He picked up his phone to try Nicky one more time, but once again it went straight to voicemail.

Friday 25 October, 5.27 p.m.

The clouds had closed like a lid upon the city, and the rain had resumed its steady fall. It wasn’t quite dark when Nicky arrived at the docks, but even so the streets were deserted. The gutters overflowed, blocked by leaves and litter, and a cruel wind cut in from across the sea.

If there was a part of the city more destitute than Blackhawk, then this was it. A mile up the coast, a former shipyard had been developed into an indoor multiplex, boasting a cinema, bowling alley and upmarket gym. Here, though, a dying industry was still clinging on, and a block inland from the cranes and container ships it was just squat, sad-looking houses, most of which were probably worth less than the mortgages that had been taken out to buy them. Some had been abandoned and boarded up, including the building Nicky pulled up outside.

She checked her phone before stepping from the car. She’d tried to reach Rob to let him know where she was heading, and when he’d failed to answer she’d contemplated leaving him a message. But then it had struck her that it was probably for the best that she hadn’t got through. If Rob knew what she was doing, he’d almost certainly tell her to wait, or at the very least to call in for a pair of uniforms to go with her. Melissa, though, had asked her to come alone. Begged her, practically, and Nicky didn’t want to do anything that might spook her. To Nicky’s ear she hadn’t sounded like a killer – she sounded genuinely terrified. There was the possibility she was faking, but in Nicky’s experience nobody was that good an actor.

Now, the display on Nicky’s phone told her she was in one of the many dead spots that blighted the city, meaning there was nothing she could do about contacting Rob anyway. Like it or not, she was on her own.