I’d been keeping a close eye on the time, just so I could be at the meds hatch when it opened. It took some serious self-restraint not to elbow Graham out of the way when it came to it, but in the end I decided that a few more minutes weren’t going to kill me. I didn’t want to wait much longer than that, though, because I knew I wouldn’t be able to do anything – least of all pick up the phone and call in a massive favour – while I was feeling frazzled and fidgety and likely to do something daft. Not a chance. I couldn’t do things properly while a whispering voice inside my head was telling me to march straight up to Debbie and pin her against the wall.

The voice nobody but me could hear telling the one that came out of my mouth just what to say.

I know exactly what you did and I know why you did it.

Tempting, course it was, but that was not the way I was planning to go.

Mia opened up the hatch and once Graham had shuffled up and taken his pills I stepped cheerfully forward to collect mine. I smiled and said, ‘Thank you,’ like a good girl.

A good officer.

Lucky for me that I caught DI David Dinham on his way to work. He was obviously doing a late turn, which was never anyone’s favourite, but it had been a while since shift patterns meant anything to me. One day I might get up good and early and the next I won’t bother to get up at all. Some days I get dressed and some days I can’t be arsed, meaning I’ll slob around in the pyjamas I was issued with or, if I feel like making an effort, I might push the boat out and parade around the place in my own trackies and T-shirt, but the point is that it doesn’t much matter.

The days are measured out in meals and meds, simple as that.

Lucky, though, because coppers have flappy ears and Dinham wouldn’t be free to have the conversation that I was planning while he was sitting in the office. Last thing I’d heard, that office was in Brighton or some other seaside place, which was convenient for me, because him working outside the Met meant there was no reason the Kevin Connolly case would be on his radar. Unlike Trevor Lambert, though, Dinham was aware that I’d been . . . in the wars as far as the Job was concerned, but that was fine.

‘Oh . . . hey, Al.’ Yeah, he was well aware. ‘Listen, I’m in the car, so . . .’

‘I do hope you’re hands-free,’ I said.

‘Course I am.’

‘Glad to hear it. So, how’s tricks, mate?’

‘Tricks are . . . good. What about you?’