He looked up as he walked out of Penrith station, and calculated where all the CCTV cameras were, to avoid them. He thrived off being indistinctive and wore grey and brown most of the time. He was clean-shaven and wore contact lenses rather than spectacles: nothing to make him memorable and likely to provoke interest. He fitted in, as a gentleman perhaps visiting his family for a mid-week lunch, or even a businessman home from London. Walking to the taxi rank, he tucked a newspaper under his arm and got into the back of a cab and gave his temporary address for as long as he had to stay in this wilderness. He missed the city. Any metropolis afforded him anonymity in a way that was routine to him; however there was merit in the rural landscape too. It lacked all the pitfalls of the modern urban sprawl: CCTV cameras, large police forces, busy traffic and traceable taxi rides. Black cabs were the worst. Here, in the arse end of nowhere, cabbies were over-friendly but also erratically employed and so one never got in the same one twice, if careful. It was better than driving one’s own vehicle, which left a footprint not only on traffic cameras, but also by way of petrol filling stations, insurance, tax and rental records. His police training was still firmly ingrained in him and that was why Bart had trusted him, but he’d discovered quickly that Vivienne wore the trousers in the marriage. Bart’s Achilles heel had just eliminated him in the most spectacular way, and now he had to hold Vivienne to her promise.

The cab dropped him off at a block of flats in the centre of town. He paid over the fare, but not too much, not wanting to be memorable. The sky had been dark when he woke up this morning and it remained so: it was grim up north, he thought unfairly. He found his keys and let himself into the entrance, taking the stairs to the third floor and unlocking the apartment he’d rented for a couple of weeks. Once inside, he shivered and threw off his coat, slapping his hands together and checking the heating to see if it was on full. He heard the TV in the next room and went to check on the girls.

They lay on the double bed, glued to the new iPads he’d provided for them, predicting they’d get bored quickly. They were sullen and ungrateful, but their eyes lit up when they saw the new equipment. He was sure that if he ever got his daughter back, he would teach her humility. He’d confiscated their phones for obvious reasons, having turned them off near their school, storing them in another room. They had everything they needed: food, drink, a hot shower and Netflix. He’d also promised them a lot of money.