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departure. Hastily, Sophy withdrew the offending limb, and tucked it under the bedcovers for good measure. She was obviously going into belated psychiatric shock.
     
    “Hell.” Mick sounded disgusted, but his derision was evidently self-directed so she didn’t bother to take offense. “No. I was going to leave that for you at the hotel reception, but I wanted to have a word with you about your witness statement.”
     
    Oh. Well, that – ought to be reassuring. She supposed.
     
    The impersonal security guard was back, having sent the more approachable man away in disgrace, probably to receive a stern lecture on correct conduct with bedridden witnesses.
     
    “Was it really a bomb?” Sophy asked, just as another voice shrieked in atonal horror, “Oh my God, you would not believe the size of his – ”
     
    She almost had another asthma attack on the spot. Hastily, she snatched up the remote and turned off the forgotten TV. And proceeded to will away the heat in her cheeks through sheer Jedi mind power.
     
    Mick cleared his throat and earned her eternal gratitude by merely continuing, “It was a minimal-impact explosive device, yes.”
     
    So in normal-people terms, a bomb.
     
    “Thanks to your information, we were able to locate the device and bring in an expert team to diffuse the situation. The subject of your sketch was identified as Maria Harper, the wife of the man we apprehended at the scene, William Darvie. She was arrested late this afternoon.”
     
    “Do you know why they did it?” Sophy asked, taking that in.
     
    Mick made a non-committal noise in the back of his throat.
     
    “I don’t have all the information as to motive as yet. I understand that the couple have a past connection to an early and unsuccessful Ryland business venture. To a certain extent, the whys and wherefores are not our concern. Once we’ve ascertained that the suspects are not likely to be a future threat to Ryland Curry, the matter will rest in the hands of the New Zealand police. At the moment, both Darvie and Harper are in custody and they seem to have acted without accomplices.”
     
    “So they, what, lost money on a Ryland investment, brooded about it for years and then peevishly decided to blow up the travelling contents of William Ryland’s living room?”
     
    He shrugged, and adjusted his chair to avoid taking a hit of late sunshine directly in the eyes.
     
    “People do insane shit for inadequate reasons all the time.”
     
    Which, when she thought about it, ought to be adopted as the official tagline of the Ministry of Justice. It said it all and did so with style.
     
    Her oddly light-hearted mood took a nosedive when he went on, “You’ll probably be called to testify in court, since you can positively identify Harper and place her at the scene.” Mick paused at the look on her face. “Is that going to be a problem?”
     
    Yes.
     
    “No,” said Sophy firmly. She wasn’t a complete weakling, for God’s sake. Every minute of evidence to the contrary on this particular day. “It won’t.”
     
    Mick reached out and briefly squeezed her free hand, igniting a thread of memory from the last minutes in the hotel. She resisted the compulsion to squeeze back.
     
    “It won’t be a big deal.” His voice was calm and reassuring, the competent, practiced tones of one used to dealing with outbursts of panic and stress. “Nothing like the dramatic courtroom scenes you see on TV. It’ll be dull as hell and you’ll spend most of the time in a waiting room. Take your sketchbook.”
     
    He gave her a flashing grin, a proper smile, teeth and everything, and God, yes, there were dimples. Plural.
     
    She placed sole and entire blame on those dimples for the loss of her remaining wits.
     
    “Do you think… Would you possibly… Would you please sit for me?”
     
    The impulsive question echoed into an appalled silence.
     
    ***
     
    It was a moment before Mick’s intellect, floundering under the siege