An old lady in a black T-shirt and red tabard reversed into the room, pulling a trolley with tea things on it.

‘I’ll be fine.’

‘You’re not getting the choice. You take the early retirement or they instigate disciplinary proceedings. A little ambition’s a good thing, but loose cannons only work on TV and in books. People nearly died, just so you could further your career.’

Chalmers sat upright. ‘But I can—’

‘You’re done.’

‘Pffff. . .’ Logan eased back into the visitor’s chair. ‘My back is killing me.’ He wriggled from side to side, pushing the bruises until they snarled.

Someone had tidied Samantha’s bedside cabinets, lining up the Lucozade bottles like soldiers on parade, the stack of unread magazines perfectly centred on the veneer surface, the copy of Witchfire perched on top of them like a brick.

‘So, she pleaded for a bit, then she cried, and then she called for the nurse.’ He levered his shoes off and let them thump to the floor. Wiggled his toes. One of them poked through the hole in his right sock. He stuck both feet up on the bed and stifled a yawn. ‘So how was your day? ’

No reply, just the hiss of the ventilator.

‘Yeah, me too. Did I tell you Morgan Mitchell’s still denying everything? Doesn’t matter – we’ve impounded the car she was driving Friday night. It’s going to have traces of Roy Forman in it. And accelerant.’

A knock on the door, and Nurse Claire popped her head in, eyebrows up as if she’d just sat on something sharp. She slipped into the room, with one hand behind her back, the other holding a finger up to her lips.

Logan smiled. ‘Before you say anything: I need to buy more socks. I know.’

She bumped the door closed with her bum. ‘If anyone finds out, I’ll be for it, so this is just between us, OK? ’

Oh. . . If this was going to be an offer of sex, she was in for a bit of disappointment. ‘Actually, I’m—’

‘Tada!’ Claire pulled her other hand from behind her back. There was a shoebox in it with little holes poked in the side. ‘Very much not allowed in the hospital.’

She placed it on the bed and removed the lid. ‘She’s ten weeks old.’

A pair of beautiful blue eyes peered up at him from a little stripy bundle of fluff with impossibly large hairy ears. It opened its mouth in a silent meow.

‘Her name’s Misty, but you can call her Cthulhu, if you like.’

A kitten and a sex toy, all in one day. ‘But—’

Claire patted him on the arm. ‘You’re very welcome. And I’ve got a starter pack from the vets for you at the nurses’ station. Just make sure you take her home before anyone sees her.’ Claire checked her watch. ‘Better get back to work.’