Page 79 of King’s Ransom

Garrett himself was far more modest. With his injured left arm in a sling, he said he’d just been doing his job and thanked ‘the FBI, the NYPD and a bunch of other brave and smart people’ for contributing to a long and difficult day.

It was a nice thing to say but still, to the viewers watching at home, you’d have never known any other detectives—including me—had been there.

I didn’t care.

I only cared about Audrey.

More hours passed.

The small group of patients and families in the waiting room thinned out until it was only Heidi, Bill and me there.

At midnight, Bill and Heidi headed off to the motel to get some sleep.

And as the TV played late into the night—replaying footage of Aristo King, his penthouse, and the interviews with Hooper and Garrett—I fell asleep in my plastic seat.

I was woken by a woman’s voice.

‘This is him. He’s been here all night waiting for news.’

Two people stood over me: a doctor and a female nurse.

I sat up.

‘How is she?’ I asked quickly. ‘Is Audrey all right?’

‘Agent Mills is going to be okay,’ the doctor said. ‘The bullet went right through, but it nicked her spleen which made things pretty hairy for a while. We’ve put her in an induced coma while she recovers.’

‘Can I see her?’

‘You’re her husband? Her partner?’ the doctor asked.

‘Boyfriend.’

He and the nurse exchanged looks.

(I’d actually witnessed this kind of thing before. Modern relationships involving unmarried partners didn’t fit well with traditional hospital visiting rules about ‘family members only’. It was particularly difficult for gay couples.)

‘It’s five a.m., Brian. He’s been here all night,’ the nurse said. ‘Hasn’t moved.’

The doctor pursed his lips.

Then he said, ‘Come on. This way.’

I was led down a back corridor to a recovery room.

Two armed cops stood guard by the door.

A young FBI agent in a (cheap) suit, with his badge flipped over the breast pocket, sat in a chair across from them, scrolling on his phone.

Through the door, I could see Audrey lying in a bed, hooked up to all manner of hoses, IVs and a breathing tube.

Her eyes were closed.

A heart monitor beeped softly.

Guided by the nice nurse, I was making to step into the room when the FBI guy sprang up and the two cops blocked the door.

‘Whoa, whoa, no-one goes in there,’ the FBI guy said. ‘Especially you.’