Aside from a couple of voluntary patients of no fixed abode, that just leaves those of us on section plus the members of staff who are still breathing and, like Marcus said, they’ve all shown up for the meeting.

Looks like it, anyway.

There’s maybe twenty people in the dining room.

A big circle of chairs.

Marcus says, ‘Before I open the meeting up to the floor, I want to introduce someone who’s going to say a few words about the position of the ward moving forward.’ He points towards the only person in the room I don’t recognise.

Ilias leaps to his feet, looking a bit panicky. ‘Where’s the ward going?’

‘Well, this man will tell you,’ Marcus says.

Ilias sits down again, but he still looks worried.

The man – middle-aged with grey hair – stands up and introduces himself as a member of the hospital’s Foundation Trust Board. ‘I wanted to let you know that there have been . . . discussions about closing the ward.’ He sounds like someone off the radio. ‘At least temporarily, in light of the recent tragic events. It was suggested that it might be better for the mental well-being of all patients if they were moved elsewhere.’

Several members of staff nod. I’m thinking we should probably be more concerned about our physical well-being.

‘In the end, however, we have decided to keep the ward open and functioning as normal.’ He glances at Marcus. ‘As normally as we can, at any rate.’

I think that normal is not a word he would be using if he’d ever set foot in this place before today.

‘Firstly, I must be honest and acknowledge the sad fact that we would simply not be able to find enough alternative beds for everyone, certainly not in London. Secondly, the board was of the opinion that everyone would benefit from as little disruption as possible and that patients would probably be in favour of leaving things as they are.’ He looks out at us all. ‘That you would prefer to stay together.’

I can see the sense in what the bloke’s saying, but I consider asking if maybe we can just get rid of Lauren.

It strikes me that keeping the ward open might be what the police would prefer as well. It’s always better if a detective can keep all their suspects in one place. As the posh bloke sits down and Marcus stands up to say a bit more, I’m finding it hard not to imagine the whole thing as some warped, psych-ward version of Cluedo.

Mr or Mrs Mental, in the toilets, with a dagger.

Or an air-locked room mystery. Ha!

Now, various patients have begun standing up and shouting out questions, making observations or just sharing random thoughts, while Marcus tries to maintain some semblance of order.

‘Can we use the bogs again?’ Lauren asks.

‘Yes, you can,’ Marcus says.

‘Good, because the men’s bogs stink.’