Hawkins stepped away from the machine, checking her watch. She cursed quietly when she realized there wasn’t time to go all the way down to the canteen, queue for a coffee and make it back upstairs early enough to prepare the morning briefing. Nor would she reach the office in time to collect her emergency cigarettes and duck out for one.

She charged her patience and stepped back to the machine, carefully stroking the section of glossy black screen currently displaying Cappuccino. ‘Come on, please.’

She needed some kind of hit.

For a start, she had hardly slept. Following his dramatic exit the previous night, Mike hadn’t returned until nearly one a.m.

After quietly closing the front door, climbing the stairs and using the bathroom, he had retreated to the spare room, leaving her to lie awake for another hour, wondering whether he’d eventually decide to come in, or if she should make the first approach.

In the end neither had happened, and apart from terse negotiations on the landing that morning about who needed to be first out of the door, they hadn’t managed more than a few words.

She’d arrived late for work, not helped by heavy traffic, wishing she’d thought to make herself a strong coffee before leaving home. Because now she was at the mercy of a designer who had clearly watched too much Star Trek as a child.

Hope flared as the dim-witted system finally beeped her through to a sub-menu, but then refused to acknowledge the existence of milk and sugar.

‘Need a hand there, like?’

Hawkins recognized the Geordie accent instantly and replied without turning, ‘What gives you that impression?’

‘Well, if you’re just after a good scrap, shove over for a minute so I can get meself a brew.’

‘Be my guest.’ Hawkins gave it one final jab before looking round at a clearly bemused Frank Todd. ‘How long have you been there, anyway?’

‘Long enough, ma’am.’ The DI stepped in as she moved aside, pulling at the lapels of his tweed sports jacket.

‘Best of luck.’

Hawkins watched in astonishment when three consecutive beeps preceded the clunk of a plastic cup arriving in the dispenser. ‘How did you do that?’

‘Just a little mechanical nous.’ Frank patted the side of the machine. ‘Don’t tell me you need a degree in human resources to get on around here. Bit of common sense wins every time.’

And there it was; the trademark insult masked by acerbic wit. It reminded Hawkins why she was glad to let Frank go to the hate crimes unit in the summer. Their paths still crossed at Becke House from time to time, but not having to deal with him day-to-day was still a relief.