A figure fills the doorframe; Stanton, a box tucked under one arm. “Good morning, Mr Waterman.”
“Commissioner. Forgive me if I don’t get up.”
Snagging a seat, he drops his bulk onto it, setting the box down on the end of my bed. He sits back in the seat, hands folded. “How are you now?”
“Bored rigid. And I’ll be happy to get rid of this f*****g collar.”
“Yes, the nurse told me you’re getting fractious.”
I ignore that. “Can I assume from the crashing silence that Harkness hasn’t been found?”
“You can.” Stanton purses his lips. Looks down. “No, he’s not been found. There"s a standing instruction on the street to all officers to watch for him. We keep a watch on security footage from wherever we can find it, and his face is plastered on billboards the City over.”
“No leads at all?”
H
