‘Alan Simmons. I’m her father.’ He held his hand out over his daughter’s bed, and Porter and Styles took turns to introduce themselves. ‘Please, have a seat.’ He motioned to a trio of chairs stacked in the corner of the room.

They positioned a pair of chairs on the opposite side of the bed, rubber legs scraping on the hard floor like nails on a blackboard.

‘How is she? Any update from the doctors?’ asked Porter.

Alan Simmons looked back to his daughter as he answered. She looked peaceful despite the dressing that covered most of the right side of her face. Porter could still picture the wound, raised, angry. The bruising had darkened into swirls of indigo and dark mustard yellow, but it would start to fade in the next few days.

‘No change.’ He said without taking his eyes off her. ‘Were you there? Were either of you there when it happened?’

Porter shook his head. ‘No, sir. We only arrived on the scene after we got the call.’

‘Can you tell me what happened? Are there any suspects?’

‘We don’t know everything yet, but we’ve got a few leads we’re looking into.’ The words sounded even more cliché aloud than they had in his head. ‘We’ll find who did this.’

Alan Simmons gave a tired smile. ‘I want to believe you, Detective, I really do.’ He reached out and patted her hand. ‘I tried to persuade her not to join. I know it’s not a time for “what ifs”. Did you know she studied sociology at university?’

Porter shook his head. He realised he didn’t know an awful lot about her outside of the job and felt bad for it.

‘Always wanted to help people. She was going to be a social worker. She changed her mind, though, and once she had there was no talking to her. Always was a stubborn one, my Evie. Always determined once she set her mind to something.’

Porter couldn’t help but smile. He had seen first-hand how hard she went after something she wanted.

‘Anyway, she loves what she does. That’s all you can ask as a parent, for your kids to be happy.’

He bowed his head again, weighed down by the helplessness of the situation, slowly stroking the back of his daughter’s hand. Porter felt like an outsider, and looked at Styles, gesturing towards the exit with a flick of his head. Styles nodded agreement, and they stood up.

‘Sorry to disturb you, Mr Simmons. We’d best get back to the station.’

Alan Simmons nodded and stood, following them to the door. He shook hands with them both, and Styles headed off down the corridor, but when Porter tried to pull his hand away Simmons kept the grip, resting his left hand lightly on top, and leant in towards Porter.

‘She talked about you, Detective. She said you were a good man and a good detective.’