“You’re being transferred to the burns unit.” Jem spoke slowly, but this wasn’t the first time they’d had this conversation, and it wouldn’t be the last. “Your burns aren’t too severe, but anything involving hands tends to make the A&E docs a bit twitchy.”

“Okay.” Paula’s eyes were already closing. “And Dan’s coming, right?”

Jem tucked the sheet around her. “Half an hour. I’m going to stay till then.”

“Thank you,” Paula said. She didn’t stir as the curtain around her bed opened and Steph Merritt walked in. Raising a peremptory finger to her lips, Jem led Steph into a corner away from the general hubbub of Majors.

“Anything from the last file?” Steph asked without preamble. She sounded frazzled, and the latest downpour to hit the region appeared to have caught her unawares; her coat was dripping, and her hair was beginning to curl at the edges. She probably wouldn’t have put in a personal appearance had she not entrusted Jem with a Major Crimes laptop.

“No, nothing.” Jem sidestepped a nurse carrying a bedpan to the sluice and waited until the sluice door closed. “Did you speak to Ava and Chloe?”

“Yes, but they’ve thrown a bloody spanner in the works.”

“How?” Jem asked. Steph seemed in the mood to offload her frustrations on someone, and Jem wasn’t above taking advantage of that.

“They’ve both identified Galpin from his mug shot, but they identified him as Bill not Fagin. Galpin will most likely claim the reg plate is a coincidence when we question him.”

“Shit. Where does that leave you?”

“Back to square one,” Steph said. “Roz has come up with some harebrained theory about Galpin’s mother, but she has absolutely nothing to base it on, and I can’t go around arresting grannies on supposition alone.”

It took Jem a moment to work out who “Roz” was, and she placed the nickname more by Steph’s air of contempt than anything else. She smiled, glad that Rosie was still out there, pushing all of Steph’s buttons and driving her to distraction.

“His mum, eh?” Jem mulled the idea over. “Some men do have that weird Freudian thing going on. He lives with her, doesn’t he?”

“Yes, but she’s eighty if she’s a day, and highly unlikely to be the kingpin of an underage forced labour ring.” Steph’s mobile buzzed, and she answered it, asking the caller to hold. “Are you finished with the laptop?” she asked Jem.

“Yep.”

“Good. I’ll phone you if I need anything else from you.”