The Crow steeled himself for a confrontation he hadn’t foreseen. That was both troubling and a potential benefit. A second life force in one single event would render him stronger than he’d ever felt in one night, but it wasn’t part of his plan. Taking a life that might have been valued, that nature had planted and nurtured, might upset his evolution.

Then again, were there really any accidents in nature? Predators hunted when and where they could. They took whatever crossed their paths. They didn’t waste their time evaluating and philosophising. He breathed hard, once, twice, three times, and stepped into the last bedroom.

It was a guest room, with a double bed against the wall in the corner, and a rug providing the only colour. Another built-in wardrobe was set into the wall. The Crow listened for a moment, checking the small window for flashing blue lights, admitting to himself for the first time that he may have underestimated the situation. There was no way of knowing how much time he had left to get out if the police had already been called.

Tearing at the wardrobe door, he growled as he thrust his gun hand inside. It was a bedding cupboard, filled with towels, a spare duvet, clean sheets and blankets, piled everywhere. Other than that, nothing.

He had imagined it. The banging door was no more than the wind. The look on the farmer’s face as he’d stared up at the ceiling … The flowery bedspread might be no more than the touch of a housekeeper who came in once a week. And why couldn’t a man have put an apple pie in the oven? It was probably shop-bought and straight out of the freezer. Still, he wouldn’t stay. The event had been tainted for him. Spoiled. A hot flash of resentment washed over him as he stood dripping second-hand blood onto the carpet.

Back downstairs, he had one final task. The farmer’s face was still completely intact. That element of his visit had gone smoothly, at least. Laying the body on its back, he reached into his trouser pockets and gently pulled out the prized objects. Arranging them was easier than he’d imagined.

He left the house in darkness, turning off all the downstairs lights and thoughtfully turning off the oven. The police would discover the body soon enough. No point attracting them too soon with billowing smoke. Much better that they had only a vague timeline to go by. So far, they were proving remarkably incompetent, and that was just the way The Crow liked it.