In the meantime Wing Lok had been treated for a broken tibia and collarbone and was not likely to harm anybody new for a couple of months. I had also been treated to a torrent of verbal abuse from a large Jamaican nurse who had called the department to protest my brutality. On the face of it she was right, a six-foot-one storm trooper beating a defenseless little man. But she hadn't seen Lok kicking that coffee table out of my hands and knocking me colder than mutton with a casual backhand. The supersnoopers looked in on him first, telling the uniformed man not to leave the room until relieved by another policeman, and then came to find me. There is nowhere private to chat in Emergency at Toronto General, casualties are coming and going all day and night. So they asked the sister if they could speak to me in the chapel. I guess she was a good Catholic, she gave permission as long as nobody used any bad language. We sat down in two of the pews, the detectives behind me so that I had to turn to speak to them.
