Her first stop was with her old DI, Bernard Lee. She had considered going straight to her office, to rip the plaster off, but Bernard had helped her so much in her career and was the tonic she needed right now. Saint Bernard, they called him. Sarah liked to believe the nickname was down to his good nature, rather than his jowls. It was hard to believe he came from running his family’s slaughterhouse to joining the police. He had a penchant for hopeless cases, which is perhaps where she came in.

Bernard was sitting behind his desk, a broad-shouldered man no stranger to physical work. His office was situated just across the hall from CID. His workspace was littered with files and folders, and photographs of children and grandchildren took pride of place on a back wall shelf.

‘Take the weight off,’ he said as she entered, gesturing for her to sit down. ‘How are you doing? Chomping at the bit?’ Bernard’s use of idioms was known by all.

‘It’s good to be back,’ she said, wondering if she should tell him she was quaking in her boots instead.

‘Coffee?’

‘No thanks.’ Her stomach was in knots as it was. The pot behind Bernard’s desk was always brewing, despite being against health and safety regulations. It seemed that police could be trusted with everything except a coffee pot.

‘I’ve spoken to the team.’ He glanced over the rim of his coffee cup. ‘I know you won’t want any fuss, so I’ve told them to carry on as normal. They’re looking forward to working with you again.’

Sarah gave him a look to say that she knew better. ‘Are you sure? Because the last time I saw them, things didn’t go well.’ That was the understatement of the year. It made her cringe to think about it.

Bernard rested his cup on his desk. ‘Don’t be so hard on yourself. I’m as much to blame as anyone, I should have noticed something was wrong.’ He gave her a knowing look. Bernard was one of the only people in the station who knew everything about her.

‘If anyone is to blame it’s …’ But the words died on her tongue. She could not bear to say his name aloud. It had taken a year of therapy to stem the anger she felt inside.

‘I know.’ Bernard delivered a reassuring smile. ‘Old news now.’

But it wasn’t old news. As long as she was around, it never would be. ‘Thank you. For everything. I know you were instrumental in having me back.’

‘You’re a good egg, why wouldn’t I?’ Bernard’s voice took on a serious tone. ‘Are you …’ He tapped his forehead. ‘All ship-shape?’ He was asking about her mental health in his own unique way. Occupational health had given her the all clear, but she knew he had to ask.