‘Well … there’s just me on this wing, while the rest are spread around the whole hospital. I mean, it’s nights, plus it’s midweek, so we’ve not got as many staff on as usual. To be honest, this is the least vulnerable area.’ He pointed into the unlit section of corridor. ‘Our office is about fifty yards around that corner. I only came out to see who you were because I spotted you on one of our surveillance screens.’

‘How many patients have we got in ICU at present?’

‘Erm …’ He sounded unsure. ‘Four, I think.’

That wasn’t as many as it could have been, she thought, which was probably a good thing.

‘Just to let you know,’ he said. ‘There’ll be staff coming and going during the night. These patients require regular treatment, medication and so on.’

‘It’s okay.’ Lucy moved back along the passage towards the patients’ rooms. ‘I’ll get in the way as little as possible.’

‘Like I say, I’m just around the corner if you need me,’ he said.

She nodded, walking slowly, checking each room. All the patients were the same: lost under bandages, facemasks, breathing apparatus and such, each deeply unconscious, their vital signs constantly monitored. There weren’t four of them, as it turned out, but three, counting McCracken. It didn’t look as if Carlotta Powell had been brought here yet. She might still be in surgery, for all Lucy knew. The last room was empty. Beyond that, at the end of the corridor stood a frosted-glass fire-door, which was locked and alarmed. Everything seemed to be satisfactory so far.

‘DC Clayburn!’ a panicky voice called. It sounded like Janice Reynoldson. ‘DC Clayburn!’

Lucy hurried back down the passage.

The night nurse had appeared from the back room and now stood rigid behind her desk, a mug of coffee in either hand, staring at the glass door. Lucy sensed the group of figures on the other side of it before she even saw them. Six men, all in suits, all of them brutish and scar-faced, a couple pulling on black leather gloves.

‘Hit the alarm,’ Lucy said. ‘Call Officer Hawcroft back!’

‘I don’t know any Officer Hawcroft,’ the nurse stammered.

‘Your security chief.’

The nurse looked appalled. ‘We don’t have an Officer Hawcroft. Imran’s in the security booth tonight.’

‘Shit!’ Lucy was both furious and astounded that she’d been duped so easily.

She swung back to face the entrance, but the buzzer had already been surreptitiously pressed, and the door was open by a centimetre or so. She lurched forward, but it was now swinging open. Her eyes flickered up to the figures on the other side, and finally fixed on the man standing at the front of them.

Lucy knew him well, even though she’d never met him.

That tall, lean physique; that fuzz of wire-wool hair; those square-framed spectacles over eyes that were more like steel rivets.