‘Aww … he gave me one of those—y’know …’ He flapped his hand at the sheaf of test forms on the desk. ‘I hate those pathology joints. Too much waiting. I’m busy.’

‘Well, why don’t I just take some blood right now?’

Paula usually sent patients off to one of the private pathology places to have blood drawn, but sometimes she did the simple stuff herself in the consulting room, on the spot. With certain patients, reluctant or unreliable ones, it was the safest way to ensure proper follow-up. As she suggested this solution to Ferguson, Paula was observing herself, hearing herself be the responsible doctor again. Her habits of mind were so strong, feeling the obligation to offer good care even to this vile man.

‘It would only take a few minutes and then it’s done,’ she added.

She saw him wince.

‘I’m not big on needles.’

A needle phobia. Paula felt a surge of vengeful anticipation—it would be satisfying to see this man squirm for a moment. ‘Ah, right. Well, I find that when a patient is scared of needles, it helps if—’

‘I’m not scared,’ he shot back. ‘Just not a fan. I mean, who in their right mind likes getting stuck with needles?’

Paula pressed her lips together in a forgery of a sympathetic smile.

Ferguson scrambled to regain some dignified ground. ‘It’s a physiology thing. I come over faint. My blood pressure or some issue.’

‘That can happen,’ Paula said. ‘But if you lie down flat, you’ll be fine.’

She indicated the examination bed he could lie on. Ferguson waggled his head to register his doubt, but he climbed onto the bed.

Paula immediately regretted that she’d persuaded him to accept follow-up tests. Why had she pushed it? She should’ve let him walk his loathsome carcass out of the consulting room with his hypertension buzzing and his dodgy heart ticking inside him like a fucking time bomb. Without proper treatment, there was some hope this guy might keel over and die. Of course, with or without treatment, there was a strong chance he would survive long enough to keep tormenting Rochelle for years. And a chance he would kill her one day very soon.

While Paula printed off ID labels and stuck them on the blood sample vials, Ferguson stretched out on the bed, his needle phobia making him run off at the mouth even more.

‘I hope Brody isn’t a brat when he comes in here,’ he said.

‘No, always beautifully behaved,’ Paula responded.