Dani didn’t say anything to that. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the other two guards look over at her, intrigued by Bill’s words.

‘I was told you’d have a new security card for me.’ She placed her old one on the counter. Not only had the whole front entrance and reception area of HQ been refurbished, but the security system was upgraded too, both here at the main entrance and for the car park, which was why she’d had to park across the street as she’d not yet received a fob for parking. Now a row of electronic gates beyond the foyer led into the building proper and Dani was, so far, still on the outside looking in. Not quite one of them again, yet.

‘Let me see,’ Bill said, pushing himself backwards on his swivel chair and over to a drawer. ‘I don’t remember seeing anything for you, though.’

Bill rifled through the drawer but came back up with nothing.

‘No, sorry, DI Stephens. No one told me you were coming back today. We can get you sorted out with one though, I’m sure.’

‘Not your fault,’ Dani said pleasantly, but she felt agitated. It wasn’t like McNair had forgotten she was coming back. After all, she’d had the rude awakening hours before. ‘Do you have a visitor pass or something I could take? I know where I’m going.’

‘Sorry, I know who you are and everything, but I’m not allowed to do that. I can call your supervisor? He’ll be able to come and escort you through.’

‘She.’

‘What?’

‘DCI McNair. Helen McNair.’

‘Ah, right, yeah. I’ll call her now.’

Bill picked up a phone handset and Dani moved away and went to sit down on one of a row of leather chairs that made up a small waiting area. In front of her was a glass coffee table with a selection of newspapers and magazines. Among them was a pamphlet for the West Midlands Police force, the front cover illustrating – through a series of small glossy photos – some of the force’s bigger recent busts, together with various community schemes they were involved in. Dani didn’t bother to pick it up. She didn’t need to see stories of the public faces of the force. The jolly PCs always ready to help an old lady across the road with a smile and a wave. What she saw in her job was far too grim and sinister to ever make it into a corporate style newsletter.