But she should make certain. As she went towards the closed door, Ellie saw blood on the carpet outside it. Two or three spots, nothing more. But all the same, it made her wish – yet again – she’d brought her shotgun.

Ellie shoved the door wide and stepped back, just in case. But the room was empty. More glass and snow, this time sprayed across the single bed by the window, over the bright yellow duvet. A laptop on the floor, snapped in two like plywood. Books. Posters on the wall: pop stars, film stars.

Charlotte’s room. There was another of the marks, on the wall above the bedhead. But no blood.

There were five rooms upstairs. Ellie hadn’t been up here in years but remembered the layout clearly enough: four bedrooms, one bathroom. When Ellie checked them she found all the windows broken, front and back. One bedroom had been an office: filing cabinets, a desktop computer. The computer had been overturned, the monitor smashed. Another bedroom was bare and empty. More glass and snow on the floor. She left Joda and Barbara’s bedroom until last, nerving herself for whatever she might find.

Empty windows, gaping open to the sky. Clean cold air had blown in, that didn’t smell of anything. Under it were whiffs of soap, air-freshener, perfume and shampoo. The room was dim. Ellie flicked the light switch, but nothing happened. Torn sheets on the floor; blood spots on the mattress. And that mark yet again, scratched on the wall.

Ellie was still for nearly a minute, thinking of Joda as she’d last seen him, the weary sorrow in his eyes, and of Barbara as she had been. She clenched her fists, then opened them. Then she pulled out her phone and took pictures of each room, before going back downstairs.

Outside, it had started snowing again, and the tyre-tracks and footprints there were already fading.

Ellie studied the ones in the snow inside the bar. There were her own, and another set, made by large, heavy boots. The kind a farmer wore.

Harpers. They’d been here, and at Wakeman Farm. Dave and Charlotte had arrived while they were at the Bell; Dave and Charlotte were no longer here. Their current location wasn’t hard to guess. Which meant Charlotte Famuyiwa was almost certainly with Paul Harper.

Ellie’s fists were clenched. Hello fury, my old friend. It had been close to slipping its leash last night, and now here it was again.

Deep breaths, Ellie. Control yourself. Think it through. Go in half-cocked, you’ll make it worse.

Ideally, she’d have Tom call for back-up from outside, up to and including an armed response team. But in an ideal world the roads would be clear, and they weren’t. Of course, an ideal world wouldn’t contain Paul Harper to begin with. Either way, she’d have to work with what she had.