“I’ve spoken to Caitlin and Baxter this morning,” he said. “Baxter admitted to falsifying the entry in the controlled drugs book, and Caitlin owned up to everything else. They’ve both gone off sick with stress, and they’ll face a proper disciplinary hearing, if or when they come back.”

“What a bloody mess,” Jem said. If it was up to her, they’d all shake hands and have done with it, but these things were never up to her.

Kev crammed his papers into a file and lobbed the file in a drawer. “It is, but it’s my mess to sort, and it’s a load off your mind. Caitlin was supposed to be on the car tonight, so you’ll have no one relieving you.”

Jem slapped her hands on the arms of her chair. “No worries,” she said. Water dripped from the cushion when she stood; she had been so stressed that she had forgotten to take her coat off. “Shit, sorry about that.”

Somewhat overlooked in the corner, Amira sniffed and cleared her throat. Tears had ruined her mascara, trailing black lines down her cheeks. “What’ll happen to me, Kev?”

Kev glanced at Jem, as if expecting her to turn her thumb up or down. She raised an eyebrow at him and then reached a decision in his stead. “Nowt,” she said. She didn’t need her pound of flesh. She was just relieved to have the issue resolved. “I’ll make a brew, and that’ll be the end of it. Is that all right with everyone?”

Evidently satisfied with her verdict, Kev passed her his mug. “Stick a couple of sugars in mine, love,” he said, and ripped open a packet of Jammie Dodgers.

* * *

Even if Rosie had neglected all her local knowledge and followed her phone’s wonky satnav, she still wouldn’t have been able to justify passing the old mill en route to yet another sandbag distribution assignment. After holding a brief, one-sided debate upon the matter and concluding that her sarge probably had better things to do than track her whereabouts, she decided to take the risk. Fifteen minutes later, she turned onto Bennett Street and almost collided with a wheelie bin floating down the road. The river at the back of the houses was well on its way to providing the neighbourhood with a spontaneous spring clean, and most of the local residents had piled their belongings on the upper floors and taken refuge in the closest secondary school.

The lack of parked cars made Rosie’s job easier, allowing her to circumnavigate the mill’s perimeter and confirm with near certainty that no suspicious vehicle was loitering in the vicinity. There were no dark-coloured SUVs with personalised plates or cars expensive enough to stick out like a sore thumb. The few vehicles she did pass were unoccupied scrap heap contenders, and at no point did she spot any signs of life beyond the security fence.