‘Right,’ he said, swivelling in his seat as he backed the Audi up. ‘Two possibles. There’s what looks like an abandoned farm building in a place called Gomersal, about three miles from here. Then there’s an old air raid shelter near Cleckheaton, same deal. Both secluded, and she’s ridden past ’em both loads of times.’ He revved the car. ‘Come on, Joe. Which one is it? Think. You’ve got ten seconds. Choose. Them tossers from Kirklees get the other one.’

‘She mentioned Gomersal village yesterday. Said she was going to walk there. A pub.’

Merchant got on his phone, made sure that the other possible location was communicated to the Kirklees team. He drove slowly as far the ambulances, then came to a stop. Wound down his window.

‘Rita! Rita?’

A subdued DS Scannon poked her head out.

‘What?’

‘We’re off! Come on!’

She paused for a split second, then hobbled down from the back of the ambulance and joined them.

The Audi topped out at ninety, lighting up the hedgerows of Tong village as they sped towards Gomersal.

‘Google Maps!’ Merchant screamed as he drove, the light from his mobile phone turning his face blue. ‘Fuckin’ love it!’

45

They were on a road in Gomersal, houses to one side, to the other a large village green that sloped off into the darkness.

‘Made a few arrests in there,’ Rita said, peering out of the window. ‘You want Class B, you’ve come to the right…’

‘It’s not far,’ said Gwyn, still holding his phone up as he drove.

They got to a junction of three narrow roads. There were old houses, and some new ones, stone-built in a similar, old-world style. A nice spot.

No time. They spun to the left, took a lane that ran down past a pub. It was almost as picturesque as the one in Tong.

‘That’s the place she mentioned,’ Joe said.

‘It’s around here,’ said Gwyn, still staring at his phone.

The car slowed as they all looked into the darkness ahead.

Gwyn pulled up on a verge and they piled out. There were fields running from the road all the way down to the valley bottom. In the far distance was the faint glow of street lighting, but in between it was pitch black.

‘Where the friggin’ hell is it?’ Gwyn said, phone in one hand, a torch now in the other.

‘I can’t see a bloody thing, never mind a building,’ Rita said as they climbed the low stone wall, scrambling over the single line of barbed wire, hardly noticing it was there.

Joe looked back the way they’d come. The lights of the Wheatsheaf glowed, warm and welcoming.

‘It was on her mind yesterday. She mentioned the pub. It’s gotta be here.’