His attempts at analysis, as non-productive as the efforts of a hamster on a wheel, only added to his sense of exhaustion, and he was almost comatose when the AC had intervened.

He’d come home and fallen on to his bed. His two hours’ sleep felt like two minutes and he woke to find his mind still trapped on the hamster wheel.

He switched on a bedside lamp and checked his mobile, hoping to find Gina might have rung again.

There was a message, but not from her.

Andy Dalziel.

He listened.

‘Don’t care if you’re saving the fucking universe from aliens, ring me!’

Not a friendly chat then, not a simple progress report. One thing he was certain of was that the Fat Man didn’t do pointless hysteria. Something had happened. He tried Gina’s number without any expectation of a reply. When he got the answer service, he said, ‘Ring me. Please. Soon as you can.’

Then he accessed Dalziel’s message again, but he didn’t press the hash key to return the call. Between sensing and knowing disaster there’s a space where a man can linger, can even imagine he might be able to take a backward step and press the delete button.

He wished his head were clearer. He went to the bathroom and threw handfuls of cold water over his face. God, how great it must be to have a job that didn’t leave you constantly fatigued. It wasn’t just the bastards you were working against but the bastards you were working with that demanded your total concentration. Sleep and someone would fuck you! Practise and a steady supply of Provigil had minimized his rest needs and helped his nimble progress up the main-mast of promotion. With luck-and luck was what it came down to when you got within striking distance of the top-one day soon he might be able to haul himself into the secure crow’s nest of deputy assistant commissioner level.

But sometimes when the seas got rough and your fingers got cold, the deck below became a small round mouth seductively inviting you to fall.

Jesus! Where did that come from? he asked himself. It’s all them books Gina has cluttering up the place. You’ll be writing poetry next!

He’d managed to push Gina to the back of that space for a nanosecond, but here she was again. There was nowhere to escape to. He needed to know what was going on, and there was only one way to find out.

He went back into his messages, listened to Dalziel again, then pressed hash.

After a moment a familiar voice boomed, ‘What?’

‘Andy, it’s Mick.’

‘Mick, where the hell have you been? We’ve got problems.’

‘Problems? Has something happened to Gina?’

His voice on a rising scale.

‘Don’t get your knickers in a twist, lad,’ said Dalziel. ‘She’s checked out of her hotel, that’s all. When did you last talk to her, Mick?’

‘This afternoon. She said you’d crashed out on her bed. Jesus, Andy, I thought you were having lunch with her to get on the case, not to get pissed!’

‘I wasn’t pissed,’ retorted Dalziel defensively. ‘And I was on the case-and a funny fucking case it’s turning out to be. Let me tell you about it. I’d set one of my WDCs to watch us, and what she spotted was some sod bugging us.’

‘Bugging? You sure?’

‘Of course I’m bloody sure. You think I’m playing games? Just listen to what happened next and then tell me I’m playing games! When the bugger left, my girl went after him. An hour or so later, the pair of them were found in his flat, her with her head cracked open, him with half of his face blown off. In the meantime, Gina checked out of the hotel and took off.’

‘Oh Christ,’ said Purdy. Suddenly that space between guessing and knowing seemed very attractive. This was worse than his worst imaginings.

‘Mick, you still there?’

‘Yes,’ he said, trying to keep his voice controlled and professional. ‘Listen, have you put a call out on Gina?’

‘Now why should we do that, Mick? Presumably she’s on her way home.’

Purdy tried to sound casual, wasn’t sure if he succeeded.

‘I just thought you’d want to talk to her, in connection with this case of yours.’

‘The murder? You mean in case the dead man turns out to be Alex Wolfe? You want us to put out a call on her as a suspect?’

Is he taking the piss? thought Purdy.

‘Don’t be stupid. Of course it’s not Alex. I mean, why should it be?’

‘No reason. Oh, by the way, Mick. Does the name Delay mean owt to you? Brother and sister, Fleur and Vincent?’

There was a long pause necessary for him to make sure the panic he felt surging up his gut didn’t leak out through his larynx. Then he said, in a tone so controlled it was probably a bigger giveaway than panic, ‘Why do you ask? Are they up there?’

‘Aye, Been staying at the Keldale for a week now. So you do know them then?’

‘Know of them. There’s a Fleur Delay used to work for Goldie Gidman. Looked after his finances for years, both the stuff he let the taxman see and the stuff he didn’t. As he got bigger and went legit, Fleur dropped out of the picture. Spending more time with her family, to coin a phrase.’

‘Her family being this Vince?’

‘That’s right. Got a lot of form, but nothing recently to my knowledge. Listen, Andy, if they’re around, could just be coincidence, but I’d give them a pull. Keep them close. But you’ve probably got that organized anyway, haven’t you?’

He found he couldn’t-in fact no longer wanted to-keep the deep concern out of his voice.

‘Don’t worry, lad,’ said Dalziel. ‘We’ve got ’em in our sights.’

‘Good. And listen, Andy, do me a favour. Put out that call on Gina anyway. Please.’

‘OK, no need to get on your knees. I’ll make sure my lads are out there looking for her. If you make contact first, be sure to let me know, all right?’

‘Straight away. And you’ll get in touch with me, right?’

Of course I will. First on my list. OK, Mick, got to go now. Unless there’s anything else you want to tell me…?’

‘I don’t think so. Andy, thanks for putting me in the picture. I’ll not forget it.’

‘I’ll not let you. And I’ll try to keep you posted. But, Mick, remember this is official now, so at some point we may need to talk to you officially. You hear what I’m saying? Get your act together. Cheers.’

The line went dead.

Purdy switched off, hurled the phone on to his bed, and let out a sobbing, snarling cry that contained all the doubt, anger and fear that had been repressed during the conversation. It made him feel better, but not much.

He retrieved the phone and tried Gina’s number again. Still nothing. He brought up another name and looked at it for a while before cancelling.

Some things needed to be done face to face.

He went back into the bathroom, turned the shower on cold and stripped off. From the wall cabinet he took a small plastic bottle, shook a couple of Provigils into his hand, tossed them into his mouth then stepped under the jets, his head thrown back to let the icy water drive the tablets down his throat.

Until this lot got sorted, until he knew where Gina was and that she was safe, sleep wasn’t an option.