seat of my car and I join him in the passenger seat. Before I've even put my seatbelt on, Alex has zoomed out of the car park and onto the wet, dark roads. They lie before us like black snakes. It feels dangerous – being so hyped and so frenzied on a night like tonight – and I have a bad feeling of what might become of us in the next few hours.

But pulling my seatbelt across my body, I pull my phone out of my pocket with my left hand and press in Evan's number. He answers after just two rings. But I'm in such a frenzy that I don't even give him the chance to answer – I just speak as soon as I hear him pick up. "We're coming out there Evan. Where are you?" I say in a rush, demanding an answer.

He knows it is me. Was probably expecting me to call. I can here the chatter of other cops in the background as they pull over drivers, ask to see their licences and inform them of the situation at hand. I can picture the scene in my head as Evan tells me exactly where he is, and I relay it to Alex. We speed off in the direction of the roadblock. "We'll be there soon," I tell him, trying to shake the feeling that wracks my entire body as we drive through the night. Why haven't they caught him already? The roadblocks have been in place since before midday. What has Scanlon been doing? Where have they been? Why haven't they been through a road block already? There are so many out he couldn't possibly have escaped. That must mean he's been holed up somewhere for at least part of the day. Is Lochie with him? Or is he being swapped constantly with the Mrs Cloth Nappy from the chemist? My mind turns over a million possibilities, continuing to torture my soul as we drive.

Half an hour later we have reached the roadblock. The scene is exactly what I pictured it back at the flat. At least four cop cars line the grassy off road verges and illuminated signs inform the drivers that they are being stopped for vehicle inspections. A herd of cops of every rank, and from every district, mill around in their bright white police issue raincoats waving their lit up orange batons. They guide cars into a line, where they are searched and the drivers and passengers are spoken to. Even though the rain continues to pelt down, sheet by sheet, I notice the uniforms go about their task with some fervour. I am right. Even though Lochie isn't a cop, but rather just a small child, he is still one of us. He is the son of Alex and I, and we are cops. They're searching harder and being more brutal than they would for any other missing person. One day I will thank them. When this is all over.

Evan sees us pull up, and runs over to us through the rain as we get out of the car. He too is wearing a white rain coat over his usual attire, and the word police shines brightly when it comes in the path of our headlights, which Alex has smartly left on, illuminating the scene even more. It makes it easier to make Evan out as we get closer.

"Did you want rain coats?" he asks, having to raise his voice through the rain. "I have some in the back of the CI car."

I shake my head. I don't know what I plan to do – sit in the car and brood or stand out in the rain and brood, but whatever I do I don't want a pathetic rain coat. As if that is going to help anything! Beside me, Evan gets the same response from Alex. He holds an umbrella over us as he opens up his folder to show us the progress they've made at the road block in the last couple of hours since he's been there. There's nothing new. Nothing useful. I sigh inwardly and begin to make my way back to the car when I hear a pair of tyres rev in the night, just metres away from where we are standing. One of the cars juts out of the line of waiting to be inspected vehicles and, without its headlights on, it tries to find a route of escape. I squint my eyes to catch a glimpse of it. It's hugely hard to make out without its headlights on, and it has immediately put every cop on the scene on alert. You must be hiding something if you're driving without lights. Who does that unless you're a crook or in a war zone?

A patrol car from Evanleigh turns its headlights onto the wannabe escapist and we see for the first time it is a black Landcruiser and my mouth falls open in shock. The Evanleigh car skids around expertly in front of it, blocking the escape route it was going to take in between the line of waiting cars and patrol cars. Tyres squeal and rocks fly underneath them as the brakes come on a little too late and the Landcruiser narrowly escapes collision with the Evanleigh patrol car. Instead it ploughs into the trunk of a thick red gum and the horn blares for a second as the drivers body is thrown against it and then back again onto the headrest as the impact of hitting the tree comes about.

Evan drops his folder in the rain as he runs to the four wheel drive, just twenty metres from where the three of us stand. Alex and I are right along side him, our legs grinding into life again and our arms pumping at our sides. Several uniforms already have the Landcruiser surrounded, and shine torches at the driver in the vehicle. As we get closer we can see who he is. If this is Victor Scanlon I was picturing a totally different man. This man is of slight build with greying hair shaved closely to his scalp and a rugged, tired looking face. How very wrong I was. Looks can be deceiving I suppose. If I'd passed this guy in the street I would never have picked him as the career criminal amongst us.

