His words began to break up at the end of the sentence, poor reception intervening at the worst possible time.

She raised her voice. ‘I’m losing signal.’

‘Toni? You ther—’

There were three quick beeps as the line went dead.

Hawkins banged the wheel as she pulled into the temporary parking spaces outside the fish and chip shop, fumbling with the controls, disconnecting hands free. Selecting his number.

She left the car, mobile pressed to her ear as she walked towards the door, smelling batter and burnt vinegar. It connected; started to ring.

No answer.

Hawkins tried again, got the same result. She waited for voicemail to cut in, left a message explaining that technology – not she – had cut him off. Then she hung up and loitered on the pavement, expecting her phone to ring.

It didn’t.

She shook her head, tapped out a quick text backing up her voice message and went inside, ordered food, cursed her luck.

Mike had rung to smooth things over. He’d been cross, obviously, but he’d tried three times. Twice she’d effectively ignored him, and when they had finally spoken she’d been less than contrite. Now he thought she’d hung up; he had probably turned off his phone.

She tried again from the car on her way home, picking chips out of the wrapper half undone on the passenger seat, too hungry to wait for condiments. After three more unanswered attempts she gave up, realizing for the first time that she didn’t even know where he was staying. Probably with a colleague, someone he knew from a previous post, or one of his new team. A police career tended to dominate the life of anyone who chose it, not just in work but outside, as well, driving acquaintances away with its antisocial hours and carryout stress; thereby forcing co-workers to rely more heavily on each other for friendship and support than would normally be the case.

She and Mike were a classic example.

Hawkins had been in a long-term relationship when they had ended up working together on a string of murder investigations, late nights and car-based surveillance taking the place of evenings at home, in front of the TV with a loved one. Her engagement to Paul hadn’t felt tenuous till she’d found herself in a freezing cold Transit van at three a.m., waiting for two gang leaders to leave a flat in South West London. Fantasizing about Mike.

It was two weeks later, after he’d confessed to feeling the same way, that they’d ended up in a single bed together, not having to keep the noise down because Mike’s temporary landlord was on a lads’ fishing weekend. With colleagues, of course.