Work gets in the way. They have busy, all-consuming jobs. Finn’s work is his passion, and Robin? Well, Robin’s life had dissolved following the events six years ago, and it hadn’t left him as great company. Even if he had dragged himself out for a quiet drink at the pub, what would he have talked about? The death of his sister and her twin boys, killed in a hit-and-run by a drunk driver? The subsequent downward spiral in his mental health? It was hardly light conversation over a game of pool.

But since everything that happened all those months ago with Freya, he’d tried to pull his life back, starting with making an effort to see his best friend. Still, he’d only seen him once recently – months ago, in February, for Finn’s birthday.

‘I can’t believe that Finn would be violent. To himself or anyone else,’ Robin finishes.

Craig frowns. ‘Well, let’s get him out and we can deal with it from there. We’ve requested a warrant for his medical records and called his next of kin. She’s on her way.’

‘His mother?’

Craig looks for confirmation to the skinny younger guy in a navy suit to her side. He nods. ‘Yes,’ she says. She points to the man again. ‘DC Grey. I believe you’ve spoken already?’

Robin doesn’t offer a greeting. ‘Was she okay?’ he directs to Grey, knowing how confusing his own phone call was from this guy.

‘We only spoke briefly,’ Grey replies.

Robin nods. He stares at the van.

‘We’d like to exhaust all other options before we bash our way in there,’ Craig repeats. She looks at Robin. ‘And right now, that means you.’

Robin walks slowly up to the van. Craig’s words ring in his head: get him talking, try to find out what’s going on, empathise, listen, make sure he feels like he’s in control. Yeah, yeah, I know, he thinks. This isn’t his first negotiation. But, fuck. It’s a lot to take in.

He pauses by the back doors of the van and glances back to Craig. The team are silent; he feels the weight of their expectation on him. He knocks on the metal panel. The noise is tinny and echoes in the looming concrete of the car park.

‘Finn? It’s Robin,’ he shouts. ‘Can you hear me?’

He listens but there’s no response from inside. He tries again.

‘Finn? Are you okay?’ This time he hears a barely audible whimper. ‘Finn?’ he shouts. ‘Talk to me – we can help you.’

‘Go away.’

It’s quiet, but it’s something. A fragment of communication.

‘Finn, please. You called me here for a reason. I’m not going to leave you. Tell me what’s going on.’

‘He’s dead. I know he’s dead.’

‘Who’s dead, Finn?’