The corridor outside Amara's room was empty.
Julian walked to the far end of it, away from the nurses' station, away from the guards, to the place where the corridor turned, and there was a window that looked out over the hospital car park and beyond it the city going about its ordinary Tuesday morning business, completely indifferent to everything that had happened inside this building in the last four days.
He took out his phone.
He stood at the window, and he made the call, and he kept his voice low and his eyes on the car park below where ordinary people were doing ordinary things, walking to their cars, carrying flowers, smoking near the entrance in the way hospital visitors did, wrapped in their own particular griefs and anxieties and hopes.
"The cameras," he said when the line connected. "Bring everything to me. Every hour of footage. Every floor."
