CHAPTER ONE

      THE picture was a long way from being pretty.

      Travelling too fast to negotiate the bend in the road, the late-model, four-wheel-drive’s left front wheel had left the tarmac and touched the loose shingle on the verge. A hard jerk to the right on the steering-wheel had over-corrected the error and the vehicle had begun to yaw, slipping sideways whilst still hurtling forward. The height and weight of the model had contributed to the disaster and the vehicle had tipped and then rolled. It had flipped once…twice…three times before slamming to a halt against a tree. The image was a violent one of a scarred landscape, twisted metal and potentially fatal injuries to those unfortunate enough to be inside the vehicle.

      ‘A local resident heard the impact and went to investigate.’ Senior Constable Owen Hawkins turned his gaze away from the image being projected onto the large screen. ‘He then dialled triple-one and alerted the emergency services.’

      Representatives of two arms of those emergency services, fire and ambulance, were listening intently to Officer Hawkins.

      ‘The information given to the regional control centre was enough to activate the police department’s Serious Crash Squad, i.e. myself and my partner, Cam.’

      Ex-partner. Hawk still couldn’t believe that such a tight team could have been ripped apart so easily. It hadn’t been entirely her fault, of course, but it was easy to assign blame when one’s life was getting mucked around with to this extent. Having someone other than his best mate to direct his frustration at had helped him cope over the last week or two, but right now it wasn’t going to aid his current brief of improving the liaison between the SCS and other emergency services.

      ‘What makes this a serious crash?’ Owen Hawkins threw the question into the group of a dozen or so fire officers and paramedics without targeting anyone in particular.

      ‘Vehicular rollover,’ a male paramedic offered.

      ‘Trapped occupants,’ a fire officer added.

      ‘High-speed impact.’ The suggestion came from the only female present in the room, and Hawk was forced to acknowledge her in the brief silence that followed.

      ‘How can you determine the speed?’ He hadn’t meant his tone to be quite so challenging. He didn’t have anything against female paramedics. He didn’t have anything against women in general. Hell, he liked women. It was just their capacity to turn lives upside down that he didn’t trust. He’d got his life just the way he wanted it, thanks very much, and now—thanks to one, no, two women, the wheels were falling off in a big way.

      ‘It’s a rural road,’ the woman responded. ‘With an open-road speed limit. The vehicle was also travelling downhill into the bend.’

      ‘Doesn’t mean he hadn’t slowed down.’ Hawk stared back at the rather mousy-looking, bespectacled paramedic. She had a sweet smile so he didn’t need to worry if he was coming across as being intimidating here: one of the men present would leap in to rescue her any second now.

      To his surprise, however, the paramedic was not so easily silenced.

      ‘The vehicle has a deformity greater than half a metre. There is compartment intrusion of more than thirty centimetres thanks to that tree crushing the driver’s door. The front windscreen has a star pattern that was probably made by the driver’s head. I’d be very surprised if he survived. And