How late was it? Or how early? She had no phone or watch. She couldn’t remember how long she had been in the van. Surely dawn couldn’t be far off. The sun rose early these days. But everything was still dark, and the trees and walls were silhouettes of scarecrows and demons closing in on her. The road was narrow, and there was no sidewalk, so she walked on the hard surface. Stones dug into the soles of her feet with almost every step. If a car came she would have plenty of warning. She would hear it and see its headlights from far away. If a car came . . .

She hadn’t been walking for more than ten or fifteen minutes when she thought she heard the distant drone of an engine and saw lights playing between the shadows and trees ahead, refracted in the mist down the winding road. A car! It was traveling in the opposite direction she was walking, the same direction the van had been heading, but that didn’t matter. As the car came closer, she at least had enough sense to stand back, near the edge of the ditch, so it wouldn’t hit her by accident. She threw away her dignity and waved her arms in the air. The headlights dazzled her, and the small van shot straight past. She watched it in despair, then she saw it stop with a screeching of rubber about a hundred yards ahead. She couldn’t make out what sort of van it was. The engine purred and the red brake lights glowed like a demon’s eyes in the mist. Shaking off the feeling of apprehension that came over her, she started hobbling toward the van as quickly as she could.

1

DETECTIVE SUPERINTENDENT ALAN BANKS STOOD IN front of the mirror in the gents and studied his reflection. Not bad, he thought, tightening his mauve-and-gold-striped tie so that it didn’t look as if the top button of his shirt was undone, which it always was. He couldn’t stand that claustrophobic feeling he got when both button and tie pressed on his Adam’s apple. There was no dandruff on the collar or shoulders of his suit jacket, and his dark hair was neatly cropped, showing a hint of gray, like a scattering of ash, around the temples. He had no shaving cuts, no shred of tissue hanging off his chin, and he wore just a faint hint of classic Old Spice aftershave. He straightened his shoulders and spine, noting that there were no bulges in his jacket pockets to spoil the line of his new suit. His wallet and warrant card were all he carried, and both were slim. He fastened the middle button, so the jacket hung just right, and decided he was ready to face the world.