‘Gone. Shooting Jennifer had been a diversion, and it worked. Porter used it to move fast. The penthouse had a safe room and escape route that weren’t on the building plans we had. They got free and clear, and they’re still out there.’
‘So McCord shot his own colleague to let the criminal get away.’
‘It seemed that way.’ Moira exhales hard. ‘I tried to stem the bleeding, but the bullet hit an artery, there was no hope. McCord ran to the balcony. He knew armed response would be arriving any moment, and maybe he thought he could get away somehow, but . . .’ Her hands begin to tremble.
Rick reaches out and touches her arm.
‘I had so many questions, but mainly I wanted to know why he did it. But I didn’t get the chance. McCord took a dive off the balcony. It was twenty-four storeys up.’ Moira remembers the words he’d muttered on the balcony – something to do with not trusting – and the way he had looked in that last moment before he jumped. It was as if he wanted to tell her something but felt he couldn’t. She clenches her fists. Stops her hands trembling. He should have told her. She needed to know. Moira looks back at Rick. ‘He was dead the minute he hit the pavement. Jennifer bled out on the white sofa in the penthouse. Half my team was dead in less than three minutes, start to finish.’ She looks down. Clasps her fingers together and squeezes. ‘Then a smoke grenade went off and the fire alarm started blaring out. The armed response team stormed in and it was chaos. My eyes were burning. My hands were covered in Jennifer’s blood from trying to stop her bleeding.’ Moira looks down at her hands, remembering the blood. Then meets Rick’s gaze again. ‘That’s when I had the first panic attack.’
Rick lets out a long whistle. ‘That’s heavy. You get any help afterwards?’
She looks away. ‘I saw the doc for a while. Tried to carry on, thinking I’d get past it and be able to get back on the street again. Didn’t happen though. Panic attacks kept coming. I knew I’d be a liability, and I couldn’t risk putting colleagues in danger. I already had enough blood on my hands so . . .’
‘Hey, look at me.’
She raises her gaze to meet Rick’s.
He’s looking at her all intense. ‘What McCord did, that isn’t on you.’
‘It is. I put him on the team. I took Jennifer up there.’
‘No, he’d been turned, and he was forced to choose a side. That was his choice.’
‘He chose the wrong one.’
‘For sure,’ says Rick. ‘And it was him that chose it, not you.’
‘My whole career I tried not to have favourites, but there’s always some people you connect with more than the rest. McCord was one of those people for me. He was a young guy, like a son I guess, and I was like his mentor. We worked together for four years. He was smart and talented. Quick to learn.’
‘You trusted him.’ It’s not a question; Rick’s stating the fact.
‘But I shouldn’t have.’ Moira looks down at her hands. ‘It made me blind. I should have seen what was going on with McCord – that he’d been turned. If I had, our colleague, Jennifer, would still be alive.’
‘You can’t know everything.’
Moira glares at him. ‘I was their DCI, it was my job to know everything.’
‘What I mean is, you’re only human.’ Rick’s tone is calm, amiable. ‘If this McCord guy was as smart as you’re saying, he could have hidden his true alliances from you. You’re a good person, and you were a great cop.’
Moira softens her expression. ‘How do you know that?’
‘I just do. We’ve worked together these past few days, and I’ve seen how you operate. The blood of your colleague isn’t on your hands, it’s on McCord’s and whoever in that gang that turned him.’