Not the bruising this time but a hangover. She felt better than she should, though. Safety was the best painkiller she’d had all week. ‘He’s not the sharpest tool in the shed,’ Rachel said through the phone speaker. She sounded different this morning, less sensibly cop-like, more upbeat and drywitted. Last night’s call had been brief. A woman had phoned triple-0 after seeing someone lurking in a car park near Jamestown. Uniformed officers chased down a man dressed in black with a balaclava. He fitted the physical description Liv had given and Rachel had rung as soon as she heard. Liv answered her follow-up call as she turned out of the driveway. ‘By the way, I apologise for not believing in your black eye theory,’ Rachel said. ‘He’s got a fading shiner and the remains of another big bruise on his upper right thigh from your car key. You pack a mean punch, Ms Prescott.’ She laughed and Liv joined her.
