Porter skidded to a halt, looking down, registering Anderson slumped, unmoving, then up, scanning the room for potential threat. Empty.

‘Jesus, Anderson, what did you do?’

He crouched beside him, pressing two fingers to his neck for a pulse, taking in the scene as he waited for the familiar thud from the carotid. Papers had been scattered from the desk like oversized confetti. Anderson’s once white shirt, now stained red like he’d spilt a bottle of wine down the front. Blood pooling on the floor in the V-shape of his legs, splayed out in front of him. Anderson had stuffed his left hand inside his shirt, a futile attempt to stem the flow that still ebbed weakly from the angry gashes the knife had made.

The fact that there was still a flow registered before Porter actually felt the pulse, weak as it was, more of a flutter than a beat. He looked around for something to use, and settled on his tie, sliding the knot part way down and off over his head. He bunched it up and pressed it to the wound. He felt Anderson flinch as he pushed.

‘C’mon. Eyes open. Who did this to you? Where is Bolton?’

Anderson’s eyelids yoyo’d up and down as he tried to focus. When he spoke it was barely a whisper. ‘Locke. He’s … they … gone … Locke.’

‘Bolton,’ said Porter, shaking his head. ‘Locke can wait. We’re here for Bolton. Where did he go?’

‘He’s here,’ said Anderson, hair matted to the sweat on his forehead. ‘Locke. He was … here.’ His eyelids fluttered back down.

Porter used his free hand to gently nudge Anderson’s cheek. ‘Come on, mate. Talk to me. What happened?’

Anderson moved his head slowly back and forward, coughing with the effort.

‘I tried … tried to arrest him. Didn’t work out so good.’ Anderson tried to smile but wore it more like a grimace.

Porter grabbed his handset, palm slick with sweat from Anderson’s face, and barked his message to the team.

‘This is Porter. Bolton confirmed on site. Be advised Locke is with him. Repeat Locke is with him. I want eyes on him ASAP, but Bolton is still the target. I need an ambulance here, now. Officer down.’

Anderson’s head rolled slowly to one side, a stalactite of spittle dangling from his lip. Porter looked around frantically. He couldn’t leave him here alone, but he was itching to get back in the chase.

‘Dawson, here, take over,’ he shouted to one of the officers who had caught up with him. ‘Hold this here till the paramedics arrive.’