‘My housemate,’ he says, thinking on his feet. ‘Dachman. I’m just off shift. Wondered if he needed a lift home.’

Bradley scoffs and makes a face. ‘Oh, I can’t see that working out. Definitely not the type you want to be shacked up with, no matter how bad the rent is. He’s already gone, anyway. Probably skulking around a women’s toilet somewhere, hoping he gets five minutes free to go sniff the u-bend. Proper prick, that one. No offence.’

McAvoy smiles, pleased to have made a friend. ‘I was only being polite,’ he says, shrugging. ‘I’ll probably see him at home.’

‘If you do, tell him it’s a seven a.m. briefing. Oh, and tell him the samples from the spare room have gone to the lab but there’s a god-awful delay, so he needs to focus on her client list.’ She stops herself from talking. ‘In fact, don’t worry about it. I’m going myself in a jiff. Bugger the drive back, I’m taking up the offer of accommodation. I’d planned to fall into a rather wonderful sleep, unless you’ve got any suggestions what I might do in a strange city until morning …’

McAvoy misses the invitation completely. ‘The museums are shut at this time,’ he says, apologetically. ‘But there are some gorgeous views off Sammy’s Point, down by The Deep. Closest thing to fresh air you can get. It’s good for you. Other than that …’

She starts laughing, and he joins in, so as not to appear rude. She shakes her head. ‘Wait until I tell Trish about you,’ she mumbles, exasperated.

McAvoy doesn’t push it. He’s got what he came for. Turns back to the door, before a thought stops him dead.

‘The Traveller site in Cottingham,’ he says. ‘Any of the Teague clan up that way?’

‘We haven’t the manpower to get to that just yet,’ says Bradley, with a note of apology. ‘If she’s there, we’d never find her. Very good at hiding things away, in my experience.’

‘But some background might help …’

‘You know somebody?’ asks Bradley, all business.

‘Sort of,’ he says, half to himself. He shrugs again, not wanting to say any more until he knows what he thinks. ‘Maybe. I’ll get back to you when I’ve had a ponder.’

‘A ponder?’ Bradley smiles. ‘Christ, you’re a tonic. Can I give you my number?’

She realizes she’s talking to empty air.

FOURTEEN

7.54 a.m.
Sunk Island

McAvoy stares up into the broad, black sky. He’s never got used to landscapes like this. He was raised in the shelter of the mountains, tucked within the shadow of crags and forests and heather-fringed pools. There’s something unnerving about the absolute flatness of the earth. It’s as if God ran out of ideas. He feels wrong, here. Feels exposed, as though his head were poking over the top of every fence and boundary line. There is something about the endless nothingness, something that makes him feel as though he is staring through a telescope and seeing another Aector McAvoy waving back. It makes him feel queasy. Vulnerable. Were he sure about his beliefs, he could imagine the giant hand of God flicking him from the flat terrain like a fly from a snooker table. Could picture himself thumbed flat.