Mitch nodded towards the door. ‘Go out on patrol myself. Lead the hunt. Check out some of the abandoned joints in town in case he’s hiding out. It’ll be a journey into the past.’

‘You really want to go back there?’ asked Chandler. Mitch didn’t answer.

Chandler fought his way through the forest of microphones without comment. The numbers of vans and reporters had multiplied like bacteria.

The darkness pervaded everything and as he drove home Chandler found himself peering into the murk of every house, garden and alley, wondering if Gabriel lay in wait and was unnerved to find himself frightened by the prospect, frightened by what lurked in the shadows of his own town. His small, laid-back town was now a pulsing mass, terror soaked into its very fabric.

The fear lingered even as he arrived home to find the kids settling in for a rare evening in their own house, Nanna watching over them. He quashed those plans immediately.

‘Okay, everyone, pack some things. We’re going to go stay with Nanna and Grandad tonight.’

‘Again? Why?’ asked Sarah, frustrated.

‘I might have to leave in a hurry,’ said Chandler.

It was hard to tell who glared at him hardest. Sarah or her nanna.

‘Go pack,’ he ordered and walked to the front window. He scanned the front garden, the mighty paper-bark tree in the yard casting long shadows in the washed-out porch light, shedding its orange-brown skin, moulting . . . like the town was moulting, from peaceful existence to insidious terror. Chandler shook his head, trying to clear his mind.

Leaning forward he checked his neighbours, the Rizzos. Lights dotted their two-storey home, the garden swing twitching slightly in the breeze. There was nothing abnormal in the scene but all he could envision was Gabriel commandeering the Rizzos’ house, lying in wait for him.

‘What was that about?’ asked his mum.

Chandler almost banged his head on the glass. He checked that the kids couldn’t hear. ‘It’s best they stay with you.’

‘I can stay here with them if you get called away. But they were looking forward to spending an evening with you.’

‘Me too,’ said Chandler. It was true, nothing would have been more enjoyable. An evening with both his kids, the world back to normal.

‘It doesn’t much seem like it.’

‘I’ll make it up to them.’

‘You can’t keep taking from the bank. You have to deposit some too.’

‘I know.’

He returned to the window. Still Gabriel lurked in every shadow. Chandler had no doubt he was going to return like some nightmarish monster. He was resourceful, and smart, and moved with what seemed like unworldly stealth. Chandler cursed himself once again for not pressing Mitch to realize that their quiet, pensive prisoner was infinitely more dangerous than the constant whinger. A serial killer doesn’t whine. Or introduce themselves, as Gabriel had noted.