The bed smelled of cheap laundry detergent and old starch.

“Are you okay, Margaret?” I asked.

She looked past me toward the door, where Claire stood guard with her arms crossed.

“Is he here?” Margaret whispered, her shoulders tensing beneath her thin hospital gown.

“No,” I said. “He’s not here. Only me and my friend, Claire.”

“He told me I couldn’t leave,” she said.

“He said if I spoke to anyone, they would stop the medicine.”

A cold knot tightened in my chest, a familiar sensation from my days investigating benefits fraud.

“What medicine, Margaret?”

“My heart pills,” she said, her lower lip trembling. “My daily injections.”

“He said the government stopped paying for them.”

“He told me he was the only one who could afford them now.”

I swallowed the dry lump in my throat, my hands clenching into fists.

“That was a lie,” I said. “The government never stopped paying.”

“He was stealing your pension, Margaret. He was using your identity to open accounts.”

She didn’t look surprised; she just looked incredibly tired.