It’s the same fear for the child whose bedroom door has to stand open at night for a glimpse of light and for the old woman whose hand trembles as she draws back the bolts. In the end, we’re all destined to fall into the claws of that darkness we glimpse in our dreams. The great snatcher of souls, the unseen lurker on the threshold. What threshold would he lurk on, if not on the threshold of death?

Do you see that shadow now? Do you feel the chill, and hear the rustling?

These days, my dreams are different. Sometimes, in my nightmares, I see bodies moving inside their coffins. Their mouths twist, their limbs writhe, their hands open and close like claws as they reach towards the light. I try to make them settle down, to lie still so they can be buried. But it never does any good. In my dreams, the dead just won’t stop squirming.

Chapter Nine

Next morning, Diane Fry found two middle-aged DCs occupying desks in the CID room. They wore almost identical navy blue suits, and they were both a bit too meaty around the shoulders, so they hardly seemed to have any necks. One had a tie with blue stripes, and the other black-and-white checks. They could have been visiting sales executives from a pharmaceutical company.

‘Who are those two?’ asked Gavin Murfin.

‘CID support,’ said Fry.

‘What?’

‘They retired from D Division last year. But they’ve come back to help out for a bit, while we’re short-staffed. Mr Hitchens says they’re very experienced. They both put in their full thirty.’

‘Yes, I can tell.’

At the morning briefing on the Sandra Birley enquiry, Ben Cooper was the first to raise a hand. Keen to get noticed, no doubt.

‘Sir, do you think Mrs Birley’s attacker might have watched her for some days beforehand and worked out her habits?’

‘What habits?’ said DI Hitchens.

‘For a start, the location she chose to park her car. And her practice of not using the lift when it smelled.’

‘What, and pissed in the lift to discourage her from using it?’

‘It was just a thought.’

‘It would be too good to be true, wouldn’t it? A suspect who covered the floor of the lift with his DNA for us to find?’ The DI considered it. ‘No, it won’t work, Ben. He couldn’t possibly have known Sandra Birley would work late that night.’

‘No? Well, not unless –’

‘Unless?’

‘Unless he worked in the same office.’

‘We have to look at all her colleagues, then,’ said Hitchens. ‘How many are there?’

‘About forty people work at Peak Mutual,’ said Fry. ‘Male and female.’

‘Male and female? Good point, DS Fry. We mustn’t assume we’re looking for a male offender at this stage.’

‘The phone call, sir?’ said somebody.

‘The phone call may turn out to have nothing to do with the abduction.’

DCI Kessen was present at the briefing, but sitting to one side and letting DI Hitchens take the floor. Fry wasn’t surprised to see the acting head of CID. If the Birley case became a murder enquiry, Kessen would be appointed Senior Investigating Officer. But for now, they had no body, no evidence that there had been a serious crime. The possibility that Sandra Birley had been abducted from the Clappergate car park was just that – a possibility.