The uniforms knew all along that their target was a black Landcruiser, so they waste no time in yelling Scanlon his rights and hurling him out of the car. They know they have their man. But do we have what we're really after? I bolt to the car, my breathing fast and wavering, and my hands and fingers icy cold from the miserable weather surrounding us. They ache as I wrench at the handle to the back door of the four wheel drive and I bend back a nail or two painfully as I heave the door open wide.

"Lochie!" I screech into the darkness and the jumble of the back seat. I don't know why I call out his name – it's not like he can answer back with a "Mum!" or anything, but I tear through the carnage nonetheless, at the same time being acutely careful that I am not too rough with anything I come into contact with in fear that it could be a moving and breathing baby. He'll be able to smell me surely. He's always been able to do that. Cry out darling. Cry out if you're in here! My urgent checking of the backseat is accompanied by hiccupping wails that escape from my mouth as I search in vain for Lochie. I can see next to nothing as I lunge inside the car, feeling my way along the floor of the backseat, but coming in contact with very little. Where is he? I keep searching, feeling every inch of space in front of me, even though I can't see it. The constables shine their torches through the windows just moments later, aiding me in my search, but pretty soon it becomes clear he isn't here. But I can't tear myself away. He has to be!

"Amy!" I can hear Alex's shout behind me, and a second later he is trying to pull me away from the backseat, but I hold on for dear life, kicking out against Alex and struggling to stay partly inside the car, so that I can find Lochie. "Amy!" he shouts again, his voice almost drowned out by the pelting rain. "AMY!" he screams it this time and yanks me hard away from the car door. "He's not in there!" he yells as he finally succeeds in pulling me away from the car and onto a grassy clearing beside it. He has his arms around me, because I continue to struggle against his restraint, but I look into his eyes, and see the look there. He looks like he wants to shake me for going so crazy.

But I am inconsolable. I scream out words that can't be made out into his face as he keeps a tight grip on me. "Amy!" he pulls one hand up to swipe the wet hair from in my eyes as he holds me against him. "Babe…" he looks into my eyes with utter sadness. "…he's not here." And with that he pulls me to him in the rain and holds me as I weep into his chest as we fail again to find our son. Again. We failed again. How could we have still not found him? It hurts. Right in the pit of my stomach it hurts. And I can't stop crying and screaming as I realise again and again that Lochie is still not in my arms.

Alex holds me tight for several seconds before leading me gently back to the car. We trudge through the wet grass and back onto the bitumen of the road, leaving the young constables to clean up the mess I made and the destruction I left. They flit around in their bright white raincoats, shining like little beacons at sea, and I look up as two of them hurl Victor Scanlon towards a patrol car. He doesn't fight against their strong grips, rather he plods along between them, his hands cuffed behind his back, his shirt untucked and rain soaked and his face unshaven and dotted with the tell tale sores of an AIDS sufferer. As they lead him away, Alex and I stop and look at him as he is lit up from behind, like a cat caught in the headlights of an oncoming car on a dark street. He is the picture of a crook, but to my surprise not the picture of ugliness I imagined a man who would commit such a crime against my family to be. I can't tear my eyes away from him, and neither can Alex, but he at least keeps a tight grip on me to stop me from lunging at Scanlon like I did Jane Webster. We watch from a distance as he is lead away.

What happens next is a grief induced blur, but somehow, just half an hour later we are back at the station. Kelly drove us back to Mt Thomas, thoughtfully remaining silent the entire trip. Alex and I cowered together in the backseat, oblivious to anything else around us, and beginning to perhaps accept the possibly, even just the possibility, that we may never see Lochie again. The thought makes my blood run cold, and I walk in a daze into the station where I am met with a shocked Tom Croydon.

He walks straight over to us when he sees Alex and I enter, a frown creasing his worried face. "I really don't think you should be here," he sounds so deadly serious that I actually look up at him through my still tear filled eyes. He is looking stressed and shaking his head as he speaks. He decides to take the hard 'I'm the Boss' line with us. "I don't want you here when they bring him in," he shakes his head harder, defiant. "I don't want you here," he repeats, sterner this time.

I shrug my shoulders at him, and Alex does the same. It feels nice that tonight we are reading each others minds – of all nights, tonight is when we need this talent the most. I don't particularly want to see Scanlon anyway. The fight within me has died. It died the moment Alex tore me away from the backseat of Scanlon's car and my hands were empty. That's not to say I wouldn't punch his lights out if he and I were left in the same room, but I know that won't happen. Not tonight. Not when I still need to focus my attentions on finding Lochie.

