Vermeer’s sitting on the car’s bonnet, legs crossed.

‘Yeah, left it by the bar. So where do you want me to drop you?’

But before she can answer the police radio crackles into life, and we listen to dispatch: reports of a man with a gun, possible hostage situation. He gives the address. Vermeer and I look at each other like What the fuck?

Vermeer picks up the radio and signs in. Five seconds later we’re accelerating hard away from the kerb, blue lights flashing on, the sirens screaming into the night.

‘Looks like we may have just got lucky,’ she says.

I don’t say anything. Because sometimes you just have to make your own luck.

For Your Own Safety

What I hadn’t counted on when formulating my plan was for dispatch to over-react and send a fully armed response unit who arrive just as we get there, blue lights flickering in the dusk. There are six of them, including the leader, a short man called Mark Rutte who makes up for his lack of height by spending time in the gym. Rutte takes one look at us and decides we’re nowhere near hardcore enough for this kind of thing.

‘Let us handle this,’ he says whilst his team are prepping with military precision.

‘We’ll go in after you,’ Vermeer tells him. ‘Cover your back.’

Rutte stares at her for a moment, then tosses us each a bulletproof vest.

The man at the front desk’s eyes pop out of his head as we storm into the building, weapons drawn, Rutte yelling for him to stay where he is. His team spread out just as a door opens and a woman steps through. She’s tall and thin, with cheekbones you could slice meat on. For some reason I can see her in an eighties exercise video, neon tracksuit with a matching towelled headband. The real version, in a black suit, doesn’t look happy. Vermeer steps behind me, trying to keep out of view.

‘What is this?’ she demands of the room at large.

Rutte steps up. ‘We received reports of shots being fired.’

‘Here?’ She’s incredulous.

‘The caller said they were here for treatment and one of the other patients has gone crazy with a gun. They said there were shots fired. Have you not heard anything?’

‘No. That’s … No one here has a gun. We wouldn’t let a bunch of druggies … patients walk around with guns.’

‘So you’ve heard nothing?’

‘No, and they’re not allowed phones either. So I don’t know how they could have called. Seems to me you’ve been the victim of some kind of joke.’