As eager as Chandler was to exchange Heath and get his kids back, a major sticking point remained: how to get a non-compliant hostage and possibly non-compliant Nick out of the station without being seen. The phone continued to ring in the background, halting for a few seconds, before returning with vigour.

An idea formed. A shot in the dark but with a central tenet he knew would hold firm: the curiosity of the press.

Leaving Nick and Heath, Chandler exited the front door to address the assembled crowd. Shouting over the questions fired at him, he swiftly informed them that Gabriel had been found and surrounded. He tried to keep his demeanour calm and assured as he ‘accidentally’ let it slip where the ongoing siege was taking place, naming the abandoned Potter farm south of town, far from Wilbrook, far from any phone coverage.

A few follow-up questions were aimed in his direction but they were choked short as equipment and vans were hurriedly loaded, directions googled and relayed, each crew desperate to be first on the scene, first to report on the story of the summer.

Chandler watched them leave; the press running off, the locals drifting home to follow the updates as best they could on television.

Before long the car park was empty. He scanned the surroundings for the demonic figure of Gabriel but there was nothing.

Ducking back into the station, he looked at Heath and Nick as he dug something from the charity clothing box.

‘Time to leave.’

‘What did you do?’ asked Nick.

‘I gave them a better story,’ said Chandler. He leaned down towards Heath who cowered against the wall. ‘Now, Mr Barwell – Heath – I’m going to uncuff you from the pipe. Are you going to remain calm?’ Chandler glared at him, trying to intimidate him into compliance.

There was no response. Heath’s eyes were glassy.

Chandler turned the key, pulling the opened metal loop from the pipe. ‘Your other hand please,’ he said, then continued, ‘You won’t be hurt.’

‘You don’t have to do this,’ stuttered Heath.

‘I do,’ said Chandler. ‘This is the only way to stop him. You’ll be a hero.’

‘I don’t want to be a hero. Heroes die,’ said Heath.

‘Not this time.’

‘Can I at least get a gun?’

‘You don’t need one. I’ll have one. And so will Nick.’

Slipping the cuff over Heath’s other wrist, Chandler closed it and helped his reluctant prisoner to his feet. He led them both outside.

On taking his first step into the night air, Heath yelled for help, his voice carrying across the empty tarmac and buffered between the concrete buildings. It was a disappointing but expected response. Chandler leaped forward and stuffed the old T-shirt he had taken from the charity box in the office for this purpose into Heath’s gaping mouth, stifling the yells.