“Now, now,” said Sergeant Freeman, “no need for tears; you’ve been most helpful-your account is quite invaluable. With the lorry driver unable to remember anything much, this is the first really lucid account we’ve had. So, what did you think had happened? To cause it?”

“Well, the windscreen shattered. There wasn’t a hole in it; the glass just had all these weird patterns all over it, making it impossible to see.”

“Something hit it, perhaps? Maybe that was the crack you heard.”

“Yes, but what could it have been?”

“That’s for us to find out. You can stop worrying about it now.”

“You’re being so kind,” she said. “You must be so… so shocked at me, by what I did.”

“Miss Linley” Freeman said, “if you saw one percent of what we do, you’d understand that we’re not very easily shocked. Isn’t that right, Constable?”

“Absolutely right,” said Constable Rowe.

“You might be shocked at this, though,” she said, in a voice so low it was almost inaudible. “I think… well, I think some of it… could… could have been my fault. You see, I… well, I dropped a can of drink. As we swerved. On the floor. It was rolling around. I think… it might have interfered with Patrick’s-Mr. Connell’s-brakes. And if I hadn’t done that, maybe he could have stopped. I mean… oh, God-”

“Miss Linley,” said Sergeant Freeman, “we will of course put this into our report. But I really don’t think you should worry about it too much. The brakes in those things are huge, very powerful, and power-assisted. One small can of drink rolling around would not have had the slightest effect. What would you say, Constable?”

Constable Rowe smiled at Georgia and said yes, indeed, he would say the same thing.

He found himself very moved by Georgia ’s distress. She hardly looked old enough to be out in the world at all, let alone hitching lifts in lorries.

“Really?”

“Really. I hope that makes you feel better.”

“It does. A bit.” But she was still looking very uncertain.

“So… you would say the whole accident was caused by this shattering of the windscreen? By Mr. Connell being unable to see? Not because of any other cars? Please think very carefully, Miss Linley; it’s very important. Very important indeed.”

“Oh-definitely, yes. Suddenly, he had to drive without being able to see. It was like he was blindfolded. That was the only reason, I’m sure.”

“Well, that’s pretty clear. Now, let’s just talk about the other cars, Miss Linley. Did you notice any in particular?”

“Oh… a few. You notice everything from up there. I was talking to Patrick, describing things to him; he asked me to, said it helped ward off what he called the monster.”

Sergeant Freeman looked up sharply.

“What monster would that be?”

“Well… being sleepy. He said it was like a sticky monster in his head. But”-she looked at them-“but he was not, I swear to you, not remotely near going to sleep; you really do have to believe me-”

“It’s all right,” said Freeman, and despite the soothing words, Linda thought that she could detect a slight change in his expression. “That’s absolutely fine. Now, go on; tell us about the other cars.”

“Well, there was a lovely car in front. A sports car, maybe an old one, bright red, amazing. By the time of the actual crash, he’d gone. But he was driving very nicely, not speeding.”

“Right. How far ahead was he, would you say? When the windscreen went?”

“I’m not sure. Impossible to say. I mean, I could still see him quite clearly-”

“Could you read the registration number? I mean, was it near enough for you to read it?”

“I… don’t think so. He was pulling ahead quite fast. I s’pose about fifty metres, something like that?”

“Right. What about a dark blue Saab? Did you notice that?”

“Oh-yes. They were beside us. Just before it happened. Well, a bit behind-you can’t see anything when the car’s right beside you. I noticed it in the mirror, and I was interested because it was such a nice car, and there was a man and a woman in it, and they seemed to be quarrelling-she was waving her arms about and stuff. And then-” She stopped. “Look, I don’t want to get anyone into trouble-”

“Don’t worry about that. Tell us what you saw.”

“Well… he did seem to be on a mobile. But then… I heard the crack and Patrick hooting and shouting and… well, I’ve told you the rest.”

“You have indeed. So, there was no question of their driving in any way dangerously? Pulling out in front of the lorry, for instance?”

“No, no, not at all.”

“Right. Well, you’ve been very helpful, Miss Linley very helpful indeed. And try not to worry about that drink can. I really think you can put your mind at rest, although we will put it into the report, of course. One last thing-did you notice a white van at all, with the back doors just tied shut? On the road that afternoon? At any stage?”

“I certainly did. He was driving like a maniac. But he couldn’t have had anything to do with it; he passed us doing about ninety ages before the crash.”

“You didn’t notice any writing on it? Any logos of any kind?”

“No, I’m sorry. Nothing. Nothing at all.”

“Was he alone in the van?”

“No. Well, he had a big dog sitting beside him.”

“Well, I really cannot tell you how helpful you’ve been, Miss Linley. You’ve given us an invaluable account, and the information on the other cars is most helpful as well.”

Soon after that, having read her statement and signed it, she was told she was free to go.

“Poor Mr. Connell will be pleased, won’t he?” said Constable Rowe. “S’pose you’ll be letting him know.”

“Yes, of course.”

“Today?”

“No, Monday morning will do perfectly well.”

“Yes, of course,” said Constable Rowe hastily, and then added, “I was wondering: might the windscreen have been shattered by that wheel nut?”

“Very unlikely,” said Freeman, “very unlikely indeed.”

“Hi, William. It’s Abi.”

“Abi! Oh, my God. Yes. Hello.”

“Hello, William. What kind of a reception is that?”

“I… Oh, sorry. Yes. It’s wonderful to hear from you.”

“Hope so.” She laughed. That laugh. That-almost-dirty laugh. “I did warn you I’d ring if you didn’t. Anyway… I thought it might be good if we went out tomorrow night. What do you think?”

“Well… well… yes. Of course. It’d be great. Fantastic. Yeah. Er… tonight’d be better. Well, sooner.”

She laughed again. “I’ve got to go out with some mates tonight, William. A friend’s going to Australia for a year. I’d ask you along, but I don’t think you’d enjoy it too much.”

“OK, then. Tomorrow it is.”

“Good. I thought I’d come over to you, save you the trek. We could meet in the pub you took me to.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, of course I’m sure. Eightish?”

“Eightish,” he said. “Yes. Great. Well… thanks for calling.”

He rang off and punched the air.

Patrick felt very tired; it had been a long, wakeful night without his sleeping pills, and a painful one too. The temptation at one point to raid his horde, to take at least one of them, was intense; then he thought he would simply be prolonging the agony-literally. He had calculated that by tonight he would have enough; he would take them after he had been settled for the night. And then-oblivion. No more remorse, no more pain, no more of being a burden on everyone. He was actually looking forward to it; he knew it was a mortal sin, knew he should have absolution, was afraid in his very darkest moments of going to hell. He had thought of asking for the priest, but it seemed dangerous; he might be tempted to confess, or even to talk of his absolute wretchedness, his sense of being abandoned by God, as well as everyone else, and the hospital priest was a clever, sensitive soul; he might well become aware of Patrick’s despair and the danger of it. So he must do it alone, must say his own prayers, ask for God’s forgiveness himself, and then… leave. He could manage; he was afraid, but not as afraid as he was of continuing to live with this awful, terrifying misery and guilt.