“Brilliant,” he says. “You’re back. Good lunch?” He pulls out a blue-cushioned chair for me to sit on. Underneath is a pair of running shoes from the eighties, cracked along the sides, and a tangerine that looks petrified.

“Have a seat,” he says. The walls of his office are covered in cards, thank-you notes, and photos of himself with his arms around children. If there’s a gap of more than four inches, he’s covered the space with an inspirational quote or a poster with something caring on it. Nobody can hurt me without my permission, reads one of his latest additions. He sees I’m reading it.

“That’s Mahatma Gandhi.” He nods, spinning his black office chair to face me. “He was amazing.”

“Wrong, though.”

“Pardon?”

“Nothing. What’s up? You needed to see me?”

“Right.” He clasps his hands together as if in prayer. “We’re in a bit of a pickle.”

My first thought is of Buster. If something’s happened to him, I’m going to pull Minerva’s LEGO hair out by the fistful.

“Look, Alex, here’s what I need to say first: You’re my best worker. Hands down. The most energized one, and don’t think I haven’t noticed.” His teeth shine, but there’s something wrong. He’s never normally this effusive. “Every single day, you strap on your boots and you wade on out into the shit. It’s admirable, to be honest.”

“You do it,” I mumble, as I pull my hair forward and suck at one strand. “We all do.”

“No, no, some of us retreat to the paperwork.” He smiles sadly. “You never do. You’ve never even gone on stress leave. Do you know how rare that is? Where would we be without people like you?”

“It sounds like there’s a but.”

“But as much as I trust your instincts, I think that if you undermine Minerva’s work, you’re going to create a hostile working environment.”

I jerk back as if I’ve been slapped. “Undermine Minerva’s work? What are you talking about?”

“I’m afraid she’s put in a complaint. Not an official one at this point. But one that I have to confront nonetheless. As team leader, it’s my job to—”

“She was in here complaining about me? Why? Because I called her out on the Buster Floyd case? That’s it, isn’t it? Jesus, Morris, we left that child in disgusting circumstances. I’m trying to protect him. I thought that was what we do here.”

He shifts in his chair. “It is. And we are … all … trying—”

“Are we? Minerva’s wait-and-see policy on protection is dangerous, Morris. I’m right about this one.”