A trio of emergency staff helped him transfer Erin to a gurney. She was dispatched to a trauma wing, and the nurse who’d been waiting at the door asked Vincent what had happened. He gave her the story in brief terms, and the address of the house out on Old Stage Coach Road. She told him with a tight smile she would let him know when there was news on Erin’s condition. A prognosis at this stage was difficult, but clearly she had lost a lot of blood. And that was it. Another nurse took them to a waiting area, and told them to sit. The police would be here soon.

Vincent moved the shot-up Range Rover over to the parking lot, and then went back and sat with Forsyth in the waiting area. Beyond a set of automatic doors, the nurse who’d greeted them was making a call on a wall-mounted phone. Every so often the doors parted to admit someone, and Vincent would catch a soundbite of the story he’d just told.

He tried to think about something other than Erin.

Detail. Think about detail. It had taken them—how long? Call it twelve minutes from the house to the hospital. Average speed maybe sixty. So somewhere between ten and fifteen miles, from the house to the centre of town. The GPS would know precisely, but it was worth the exercise in thinking. He’d last seen Gutierrez on foot, heading toward the house, which meant away from where he’d stashed the Prius. Maybe he’d intended to take one of the other cars, but Vincent doubted it. He might not have known that they were rushing Erin to the hospital. He wouldn’t have wanted an ambush on a narrow dead-end road. Safest to lose the assault rifle and get out of there on foot. Twelve miles, but it was doable, and he could have taken water from the house. He’d be worried about K-9 units, but dogs were easier than armed police. So then it became a question of how he would leave town.

Vincent checked his phone, but the battery was dead. He turned to Forsyth. He had his head in his hands.

‘Wayne.’

Forsyth looked up at him.

Vincent said, ‘Where’s your phone?’

Forsyth seemed to look through him. Then he said, ‘You left him there.’

‘He was dead. Leo was dead. He took a bullet through the centre of his chest.’

Forsyth shook his head. ‘You don’t know that for sure. You could’ve saved him. You saved her, you could’ve saved him, too.’

Vincent said, ‘We didn’t have time. If we went out there to help him, we would’ve been killed.’

His head went back in his hands.

Vincent said, ‘I just saved your life. You understand that?’

Forsyth’s head came up, but his gaze stayed on the floor.

‘Hey, look at me.’

Forsyth looked at him.