That morning, in Lewis's room, Laura Hobson worked quietly, shaving what by then was five days' growth of beard from his face. He was still unconscious despite the reduced sedation. When she finished, she combed his hair, and checked to make sure the nurses and attendants had properly performed their tasks. When she was nearly done, she heard a commotion in the hallway, and she hurried to finish. But just as she turned to leave, the door opened and a young man entered. He held an automatic pistol with a silencer, and he raised it despite his obvious surprise at finding her there.

"Guess I'll have to get rid of you first. At least, I know he won't call for help." He leveled the gun.

Hathaway burst into the room, with PCs Garfield, Paulson, and Lito right behind him. David Harvey whirled, but he realized his plan for stealth had failed and he was outnumbered. Before he could decide what to do, Hathaway strode over and deftly took the gun from his hand.

The younger man did not resist. Instead, he started to laugh, big and full. As Garfield cuffed him, he bellowed with triumph. "Look at him. It's better this way. Killing him would be doing him a favor." He sneered at Hathaway.

"David Harvey, I'm arresting you for the attempted murder of Detective Inspector Robert Lewis." He motioned to Garfield. "Caution him." Then he turned to see if Laura was alright.

She had stepped up next to him, and now she touched his arm, but she was looking toward the bed. "James." He followed her glance.

Lewis's eyes were open, fixed directly on Hathaway.

Garfield picked up on the situation. "Lito and I can get this bloke into custody, Sarge." He and the other officers pushed their captive from the room.

"I'll get some water." Laura hurried from the room, leaving just Lewis and Hathaway.

The injured man seemed to be trying to say something, but no sound came out.

"Sir, just shake your head 'yes' or 'no,' okay?"

Yes.

"Do you remember me?"

Ghost of a smile. Yes.

"Do you remember getting shot?"

Yes.

"That was Sunday. This is Wednesday. It was David Harvey, remember him? He shot Nicky Turnbull."

Yes.

Laura returned with a cup of water and a straw and held it so Lewis could drink. Then he experimentally cleared his throat.

"Why—" he croaked. He took another drink and cleared his throat again. "Why can't I feel my legs?"

Laura and Hathaway exchanged glances.

"Doctor? What happened to me?"

"It might be just temporary. I'll see if I can find Doctor LaPeer." She practically fled from the room.

Hathaway could see an animal panic rising in Lewis's eyes. His voice was still scratchy, but the fear in it was clear. "And if it's not temporary, then what? What, Hathaway? Am I paralyzed? Spending the rest of me life in a sodding wheelchair?" He was subconsciously shaking his head. No, no, no, no.

"They can't tell yet, Sir. Do you want me to call Lynn, have her come down? She was here earlier but had to go back."

"NO!" He tried to collect himself. "No, I'll call her." He looked away. "Hathaway, I want you to go, too."

"Sir . . ."

But Lewis had closed his eyes, as if that would shut out the world.

* * *