Alex and I wander into the mess room and sit down mutely, somehow unable to tear our eyes away from each other. I know he is thinking the same thing I am. At the beginning of this nightmare, we thought we could get through this. We thought we'd be ok. But we've fought and yelled at each other and accused each other of shocking things. I never pictured us like this. But then I never pictured our lives without Lochie either. Still, I thought we could hold it together. I thought we'd be ok. But I can see it in his eyes right now – we're not ok. Because someone stole our son.

Five minutes later we can hear Evan leading him down the hallway. If I listen carefully I can predict an outcome. I can tell Evan's mood by the way he walks and slams things. He stomps down the hallway, occasionally shouting a "MOVE!" as he leads Scanlon to the interview room. He yanks open the door so hard that it slams back against the hallway wall, and I hear him stomp through the doorway and into the secluded interview room. He slams the door hard behind him.

Upon hearing the door slam, Alex can't help but squirm in his seat. The temptation is great, I give him that. This low life is right down the hall…and we're sitting here twiddling our thumbs? He gets up and walks calmly to the mess room door, stops as he goes to exit and turns around and looks at me. It's a look that says 'Well? Aren't you coming?' so strongly that I get up immediately to join him at the door. He takes my hand and walks ahead of me down the hallway. As we approach, Tom turns into the hallway from the other end, looking tired and hagged. It's no wonder – it's after 1am. He eyes us, silently telling us to stay in the hallway as he quietly enters the interview room.

Alex and I lean against the wall, unsure of what to do with ourselves. Why did we come in here? I don't want to see Scanlon, but I do want to be here when he reveals all. We lean heavily against the wall opposite the interview room door in wait. Alex's right knee bends and he puts his foot up against the wall, scraping the sole of his shoe against the brick work. The wait is agonising, and not just because of the time we have to wait. I stand beside him, my arms crossed against my chest and my head down, staring at the floor. My hair falls in front of my face, hiding me away from my surroundings and I don't push it behind my ear until the Boss emerges out of the interview room again several minutes later.

"I thought I told you two to go home," he frowns at us as he speaks, but I roll my eyes at him, the gesture explaining my answer perfectly. We've been at home on and off since this nightmare began and I've know learnt it's not the place to be. Too many memories, too much inactivity. We need to be here. The Boss looks wearily at us. Just as well I didn't say anything – chances are it would've been something horrifically rude. Alex and I heave ourselves off the wall, my spine groaning a bit as it straightens back up. But Tom holds his hands up. "We're a long way from finished, and you're not going in there." He is defiant, and holds up his hands defensively to prove his point.

Alex and I shrug our shoulders in unison again. I still don't feel like I can face this man – but I need to stand in the hallway and be prepared and ready if anything happens or any admissions are made. As Tom walks away back to his office, knowing he won't be able to budge us from our positions in the hallway, I hear Evan's voice begin to rise. He knows he can chew out Scanlon to the max without the Boss in the room to stop him. "Tell me where he is!" comes the booming voice of Evan Jones moments later. It makes the both of us jump - it is that loud. Evan's moving in for the kill. I know that tone of his voice.

Suddenly he laughs. An evil kind of chuckle that I can only just make out behind the closed door. But he's still shouting. Any moment now the Boss will come running. "Oh we've got you on so many charges that I'm not even going to waste that much of my day reading them all out to you!" he yells. I want to laugh, and ordinarily I would, but not today. Still, I realise how well I have taught Evan. Always put the fear of God into them. Gets results every time.

Looks like I know Tom just as well as I know Evan, because sure enough, here he comes, beckoned by Evan's bellowing. Looking harried, he marches into the interview room, bursting through the door. The bellowing ceases in an instant as Evan lowers his voice now that his superior is in the room. Seconds later he is admonished from the room, and emerges slowly, lingering inside the room for as long as he can manage. It is during this brief moment when the door is open that I hear Tom speaking sternly to Scanlon. "…You career criminals think you're untouchable…" he spits out the words like they taste bad. "You think you're above the law," he labels Scanlon harshly, sounding disgusted with who he is talking to. Exactly the way Alex and I feel about him. We have the whole world on our side. It brings some relief. Somewhere.

