He turned back to the window, burying his own small darkness in the sprawling mass of humanity’s energy. For a moment he regretted allowing her to see it; to witness his brutality in isolating evil. But truth was just that; pleasant and unpleasant, good and bad. False optimism – making the best of things – was the biggest lie of all.

Her phone rang. He turned as she listened, saying little more than the occasional ‘yes’. Her eyes brightened, as if a cloud had scudded across a midday sky to reveal the sun at its zenith. She removed the phone from her ear, went and threw her arms around him, burying her head in his chest.

‘It’ll take time but he’s out of danger.’

He wanted to tighten his arms around her but was stopped by a knock on the door. ‘Who’s that?’ They broke away.

‘Sylvia.’

‘Come in.’

She entered, hardly seeming to notice them, carrying a computer print-out of a newspaper page. She placed it on a desk and pointed to a three-paragraph article on the bottom right column. The headline was ‘DROWNING VICTIM NAMED.’ Below, it read:

The body washed up on the shore of Walmer beach in the small hours of yesterday morning was named today as that of Walter Thompson, a former civil servant who retired five years ago to a seafront apartment in Deal. He lived alone with no known relatives. Police have appealed for any family members to contact them. Neighbours said Mr Thompson was a polite man who was always willing to pass the time of day. It is believed that he was in the advanced stages of lung cancer and police are not viewing his death as suspicious.

‘I told you to keep him safe,’ croaked Sylvia. They could see she’d been crying.

Sara put an arm round her. ‘I’m so sorry, Sylvia.’

‘He was a good man. And they crushed him.’ She retrieved the page and, without a further word, left the office.

‘Two deaths. One near death,’ said Patrick.

‘Which can all be explained away as accidents,’ said Sara.

‘No. It’s too much. Happenstance, coincidence, enemy action. Kareem may be dead, but someone is still protecting him.’ He searched Sara’s eyes.

‘We need evidence. Concrete evidence. Clues. Remnants. DNA. Bodies.’

‘I’ll go looking. But not you. Your father needs you. You can’t risk yourself.’

‘You already know what I’m going to say to that.’ She glared at him. ‘Just give me the rest of the day so I can see for myself that he’s fine and sort the aunties’ and cousins’ visiting roster. Poor Dad, he doesn’t know what’s coming to him.’

Her brief smile turned to a grim ferocity. She grabbed her coat and bag, murmured ‘I won’t let whoever did this to him get away with it,’ and shot out of the office.