‘Okay. So Brooke should be safe in there for a week or so. Get this—the cops reckon Santino’s been out boozing every night since his acquittal. Boozing and/or doing drugs. Apparently he can’t go near the bar he owns because people hassle him there. Rohan reckons he’s been hanging out at some other bar called Protozoa. What kind of name is that for a drinking establishment? Anyway, he’s in Protozoa, getting out of it, talking shit to strangers. Maybe he’ll do everyone a favour and stumble drunkenly in front of a bus.’

A week after John Santino was acquitted and three days after Brooke Lester’s baby was delivered by emergency caesarean, Paula drove straight from work to the Royal Women’s Hospital.

Walking through the foyer towards the bank of lifts, she recalled the times she’d been here to visit friends who’d had babies. Cameron and Poppy were both born here.

It was half past seven, towards the end of visiting hours, so the lifts were busy with people heading back down to ground level to leave the building. Paula pressed the button for the floor she figured she would be most likely to find Brooke Lester. She was carrying her medical bag with the stethoscope poking out through the opening. People were more inclined to trust a doctor, more inclined to confide in you.

She told herself she was only there to assure herself Brooke was safe and well, without disturbing the woman.

The lift dinged and a family group stepped out, loaded up with stuffed toys and helium balloons proclaiming It’s a boy! Paula exchanged a cheerful smile with them. The maternity hospital was such a happy place. Of course, on any given day, there would be a few unfortunate people dealing with a loss or anxiety about a sick newborn or some other painful complication, but for almost everyone, it was a happy place.

When she emerged from the lift on the postnatal floor, there was a flurry of activity in the corridor. Nurses were rushing about, a couple of them running, stopping for quick consultations with each other before dashing off.

One of the nurses turned to Paula with a harried smile. ‘Every baby in Sydney decided to be born in the last three hours!’ She didn’t look unhappy about it, just busy and distracted.

Paula smiled back and called, ‘Good luck!’ before the nurse hurried away.

Paula wasn’t sure Brooke was on this floor and she had no idea which room she might be in. Better not to ask at the nurses’ station—they might wonder who she was and it would arouse suspicion. And anyway, the one staff member behind the desk was preoccupied, juggling several phone calls.