Evan stands silently in front of us, seemingly exhausted at the short time he has spent in the interview room with our crook. Alex and I lunge at him, eager for information. He seems not at all surprised – after all, we still haven't got Lochie back have we? "So?" Alex prompts eagerly, standing close by me. He grabs my hand down by our sides without even realising he's done it. He is focussing his attention so heavily on Evan and what he is about to say that he vacantly holds my hand tightly and strokes my fingers with the thumb of his hand as he holds it. I look down at our linked hands for a second and instantly feel a rush of hope. The power of touch – or so they say.

"He's admitting nothing," Evan reveals sadly. He looks so bummed that I forget about Lochie for the briefest of seconds. Evan wants to solve this case so badly. It could be the case of his career, and so far, it's not going well for him. He rubs his temples, tired. He hasn't slept, just like Alex and I. If this nightmare is ever over, and we have our son back, I think Evan might just qualify for godfather status.

"Nothing?" I ask, downhearted. I look up at him, suddenly not his mentor and guider anymore. In comparison to Evan right now, I am nothing. Just a worried, frantic mother. Not a cold hard detective. But Evan is. It's what I've moulded him into.

He looks at me sympathetically, as if wishing he had better news for us. "Nothing worth repeating anyway," he sighs, and looks back towards the closed interview room door for a moment, probably wondering what is going on behind it. "I'm sorry Amy."

The lump rises in my throat. Now that we have him – a pinch I thought would solve this whole thing – we still cannot get results. Frustrating isn't even the word. I move closer to Alex and put my arms around his torso, needing to hug something. He squeezes me tight, again unknowing of his actions. He still has eyes only for Evan. "I don't suppose you'd let me in there?" Alex asks stupidly, knowing full well the answer will be no.

Evan's eyes say yes but a no comes out of his mouth. Like so many times before, I admire the remarkable friendship Alex and Evan seem to have. But even Evan wouldn't allow Alex to enter that room. The repercussions could be dangerous. So he continues to keep his arms around me, and I remain the dwarfed anxious mother of the child missing.

Evan takes a deep breath, trying to stand taller. "But I'll get it out of him though, don't worry," he reassures us. With a pat on Alex's arm – the one that is holding me up – he returns to the interview room, and this time both he and Tom stay in there. Evan's voice rises again, and I even hear Tom's raise every now and then, as they continue to lean on Scanlon for the next hour. Alex and I move from room to room, lolling all over the furniture like bored school children stuck inside when it's raining. The waiting game is a terrible game to play. I still feel like I should be out there, but Alex has convinced me we can do nothing more until dawn. He is right. I know he is. Even if I don't like to admit it.

I sip my coffee quietly, one hand holding the cup and the other resting flat on the table with Alex's resting lightly on top. When we can hear someone coming down the hall towards the mess room where we sit, we both look up and towards the door. It's Susie.

"Hey guys," she greets us quietly before heading over to the bench to make herself a coffee. I study her momentarily and notice her chaotic hair and her tired face. Like the rest of us, the shift that began for Susie on Friday morning has still not ended. It's 2:30am though – I can't blame her for looking a little bedraggled. We all do. Alex and I go back to drinking our coffees in a vain attempt to stay awake. Obviously not a good enough attempt though, because Susie comes over and stands beside us once her coffee is made. "How…" she winces, not wanting to be intrusive. "…are you guys?" she asks, looking mostly at me. I'm the mother. Of course she'd be wondering how I'm faring. And I can't hide it. I know right now I'm a shadow of my former self. It hits me again how much I adore being a mother and how much it means to me as well as Alex. It took a lot to get to the 'having a baby' stage for Alex and I. Sometimes it felt like we'd never get there. But then we did. And we never deserved to have it taken from us so quickly.

I shrug my shoulders, fully expecting Alex to do the same, as he has been all night long, but to my surprise he actually speaks, answering for the both of us. "Oh you know," he replies quietly, visibly trying to control his emotions. I squeeze his hand to let him know I'm right here. He looks into my eyes, pulling the way I really feel out of me and telling it to Susie. "We're beginning to fade." He admits it so miserably it breaks my heart.

Susie can't seem to find the right words to answer him, and thinks for several moments before opening her mouth to speak. As the first word escapes from her mouth a piercing wail penetrates the entire building and instantly Alex and I are up and out of our chairs and racing for the door. I bang into Susie in my haste and almost crash to the ground, but Alex catches me by the wrist and pulls me upright. I stumble slightly as I fall through the doorway of the mess room and sprint down the hallway, Alex right beside me.

