Chloe looked to be in a trance, staring at the ladders of rain trembling across the window. She had slid down even deeper into the seat. Her discarded parka cradled her like a nest. Muddy boots had been kicked off, and her feet were up by the windshield, both legs at full stretch just to reach it.

The traffic was at a crawl, less than two miles from the city. The wipers slicked back and forth. Between their squeak and chatter, two lint-laden speakers hummed a song too low to hear. Ben had been sitting too long. No matter how he shifted his weight there was discomfort, as though his bones carried bruises.

‘How do you suppose Sparling knew to ask about the creeper?’ he asked.

It felt an age since either of them had spoken.

‘I was thinking the same,’ Chloe replied. ‘He definitely knows more than he’d like us to believe. I just don’t understand why he sent us to that place. Like, honestly, there’s nothing there, and that much was obvious from the million maps he showed us.’

‘What do we care? We’re getting paid, aren’t we?’

‘I suppose,’ she sighed. ‘It’s weird though.’

‘What is?’

‘Everything, Benny Boy. I regret to politely break it to you that everything about this is fucking weird.’

There was so much that they didn’t know. Ben hadn’t even read his contract. He had nodded his head like a money-starved idiot as Sparling spouted facts that he knew couldn’t be true. Who even was Doctor Alec Sparling? They hadn’t enquired as to his profession or academic history.

Ben knew the man’s name. That’s all, because that’s all he had told them.

‘Have you any battery left in your phone?’ he asked.

‘Yeah, I turned it off once we reached the car. Why?’

‘Look up the office number for my old supervisor, Joe Cunningham. He’s the lad who recommended me to Sparling. It should be on the university’s website.’

‘Yes, sir,’ she replied, digging around in her jacket.

He should have researched Sparling sooner. It wasn’t like him to be so lackadaisical. Ben liked to reserve his negligence strictly for the realms of retail and parenthood. The financial reward that Sparling repeatedly alluded to had obviously blindsided his better judgement.

‘It’s ringing,’ Chloe said, holding the phone over to him.

Ben hadn’t spoken to his supervisor since finishing his thesis. But they had shared a well-disposed rapport throughout. Cunningham recognised the hours he put in and probably played some part in Ben receiving the grade that he did. The man himself was extensively published and well connected in his field. His word could be trusted.

Ben was nervous as he listened to the dial tone. He hated talking on loudspeaker.

‘Hello,’ said a slow, slightly gruff voice.

‘Joe, it’s Ben French, long time no talk.’