MCNAMARA HEADED TO the kitchen. The sergeant had succeeded in making McKay regain consciousness. James’s hand shook when he checked her wound.
The policewoman groaned in pain. Dried blood matted her hair and her face had no colour. McNamara studied her eyes, which were glassy, the sign of a bad concussion.
The woman’s eyes barely remained open. She closed them intermittently as if the effort to keep them open had been too much.
Her chest had sustained a serious wound as well, probably. McNamara couldn’t see it, but the blood was still trickling. The bleeding didn’t seem to stop, and McNamara feared she’d lost too much blood already.
“Have you called an ambulance?” McNamara asked James. He knew McKay’s life could be saved only in the hospital.
“Aye, sir! I let them know we have two peo