Whenever I want this hallway to be short so that I can get home quicker or escape walking along it with someone I feel uncomfortable with, it always is, but tonight, just the night I want it to be short, it feels never ending. We sprint down the corridor and crash through to the muster area. Matt is sitting at his desk, but he looks about ready to spring out of his chair, and is already half standing, his head cocked and his eyes alert at the sound of the wailing. Tom is at the door to his office and his gaze connects wildly with mine in a moment of hectic drama and he joins Alex and I as we burst through the muster room/reception door and out into the chilly confined space of reception.

As I breeze through the door, I almost don't want to look. I don't want Lochie to not be there. I don't want to get my hopes up that it was his wail that I heard. I want to close my eyes and never open them again until I can feel my little man in my arms again, curling up against me and banging his head against my shoulder. But of course, I keep my eyes open and burst through the door holding onto Alex's hand tighter than ever before. We stand riveted to the spot behind the counter, stopping so suddenly that Susie and Tom almost knock us over in their haste to get through the door too.

Alex and I stare, transfixed, at the figure before us, just metres away from the front desk. She hovers by the door, a tall and attractive woman in her forties at a guess. I'm sure she has the designer clothes back in her closet at home – she looks like the type who would wear them – but right now she's wearing worn out jeans and a thin black knit. Black ballet flats, scuffed greatly at the ends, cover her feet and her auburn hair is loose around her face. She carries Lochie awkwardly, like she thinks he will break. He's obviously not too comfortable with her either, because he continues to scream his lungs out, his face red and contorted, looking just like he did the night he was born.

The small space is silent for a moment, and nothing can be heard apart from Lochie's cries. She and I stare at each other, neither of us moving from where we are standing, until Tom breaks free from our huddle behind the counter and lifts the bench to make his way closer to the woman who is holding my son. But she can't even speak. We continue to stare at each other until Tom beckons Alex and I over to him. Numbly we approach them and my eyes suddenly well up with tears. One look at Alex's face shows the same. I look down at Lochie screaming his head off and choke back a sob, putting my hand over my mouth to stop myself from totally losing it. As it is I can't squeak out a single word.

Maybe she can just tell from the look in my eyes, because she hands him straight over to me, without a second glance at anyone else. Maybe it's obvious I'm this baby's mother. She steps over to Alex and I and as carefully as she can manage, hands over the screaming bundle to me, looking relieved to be making the exchange. I take him into my arms and hold him to my chest delicately as he continues to wail and squirm in the blankets. I can't tear my eyes away from him until Alex pulls me into a hug and we sandwich Lochie in between us gently as we thank whatever it was that made this woman return our little boy to us. Alex kisses my forehead and then strokes the soft mass of hair on Lochie's tiny head. I can tell it's been something he's been hanging out to do ever since Lochie was taken from us. Just to feel the soft baby hair across his fingertips again, after having the chance so brutally taken away from him.

And as grateful as we are that this woman has handed back over Lochie, we exit the reception area quickly, pushing past Matt and Susie, who still hover behind the counter. They dart out of our way helpfully and Matt holds the door to the muster room open for us. Alex, Lochie and I slip through it quietly, and walk quickly through the maze of desks and into my office, closing the door swiftly behind us. But we can't even sit down. We just stand behind the door and cry together out of relief that we have our son back. I can't quite believe it. Missing not even 48 hours, but it feels like we have been away from Lochie for a lifetime. I hold him tightly, vowing to never let him go ever again.

Alex wraps his arms around the both of us and we weep together as Lochie calms down the longer he remains in my arms with his Dad stroking the hair on his head. The nightmare is over.

Day breaks as we drive. The sun is rising slowly over the country side, bathing the sprawling bare paddocks in sunlight at last. It's so different to the past week where all we have had is rain. But I'm not watching the sun rising. I'm watching the little sleeping bundle in my arms. I am still so disbelieving that we have him back. Nothing could've prepared me for the feeling of losing my child. Nothing could've prepared me for the feeling of getting him back either. There were times when I thought we had lost the fight to get him back. But I can forget about all that now, because we have him back. I stroke the hair on his head again, and he stirs slightly in his slumber, nestling in closer to me as we sit in the backseat.

I haven't put him down since she handed him back to me. Even when we were asked into the Bosses office and told the reason for the kidnapping I didn't put him down. I could listen just fine to the story with a baby in my arms. Still, it was hard to comprehend what the Boss told us. It was a unique plan, to say the least. Yet still one doomed from the very beginning. He should never have gotten away with as much as he did though. I will forever try to hide how long it took us to get results with this case. It was a poor effort on my part. All I did was fall to pieces.

