‘OK. I’ll be in. What’s the drill? Roads, railways, ports?’

‘No,’ Faro said. ‘Canals.’

It was about two miles back to his house. He walked quickly; PC Reid wanted to get into the station as soon as he could. He knew that time was critical in this kind of search; if they were going to find the girl their chances were at their highest early on.

The canal curved to the right. As he rounded the bend he saw a boat. There was a man standing on the towpath next to it, securing the mooring.

He was in his sixties. But then there were a lot of people that age on canal boats.

Probably settling down for the evening. The sun was getting low in the sky. As he climbed aboard the boat he glanced back at Oliver, then he disappeared below deck.

Maggie

The man’s dark eyes held Maggie’s gaze. He lifted the knife so the point was right in front of her nose.

This was it. This was the end.

Outside the canal boat she heard a dog barking. It was the first since she was fifteen. It was a beautiful sound. She was happy to have heard it before she died.

The frosted window in the cabin darkened as the dog passed.

If she died. She felt a sudden spring of hope.

Where there were dogs, there were owners. Owners who could get her out of this.

Maggie jumped up and launched herself across the boat. Her head thudded into the plastic window. She turned to the side to keep Max from slipping from her grasp, then banged her head into the window again.

‘Help!’ she screamed through the gag, although the words came out as a muffled shout. ‘Wearrhg!’

The man jumped forward and clapped his hand over her mouth. He twisted her head savagely to the side and held the knife to her throat. She felt like her neck might break.

‘Quiet!’ he hissed. ‘You stay fucking quiet. I’m going to enjoy killing you. It’s your own fault. You’re too much trouble.’

Maggie looked up at the window from the corner of her eye, waiting for it to darken as someone walked back.

There was nothing.

PC Oliver Reid

Reid heard a thud and stopped a few feet past the boat. Probably just the man he’d seen putting something away.

The man. There was something odd about him. Reid pictured him, tying the boat to a mooring then – with a glance at Reid – climbing aboard.

There’d been no friendly wave, or call of ‘good evening’, which was typical of canal boaters.

And the man was wearing sunglasses, which was odd, because the sun was setting and he was moored in the shade of a large oak tree.

There was another thud from the boat.

Reid whistled softly. Benjy ran up to him.

‘Come on, boy,’ he said. ‘Let’s take a look.’