Theo shifted uncomfortably on his feet, one hand pressed deep inside his jacket pocket as he held the cigarette in the other. “I’m not sure how to tell you this, so I’m just going to come right out with it.”

The other man frowned. “What is it, Theo? Has something else happened?”

“It’s about Alice’s baby. There’s something you need to know—”

The office doors swung open, and Sergeant Burns hurried back through with two other police officers. “We’ve got the location,” she said. “Local officers are on their way.”

“But we need to go too,” Theo said.

“I’m afraid that’s out of the question. The police can handle it, I assure you.”

“But no one knows what’s happened to the baby. We hope to God she’s safe, but can you imagine if she’s not?” The thought of it made Theo ache. “She might not even be there.”

“Perhaps it would be best for someone to be there whom Alice knows,” George said brusquely, addressing the older of the uniformed men.

The policeman looked at George. “I suppose since you’re the grandfather, that counts as family,” he said, weighing it up. “But you still have to stay in the car.”

And the officers strode toward the door.

“What did he just say?” George asked in bewilderment.

Theo clapped him on the back. “Come on, I’ll tell you on the way.”

Forty

Alice was about to knock, but the door was already open, and there was no one behind the panel of diamond-patterned glass. Accept your fear, Alice, she could hear Ursula say. Don’t fight it. Let it work for you.

It only took one gentle push.

Inside was dark and empty, and a red carpet swept away to the rear of the house where a gray linoleum kitchen and the green horizon of a garden beckoned.

Alice stood on the threshold and listened, the breeze from the garden rushing through the hallway, scented with honeysuckle and grass. Fragments of conversation drifted with it, and she cocked her head to listen—but the voices were too distant, so she eased cautiously into the living room.

It was sparsely furnished in muted colors that gave the place a transient feel, as if no one had spent any length of time there, or laid down any roots.

The crying resumed overhead, and Alice swiftly investigated the other downstairs rooms then headed for the staircase. At the bottom of the steps she looked up—the house was as hollow as a skull, and her hand trembled as she laid it on the rail. Inwardly she was calm, moored by her self-belief, even though she wanted to scream her daughter’s name.