Fifteen years have passed since Kathy Mallory lived on the streets of New York, succoured by hookers and thieving to survive. Now, she has traded in her plastic pellet gun for a 357 revolver and a police badge. No one is allowed to call her Kathy anymore. Just Mallory. On a hot August afternoon, in an East Side apartment, a woman is found hanged. Carefully places red candles and an enormous quantity of dead flies suggest some kind of bizarre ritual. But some crues miracle, the victim live, but remains in a coma. Mallory does not recognise her immediately. The blue eyes are undisguised by mascara and purple shadow. The former bleached straw hair has turned a more natural shade of blond. Even the most is different. And there are no track marks on her arms. Once upon a time, a junkie whoe and police informer, known simply as Sparrow, had cared for a young street urchin when she was lost and...
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