“No point,” said Milo. “The car would kill him slow, and we wouldn’t be able to use the trunk for a week or two. Better to just kill him now, get it over with. He wouldn’t hesitate to kill you.”

“But I did hesitate,” said Daggett. “Please, Mr Ghost, if you let me go, you’ll never see me again.”

“Don’t call me that,” said Milo.

“Sorry,” said Daggett. “But I’m a big fan. A huge fan. I thought you were a legend, a myth, until a few days ago. When I was told you were with her, I … I have to admit, I cried with happiness. I’m just a huge, huge admirer of your work.”

Milo grunted, holstered his gun, and picked up Daggett’s. He examined it, inspected the silencer, shrugged and threw it in the back seat.

“Are you gonna let me go?” Daggett asked.

“No,” said Milo. “You’d just come back in, try your luck again.” He looked at Amber. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but—”

“We should kill him,” said Amber.

Milo stopped talking.

“It’s safer, isn’t it?” she asked. “We’ve got nowhere to keep him, we can’t release him … Killing him is the smart thing to do.”

“Please don’t kill me,” said Daggett.

“He’s murdered people,” she said. “He’s the Yukon Strangler. We’d be doing the world a favour. It’s his own fault, too. He came after me, so I’m not going to feel too bad about it.”

“It’s not my fault,” said Daggett. “I had a terrible home life.”

“I don’t want to kill him,” Amber said, “obviously I don’t. I’d prefer if we didn’t have to. But we do. It’s the only practical …”

Her voice faded as she became aware of the man standing in the shadows behind Milo.

“I knew you people would be trouble,” said Chief Novak. He had his hand on the butt of his holstered gun. “Turn slowly, Mr Sebastian,” he said. “Keep your hands in full view, if you please.”

Milo did as he was told, until the two men were looking at each other.

“I hope you’re not thinking of pulling that gun,” the Chief said. “I don’t like your chances, to be honest with you. Unless you’re some kind of quick-draw artist, I mean. Are you? You look like you might be. Me, I’m quick, but I wouldn’t call myself an artist. Always, at the back of my mind, there’s a little voice that reminds me that no matter how fast you are,” and here he drew, his gun clearing the holster faster than Amber could register it happening, “there’s always someone faster. Would you agree?”

Milo kept his hands well away from his own gun. “Always someone.”