Lucy pulled one of her leather motorcycle gloves on and flexed her fingers. The ex-nun watched, helpless, as the cop reached down and took the syringe away, fitting its cap in place and sliding it into one of her jacket pockets. After that, she took the wrap of heroin.

‘You’re still in contravention of the law, Sister.’

‘And are you really going to arrest me?’

Lucy backed out of the cubicle, beckoning. ‘Come on, on your feet.’

Sister Cassie stayed where she was. ‘It wasn’t my fault about this morning. I came to the police station, like you said, but you weren’t there.’

Lucy was briefly regretful. It was correct that she’d arranged for the ex-nun to come in and give her statement, but in the fury-ride of overtaking events, she’d forgotten all about it. Not that it made any difference now.

She beckoned again. ‘Come on, Sister. Move it.’

Whimpering with frustration, the ex-nun released the cord and put what remained of her bits and pieces back into the flat tin, which she carefully lidded. ‘Lucy Clayburn, I am very disappointed in you. I thought you were different from the others.’

She got to her feet, shivering as she tightened her cloak against a chill that Lucy didn’t feel. She was sweaty too, her nose running, all of which implied that she was strung-out, which wouldn’t help. But it could have been worse. She could have been high.

Shouldering the satchel, she emerged into the main body of the toilet block. It was the one Lucy had been told about, on the end of the row of derelict shops near Penrose Mill, and it was a dank, dingy hole, filled with litter and broken glass, and strewn with old syringes.

‘I thought you were different too,’ Lucy said. ‘You might not be a dealer, but you keep the dealers in business, don’t you? And what about this place? It’s supposed to be a public convenience, not a dump site for dirty needles.’

‘Those are not my needles,’ the nun protested. ‘I always take mine to the Exchange.’

‘Unless you’re too stoned to remember.’

Sister Cassie looked shocked at the suggestion. ‘That’s never happened.’

‘How would you know? Uh? When you’re walking down the street like the living dead, throwing away that wonderful education you gained at the taxpayer’s expense? Do you ever wonder about the generations of kids you didn’t inspire after you became an addict?’

‘What’s all this about?’ The ex-nun looked puzzled, at least partly because she’d offered her hands to be cuffed, and it hadn’t happened yet. ‘You’ve never moralised like this before.’

‘I’ll tell you what this is, Sister … I’m about to do the world a favour. I’m going to throw you in the slammer. They’ll break you of the habit in there. They’ll make you get clean.’