Deacon hawks and spits on my floor. ‘Blood. I bit my tongue. I’m going to track that crazy bitch down, no doubt about that.’

‘It was because of Faber, right? For some reason she didn’t want Faber investigated.’

‘I don’t care where she hides. Nobody takes a swing at Ronelle Deacon and gets away with it’

I clap my hands triumphantly. ‘Ronelle! Well hello, Ronelle.’

Deacon scowls, disgusted. ‘People call me Ronnie. Good for the straights and the gays.’

I nod. ‘Ronnie. Yeah, that would work. Cute or butch, depends on how you look at it.’ I dry my head gingerly, zip my bag and throw it over my shoulder. ‘Well, Ronnie, you ready to cooperate?’

‘You are a wanted man, McEvoy. Surrender yourself into my custody and I’ll see what I can do.’

‘Come on. You got a body in the trunk.’

‘You’re the only one who knows that. And you’re a fucking knife killer. What kind of credibility do you have? If I was as bent as Goran used to be, I bet I could come up with a scenario where you killed my partner and held me captive.’

I am not liking the sound of that, or the glint in Deacon’s eyes when she says it.

‘I think I’ll turn you in and take my chances.’

Deacon shakes her head. ‘I don’t believe you. One of those bullets in Goran’s shoulder is yours. Maybe you killed Connie DeLyne, then you shot down the investigating officer. I bet my superiors would go for that.’

She’s right. So I say: ‘Ronnie, when you’re right, you’re right.’

‘You got it, Daniel. All I need to do is put a bullet in your brain and then cry at Goran’s funeral.’

She sneers Daniel like it’s a fake name that might fool others but it won’t fool Ronelle Deacon.

‘You, cry? I’d pay money to see that.’

‘You already saw it, asshole.’

The lady is right again. Last night, coming in the door, there were tears on Deacon’s cheeks.

‘You’re not going to kill me, Ronnie.’

She shrugs. ‘Not without a gun. Unless you want to fight like a man.’

‘I gave up being macho for New Year’s. Bad for my health.’

‘Pussy.’

‘No thanks.’

I turn my back on the exchange because it’s giving me a headache and duck into the bathroom to use the facilities and check my hat. I talk while I work.

‘Here’s the plan, Ronnie. I’m going to stash your car somewhere safe. You know, the one with the dead detective covered in trace in the trunk. I’m also taking your blouse with the blood spatter that I’m sure the forensics guys can read like a book. Then I’m coming back here and we can work this out. You want a career and I want you to have a career.’