The morning crept in like an unwelcome guest, carrying the smell of stale tea and old resentments. A man cleared his throat — a sharp, deliberate sound — and launched his complaint before the kettle had even boiled.

“Hold on,” he said, disbelief dripping from every syllable. “You’re telling me there isn’t a single minion at the cop shop I can send to get my tea bags?”

The answer came flat, bone-tired: “They listen to me. I have to do all me own stunts.”

“A man of many talents,” came the dry reply.

“Yeah, well, you think we sit around all day talking about the latest cases, but no.” The man’s eyes swept the room, landed on the tea station, and narrowed. “Who’s had the last tea bag? I was saving that. Drives me mad. Lisa is the worst.”

The air shifted. Someone asked the question nobody wanted to hear: “Todd, how you holding up, mate?”

A pause. A breath too long. “Oh. Um, you know — one day at a time, eh?”

“One hour at a time at the moment.” A hollow laugh that didn’t touch the eyes. “But hey, I’m up and dressed.”

“And the investigation — how’s that going?”

“Still ongoing.”

Which meant: nowhere. And everyone in the room knew it.

An apology surfaced — something about the other night at the pub, a crack in the armor. But it was waved away with practiced politeness. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it. We’ve got a few leads. I can’t go into too much, but we’ll get there.”

A mutter followed him out: “All right. Only got one eye on. I’m coming.”

And then came the discovery.

A woman, sprawled on the floor like a discarded coat. “Maggie — what on earth are you doing down there?”

“I have been there all night.”

“Oh, as if. Get up. Come here.”

“Now, I am not one to act the martyr, as you know. But you found me down there. So. You do the math.”

“If you’ve been down there all night, my name’s Carol Bordman.” She launched into a game show bit — a desperate grab at normalcy. “Then I’ll have a consonant, please. Carol, where’s my son? He’s out.”

The other woman, still on the floor, tried to buy time: “Can I just put my other eye on, please?”

“Please do. And quickly. I thought I’d wandered onto the set of A Clockwork Orange. He’s only got one done up, hasn’t he?”

“Correct, Maggie. We did a musical version of that on the ships. Orange didn’t go down that well.”

“Then where is he?”

“Elsa — he’s gone to the bank, and then he’s taking Suzie to school.”

“I never saw him leave, and I’ve been out there all night.”

“Ben went out the back door. He’s trying to avoid you.”

The truth, finally, lying bare on the floor between them.

“All right,” Maggie said, pulling herself up. “Betty, you won’t mind if I pop upstairs and check. And have myself a little shower while I’m at it. Wash the city out of my hair.”

“Well, I was going to say you’re ponging a bit.” A snort. “Now, call me a psychic, but I can sense a little atmosphere between you two.”

“I don’t know why Ben’s being such a crap with me. It’s not my fault. I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“I know. But he has been through a lot.”

“And I haven’t?” The words came sharp now, wounded. “You couldn’t do her job.”

“You think they’d have you?”

“They would. They’d bite me. I’ve never said I wanted to join the force. Just can’t be bothered. Plus my nails.”

A voice cut through — bright, oblivious. “Hi, babe.”

“Hi.”

“So sad, isn’t it?”

“What is?”

“I don’t know. I just get a vibe. I feel things deeply. See stuff with my third eye.”

“Well, you’re very zen then.”

“Oh, yeah. Gives me inner peace, son.”

The door opened, and in walked trouble.

“Well, look who it isn’t. Truly scrumptious.” A voice dripping with false charm. “You know, lashing a load of sweets at our door yesterday? I was up all