I brace myself as I turn the corner, eyes down, watching my feet on the mottled blue hospital lino as if it’s the only way to keep track of where they’re going. They might as well belong to a puppet whose movements I can’t control. The self-consciousness I feel inside the RGI turns me numb every time.

This is the last time, I say to myself. I’m not coming back here again, no matter what.

I look up when I can no longer avoid it, expecting to see the double doors to Ward 10. Instead, I see Fiona leaning against the wall outside the ward, looking anything but relaxed. Her eyes are red from crying.

Then I see movement through the glass panel – a dark-haired man with his back to me. He turns slightly and surprise jolts through me before I’ve worked out why. Wait, is that …?

It is. It’s DC Gibbs.

‘Yeah,’ breathes Fiona. ‘The police are here.’

That’s to be expected, right? I asked them to check Faith Kendell was safe. This is nothing to panic about.

‘I overheard them talking about whether to ring you, when to ring you, how to handle it …’ Fiona shrugs. ‘Thought I’d take the decision out of their hands. I knew you’d want to know sooner than they’d want you to. I’m so sorry, Kim.’ She starts to cry. ‘I just can’t believe it.’

‘Believe what? What’s going on?’ Hearing my own question, I realise there’s only one thing it can be. Oh, no. My throat tightens. ‘Is it Faith Kendell? Is she dead?’

‘What?’ Fiona sounds surprised. ‘No.’

‘No?’ I need to check. It would be my fault if Faith were dead; I’m not sure how, but it would be.

‘No. Kim, that’s not it.’

I touch the wall with the palm of my left hand: a solid surface. ‘Thank God,’ I mutter.

The double doors swing open and a hulk of a man in an ill-fitting suit appears on the corridor. ‘Kim Tribbeck? I’m DC Simon Waterhouse. What are you doing here?’

‘I … um …’ I don’t want to land Fiona in any trouble.

‘Never mind. Now you’re here, we should talk.’ He turns to Fiona. ‘Where can we go for privacy?’

‘I’ll show you.’ Her voice is efficient, despite the tears streaming down her face.

I’m third in line as we walk along the main ward corridor. Chris Gibbs is sitting with his head in his hands beyond the reception area. Like someone who’s lost someone, or losing them. He looks up when he sees us coming and lurches to his feet.