They all split up to set about their tasks. After gathering up everyone’s mugs, Hamza pulled open the door to find a uniformed constable frozen there, hand raised like she was about to knock. She stared at him in mute shock for a few seconds, then stiffly lowered her arm to her side like it was on a rusty hinge.

“Eh… hello?” Hamza said. Somewhere, buried at the back of his mind, a little voice remarked that ooh, weren’t police officers getting younger and younger these days? “Can I help you?”

“There’s, um, there’s… A phone call.”

“A phone call?” asked Hamza. “For who?”

“For a…” she quickly checked a scribble on the back of her hand. “DI Forde.”

Ben appeared in the doorway behind Hamza. “I’m DI Forde. Who’s on the phone?”

“No one, sir.”

Ben and Hamza side-eyed each other. “But you just said…” the DI began, before the constable jumped back in.

“Sorry, I meant they’re not on the phone now. They left a message. For you. Via me.” She shook her head, annoyed by her own babbling. “For me to pass on to you, I mean.”

Ben smiled patiently. “Who?”

“Oh. Right, the hospital. It’s about Moira.”

Hamza frowned. “Moira? What, front desk Moira?”

The constable wasn’t sure if the question was aimed at her or not, so continued on as if it wasn’t. “You’ve to give her a phone. At the hospital. Sir,” she said. “They didn’t say what it was about.”

“Thank you, Constable. I’ll do that,” Ben said. “Was that everything?”

“Yes, sir,” she said, then she scurried off the moment she was dismissed, cheeks stinging with embarrassment.

Ben could feel Hamza’s attempts to make eye contact, but ignored them. “Right, tea run, Detective Sergeant,” he said, about-turning and making his way back to the desk. “Dave, find me the number for the Belford Hospital, will you?”

“Front desk?”

“That’ll do.”

“The hospital? Everything alright, sir?” asked Sinead. Her mobile buzzed, and Tyler’s photo filled the screen. She hovered her thumb over the answer button while waiting for the DI’s response.

Ben flopped down into his chair, sucked in his bottom lip, then spat it out again. “I don’t know,” he said, reaching for his desk phone. “But I guess we’ll soon find out.”

* * *

Moira Corson was sitting propped up in bed when the phone was brought to her by one of the nurses.

“Here you go, Moira, pet,” the nurse said, passing the cordless handset over. “Just you hang up when you’re done.”

“I know how a bloody telephone works,” Moira retorted.

The nurse rolled her eyes, but laughed it off. She’d gotten a good handle on Moira over the past few days, and had chosen not to take any of her comments personally.