He walked at a brisk pace, casting his eyes left and right. There was a mile and a half of woodland between him and the lake, but Lane could be anywhere. The inspector summoned up the image of the man. He’d been average height. Fit – they’d noticed that when he ran from the car. When they met him first, he’d been moving heavy pots around the garden centre with Fergus and then progressed to taking the bags of fertiliser off the delivery truck. He’d dark hair and sideburns. That was pretty much all Tom could recall and that was the scary thing.

The man had kidnapped and murdered five, probably six, maybe seven women, and he really wasn’t very remarkable at all.

Tom had traversed at least three-quarters of a mile. The quiet static on his radio told him nobody else had spotted anything.

Please God, let this be the place, he prayed. If Lane was carrying or dragging Laura, he couldn’t have moved much faster than the detectives. But he had twenty minutes on them. The local guard had told them that the woods narrowed as they approached the lake, so Tom would start seeing his officers through the trees on either side shortly.

Where was Lane?

If they’d – if he – had got this wrong, they would have to start from scratch, and time was running out for Laura.

Tom began to jog, his lungs burning from the now unfamiliar exercise. He hadn’t run in a long time and sadly, his legs had lost their muscle memory. His wife was right. He was out of shape.

Let us find her, he pleaded with the gods. Let us find her safe and I’ll go running every damn morning.

The twigs and leaves crunched underfoot as he trotted along, making a little noise but not enough to raise concern. His breathing was louder than anything else.

His radio came to life and he froze, then lifted it to his ear.

‘He’s here. I see a light ahead.’

It was Michael.

‘Where are you?’ Tom heard Ray hiss back.

He stood and turned in a circle. They were a half-mile away from the lake. Which direction had Michael set off in? The inspector had gone left from the main path. He closed his eyes and thought back. Right. Michael had gone right.

Tom turned on his heel and veered diagonally in that direction, assuming Michael would be ahead of him. The younger man was fitter and would be moving faster.

‘The trees are clearing,’ Michael whispered into the radio. ‘I’m near the lake. His light has stopped flickering. I need to go to radio silence – I’m approaching.’

Tom picked up the pace. Ray had taken the same direction as Michael at the opening to the woods, so he had to be close. If they could come at Lane in a pincer movement, they would have him.