Scanlon knew he was approaching the end, and just like any other human being, he wanted to go out his own way. Understandable I suppose. Especially when you have a virus that is going to get you in the end, no matter what you do. So I could sort of understand why he did it. But I would've much preferred him to go with his original plan. He was ringing up that day to distract us. He was going to report a robbery in progress, then, whilst we were occupied with that he was going to pull his own robbery, take the stash, take his wife, and go and retire from career crime, and possibly live out his final days, happily and comfortably. Nevermind that money can't buy you happiness, but I could understand where he was coming from. Although I'd never tell anyone that. Scanlon still took my son.

Anyway. I was the one who answered the phone that day, and making a split second decision, he decided to ditch his robbery idea (probably wise, it would never have worked) and decided stealing a cops child would reap in much more than any robbery ever could. He camped himself outside the station, waiting for anybody to come out holding the baby he'd heard over the phone.

He was waiting a long time, but Lochie and I did eventually emerge, and we walked all the way back to the flat without a second thought. Little did I know someone was following us. My radar must've been well and truly down that day. As a detective I should've known I was being watched. I should've been able to feel it. Sense it. Know it was happening. But I was probably too tired. I still blame myself.

He stalked us all the way back to the flat, watched us enter and then he walked home content with the reassurance he now knew where we lived. He would strike the next day. It was a devious plan, and as Evan informed Alex and I what Scanlon was going to go through with, I shuddered inwardly, and had to hold Lochie even closer to me to stop me from shaking. Evan didn't say what Scanlon planned to do had he got away with it. We didn't need to know. We didn't even want to think about it. Scanlon was a desperate man. He thought he'd have the strength to pull this off. He got his drug on Thursday and it allowed him to put his Superman cape back - on so to speak. He thought he could do it. It gave him the confidence he would never normally have had. Funny to think now that it was a completely false sense of confidence – one he had fooled himself so heavily into believing. He now knows he was being given a placebo. I can only imagine him crashing down upon hearing that news. What a way to go. Such a false sense of hope. Probably the same sort of hope Alex and I held every time the phone rang whilst Lochie was missing.

Mrs Cloth Nappy – really Jackie Scanlon, the wife of our famous crook, stuck with him for life, always his cushion in any fall. She came to the station earlier because it was the last straw for her. She and Victor had never had children, and didn't particularly want them. She wasn't born to look after children – I was right when I thought she looked like the sort who wore designer clothes - and she didn't cope well when Victor dumped a three week old baby in her possession and just told her to go with the flow. I know we should consider ourselves lucky she couldn't go along with this final plan of Victor's. But I try not to think about it. All I can think about is the lost time we suffered at the hands of this husband and wife team, and how we need to make it up to Lochie, somehow, sometime. In the meantime, he cuddles into my arms intently, a frown creasing his tiny forehead as he struggles to burrow deeper into my hold and closer to my body. I can't take my eyes off him. Alex turns around to look at us from the front passenger seat and gives me a reassuring smile, the burden and stress of the last two days finally gone from his face.

Still, like on my own face, I can detect the sadness he feels. Neither of us ever realised just how awful it is for parents of snatched children. We could never fully understand because it had never happened to us. We were just the cops investigating the kidnapping. It was a world away from it actually happening to your own child. Nothing could've prepared us for that.

We don't feel safe in Mt Thomas right now. Sure, Scanlon has been caught, Jackie is in custody and we have Lochie back with us, but for a while there Scanlon was on the run, with Jackie, with our little boy. It still petrifies us to think about. So we've got a police escort all the way to Melbourne. It will be the Kirby's first meeting with their grandson. I can tell Alex can't help but play what if with this. What if we'd just gone to visit his parents earlier? What if we'd stayed in Melbourne for the birth and the weeks following it? None of this would ever have happened. But it did. I guess we just have to put it behind us now, and look for the positives. We have back the one thing that means more to Alex and I than we could ever say. And now he can meet his grandparents. It's awful to think, had things not turned out the way they did, that they might never have got to meet him. Alex and I might've lost Lochie. We might never have been able to see him grow up, kick a footy, go to school, get a girlfriend and grow into the spitting image of his sergeant father. What price can you put on that? It's the price of a life.

And I'm never gonna leave your side
And I'm never gonna leave your side again