Ava sprung across the space between them, screaming, grabbing at his right foot before it could slip out, wrenching her shoulder painfully. The weight of him dragged her body upwards. She used her legs to brace herself either side of the window, slamming her head painfully against the wall.

Rune Maclure smashed against the outside wall and window, cawing furiously, kicking Ava’s face with his free left foot, dangling perilously head down and flapping his arms maniacally.

Then a second pair of hands reduced Ava’s burden, and a third, a fourth. Bodies filled the room. There were cries for stretchers and medics. Someone told Ava to release her grip on Maclure’s leg and she did so gratefully, wondering why she couldn’t use her right arm and why she was being slowly lowered to the floor.

The paramedics took over. Ava could see an oxygen mask being fitted over the top of Janet’s face and someone else was performing CPR on the man on the floor. Lance Proudfoot, she realised – he’d phoned her earlier and she’d been too busy to return his call. Then several people were holding her and telling her to brace. The pain finally registered in her upper body, and a man’s voice was counting to three and telling her it would all be all right in a moment. Her body was being pulled apart. The pain was blinding, almost surreal. Everything faded out of focus and she could hear a woman screech. In the few seconds before her world reassembled, she realised the screech had been her own.

‘It’s back in,’ a man told her. ‘It’ll be sore but you’re going to be fine now. You’ll need to rest it and take anti-inflammatory painkillers.’

Ava sat up and allowed a sling to be fitted over her previously dislocated arm.

‘Will they live?’ she asked, looking across the room to Janet Monroe and Lance Proudfoot.

She had no idea what the journalist was doing there or how he’d been a step ahead of them, but at least someone had been there with Janet and for that she would always be grateful. Lance Proudfoot had a habit of being in the wrong place in the middle of the worst kind of police operation.

‘Janet’s in better shape than the man. They’re en route to the hospital now. We have an air ambulance on its way,’ Tripp said, appearing at her side and dismissing the other officers.

Rune Maclure had been lowered in through the window and was pinned on the floor, still making a bizarre, high-pitched animal noise deep in his throat.

‘Help me stand up,’ Ava told Tripp, keeping their backs against the wall as Maclure was handcuffed and removed from the flat.

‘Are you okay? Your arm was badly dislocated. You’ll be dizzy …’

Ava ignored his concerns.