Now that I had a moment to gather my thoughts, I considered what had happened. Jack was dangerous but also profoundly stupid taking me on a second time. Arrogance and stupidity were a bad mix. I leaned my head back against the headrest. What should I do now? I was the cop investigating Jack for potentially drugging my drink. I had arrested him. He’d accused me in court of attacking him because I had refused his advances, and now he had been injured by my dog. God only knew what spin he would put on this encounter. I needed to strategise. Assuming the worst, Jack would call this an unprovoked attack by my dog—or, worse, he would say I had ordered my dog to attack him. I unzipped my jacket pocket, pulled out my phone and dialled Pip’s number.

‘Have you got a moment to talk?’ I asked as soon as she answered.

‘Sure.’ Pip sounded like she was in a cafe.

I told her what had transpired with Jack. When I got to the bit about him grabbing my throat, she sucked in a breath and I had to assure her that I was okay. Pip, knowing how I felt about Wheels, asked if I was comfortable reporting the incident to him.

‘He won’t take this well.’

She had an alternative. Turned out Pip was good mates with the local divisional district inspector—the DDI. ‘Take it straight to her,’ she advised. ‘Get your throat checked out by a doctor. Photograph any marks. Write up a report of the incident. I’ll have my staff officer call the DDI and let her know to expect your report. Are you still in the car park?’

I looked over in the direction of the path. ‘Yep. He hasn’t emerged yet.’

‘Give it a couple of minutes and then call it in if he doesn’t,’ said Pip. ‘Duty of care applies to arseholes as well.’ She ended the call.

I watched the path until finally I saw a figure blinking in and out of view through the trees. It was resignation rather than relief I felt, and I didn’t want to be around for Round 2. I turned the engine on and was gone before he made it to the car park.

CHAPTER 25: THE WISHING POOL

CHAPTER 25

THE WISHING POOL

I parked in the visitor’s car park at the front of the police station and headed in the front door clutching a certificate from Doc Caldicott, who had noted and photographed red marks and the beginning of bruising on my neck where Jack had grabbed me. Next, I needed to write my statement for the DDI. Randall was on the front counter and grinned like a child when we appeared. The grin was for Waffles, not me.