The mêlée he’d imagined taking place inside had calmed. Nobody was running, nobody was being pinned down. He couldn’t hear the whine of bikes on the hunt across fields. It wasn’t a drugs cartel stronghold, after all. Men in grimy coveralls were standing around, talking to the police, while other police strolled here and there, looking into nooks and crannies. Some way ahead, one of the outhouses had its door open and there was an officer in the doorway. Beyond that he could see the house, which looked like it was made of corrugated iron painted blue, and this had a police presence outside, too.

But closer: the caravan. A half-naked guy so tanned he looked like a tree stump sculpture was in the doorway, shaking his head at two officers standing before him. He seemed to be reluctant to let them inside.

It was all the stimulus Nick needed.

He rushed that way. Someone shouted for him to stop. Hearing this, the two officers at the caravan turned his way, then stepped into his path. He knew he probably looked like a madman.

‘Where’s my daughter, you bastard,’ he yelled, just feet away now. He felt he had the momentum to power through police, tree sculpture and door without missing a beat. But it didn’t happen.

The wall of police met him and he stopped dead. His feet skidded on the dry earth, like a cartoon character building up to a sprint off the line. ‘No! Get off me. My daughter might be in there!’

But they didn’t get off. He was lifted by powerful arms. He of the scaly brown skin looked on with puzzlement, but not a shred of fear. One of Nick’s flailing arms got free and accidentally hit flesh. The next instant, he found himself face down in the dirt, hands behind his back and someone’s knee in his spine. Over all the noise he was making, and the orders to calm down, and the vocal confusion of Mister Wooden, Nick actually heard the click of handcuffs snapping on to his wrists. But, worse than all of that, he noticed movement through one of the caravan’s windows. A police officer, already inside with Oak Man, who hadn’t refused entry at all.

Which meant he had nothing to hide.

‘Anna and Josie aren’t here,’ he heard a female shout. He turned his head, cheek scraping against the arid land. Miller, of course, approaching in that casual and patient way of hers. The officers released him and he got to his knees. The cuffs were removed as Miller squatted before him.