“Yes. A Girl Guide is always at the ready when things are at their darkest.”

Iris scanned the ruins on both sides of the street.

“I don’t see him,” she said. “But there are more than a dozen places he could be hiding.”

“There isn’t a watchman on guard,” Gwen noted.

“No need. There’s nothing to steal except scrap metal. It’s a smart choice of location.”

“I’ll remember that the next time I do this,” said Gwen. “I’m frightened, I admit it.”

“Now you’re frightened,” said Iris. “Where was this sensible reaction when we needed it? Shall we turn back?”

“No,” said Gwen. “We’ve come this far. We have to see it through.”

The last warehouse was mostly intact. A metal awning projected over the water, but the roof was heavily damaged. The brickwork, despite the utilitarian nature of the building, had bits of ornamental design riddling the surface, many of the bricks gouged and chipped from the debris of the blasts. An old sign dangled vertically from one rusting iron hook, the words “Midland Rai—” still legible under the soot.

They advanced towards the front door. Gwen consulted her wristwatch.

“Five of four,” she said. “Do we care about making an entrance at the exact hour?”

“I’d rather not be standing about,” said Iris. “Look! There’s a padlock.”

She pointed to where it lay to the side of the entrance, a chain lying next to it, still threaded through its loop. The plates to which the lock and chain had been secured were beyond them, separated from the door.

“Someone has prepared the way,” said Iris. “With a crowbar. I don’t like that he has a crowbar. Crowbars can do a lot of damage to thirtyish-looking women.”

“In other words, you want me to go in first,” said Gwen.

“Curse you,” said Iris.

She pushed the door open and waited for a moment. The interior was dark.

“Ready?” she asked, pulling her torch from her bag and holding it in her left hand.

“Ready,” said Gwen, holding hers. Both voice and hand were unsteady.

“Come on, Girl Guide,” said Iris. “Be prepared.”

She stepped inside, Gwen following.

The far corner on the left had crumbled, letting in some light, but the late afternoon sun was behind them, so much of the space beyond the doorway was dark. They stood side by side, letting the beams from their torches play across the cavernous space.

His eyes still glistened. He had been crying, thought Iris, as she went over to where he lay. He didn’t die right away, so there were tears, whether from the pain or because he knew it was over and there was nothing he could do about it. The streaks marked his cheeks on both sides, falling towards his temples.

“Iris?” Gwen’s voice quavered. “Is he—?”

Iris squatted down by him and felt for a pulse, just in case she was wrong. But she wasn’t.

“Dead,” she said.

CHAPTER 9

Iris stood, whipping her torch around.

“Gwen, get that door closed,” she said.