Bloodborn Read Online Free PDF Page B

scene.”
    Anya swallowed. If Homicide were already involved, someone had been killed, or this victim wasn’t expected to live. It was unfair to expect a novice doctor to cope with the examination.
    “All right.” Sleep, the bookshelf and groceries could wait. “I’m on my way.”
    “Thanks, Doc, I’ve already sent someone from the squad to pick you up.”
    The line went dead.
    Anya forgot the tea. No time for a shower; upstairs she slipped into fresh underwear, dark jeans and a navy shirt, then scraped her hair into a ponytail with her fingers, securing it with an elastic band.
    She heard a knock on the front door. A detective constable introduced himself as Shaun Wheeler and already had the car’s passenger door open and the engine running. She slung a leather satchel over her shoulder, collected her doctor’s bag and slipped her feet into the damp court shoes still positioned by the door.
    “I need to check the windows,” she called, but the constable was back in the driver’s seat.
    She went back to the lounge room and clicked on the television. It would sound as though someone was home, in case anyone had noticed that the house had recently been empty.
    In the car, the detective said little apart from telling her he had driven Bevan Hart home after he had given his statement at the station yesterday. Anya could picture the broken man and his estranged wife and wished things could have been different.
    “What can you tell me about the victim we’re seeing?” she asked, keen to change the subject and prepare for the task ahead.
    “Sorry, all I know is that I have to get you to the emergency department—p-p-pronto.”
    The constable’s stuttering might have explained why he was loathe to engage in conversation. Besides, a junior constable may not have been privy to any details about the case, or have been warned not to divulge confidential details by his superiors.
    Traffic slowed when a delivery truck parked in one of two lanes on Victoria Road. Wheeler opened his window and put the blue flashing light on the car’s roof. With the siren blaring, they crossed the median strip and bypassed the obstruction.
    In record time, Shaun Wheeler delivered Anya to the casualty entrance; the same double doors through which she had begun and ended numerable shifts during her internship and residency.
    Homicide detective Liz Gould paced inside, talking on her mobile. Last Anya heard, she had been on maternity leave. Her presence was reassuring. A kind, warm manner complemented Kate Farrer’s more brash approach. Hayden Richards stood nearby.
    In the reception area a uniformed officer sat with a middle-aged man on plastic chairs that, like everything that could possibly be stolen, were bolted to the floor. The man glanced up at Anya with partially raised eyebrows, almost pleading for something. She had seen that look many times before in people desperate for the smallest bit of hope.
    The waiting room was almost empty. Staff would be handing over soon. A cleaner whirred a polisher across the floor, preparing for the daily onslaught that made every day in this place feel like Groundhog day.
    The place looked exactly the same. Only the familiar blue vinyl chairs lining the walls now had holes in the padded armrests with yellow foam poking through. So much for prioritization of health care, she thought.
    Liz hung up and led Anya to a small examination room, often used for breaking bad news to relatives. Neither woman sat.
    “Victim’s name is Sophie Goodwin. Fourteen years old. She was found about an hour ago on the roadside, with serious stab wounds to her neck, chest and stomach. The paramedics brought her in a few minutes ago.”
    Anya knew that was longer to deliver an acute trauma patient than the protocols permitted. “What took them so long?”
    Liz shrugged her shoulders. “They had to protect her neck, they said.”
    The detective spoke without emotion, simply stating the facts. But her eyes concentrated on