‘She would have written,’ said Molly. ‘She wouldn’t have wanted to disappoint Candy.’

She swallowed hard.

‘If I’d been here when she left, I’d have made sure that she gave us details of where she was going. I’d have asked to meet these people who were offering her work. But all of the full-time staff were at a meeting that day with the Department of Health and Human Services over on Griffin Street, and we just had volunteers manning the shelter. Volunteers and Candy.’

Anything I might have had to say would have sounded trite, so I said nothing. Instead I took one of my business cards from my wallet and handed it to her.

‘If you or Candy can think of anything else that might help me, or if anyone else comes around asking about Annie, I’d appreciate it if you’d give me a call. Also …’

‘Yes?’

‘I don’t think Candy should talk too much about that blue car. I think it might be better if she kept it to herself.’

‘I understand. We didn’t lie to Candy, did we? You are going to keep looking for Annie? I mean, I’d hire you myself if I could afford to.’

‘You forget: I work cheap.’

This time she didn’t smile.

‘Somehow, I don’t believe that’s true. What you charge and how you work are two different things.’

I shook her hand. ‘I’ll be in touch.’

Molly showed me to the door. As she opened it, there was movement behind us. Candy was sitting on the stairs, just out of sight of the office.

She was crying, crying beyond consolation.

I found Shaky in his bed at the Oxford Street Shelter. They’d done their best to keep him comfortable while the wound to his head was healing. He still had a headache, and his scalp had begun to itch, but otherwise he was doing as well as could be expected for someone who had been hit over the head with a liquor bottle. I put him in my car and took him to the Bear for a burger and a beer. When he was settled into his seat with a rodeo burger on order and a Shipyard Old Thumper in a glass before him, and Cupcake Cathy had fussed over him some, I told him a little of the day I’d had. After all, I was working for him. I’d made him pay me a dollar while he was lying on the hospital gurney. One of the nurses had taken it amiss, and my reputation at Maine Medical was now probably lower than most ambulance chasers.

‘So he definitely went to Prosperous?’ said Shaky.

‘He didn’t just go there, he got run out of town. Twice. The first time politely, the second time less so.’

‘He could be a stubborn man,’ said Shaky.

‘He was a bright one too,’ I said. ‘Brighter than I am at least, because I’m still not sure what he was doing nosing around an old church.’

‘Do you believe what that cop told you?’

‘I’ve no reason not to. The job Jude’s daughter spoke of could have fallen through. She might have changed her mind about it, or that old couple, if they existed at all, could have reconsidered their Good Samaritanism while she left to get her bags. Or she might just have been unlucky.’

‘Unlucky?’

‘She was a vulnerable woman living on the streets. There are men out there who’d regard someone like her as easy prey.’

Shaky nodded and took a long sip of his beer.

‘I know,’ he said. ‘I’ve met enough of them in my time, and they don’t all sleep on mats on floors.’

‘You may be right,’ I said. ‘In my experience the worst of them wear suits and drive nice, well-maintained vehicles. But one thing is certain: as far as the services in Bangor are concerned, Annie dropped off the radar on the day she spoke about that job. I went by the women’s shelter on my way back down here, and nobody has seen or heard from her since then.’

‘And this woman, this Candy, she’s certain Annie said she was going to Prosperous?’

‘Yes, but that doesn’t mean Prosperous is where she ended up.’

‘So what are you going to do?’

‘Go back there. Look for a blue car. See what happens.’

‘Wow, good plan. You have it all worked out. And people pay you for that?’

‘Not a lot,’ I said, pointedly. ‘And, sometimes, not at all.’

26

In the living room of Hayley Conyer’s house, Morland steepled his hands over his face, closed his eyes and made a prayer of thanks to a god in whom he did not believe. It was force of habit, and no more than that. It looked good for him to go to church on Sundays. All of the most influential citizens in Prosperous were members of one congregation or another. Some even believed. Just like their ancestors back in England who had carved faces into the walls of their church, their faith could encompass more than one deity. Morland was not of their kind. He no longer even knew what he believed in, apart from Prosperous itself. All he could say for sure was that no Christian god impinged on his consciousness.

He was weary from arguing, but at least his view had prevailed, for now. As the guardian of the church it was Warraner and not Morland who had Hayley’s ear in times of crisis, but on this occasion Morland had managed to sway Hayley. He had been helped by the absence of two members of the board: Luke Joblin was attending a realtors’ convention in Philadelphia, and Thomas Souleby was currently under observation at a sleep clinic in Boston, having recently been diagnosed with sleep apnea. In times of crisis Hayley could act without a vote from the board, but Morland had convinced her that the situation was not that desperate. The detective was simply asking questions. There was nothing to link the death of the girl’s father to the town, and the girl herself was no more. Unless the detective could commune with the deceased he would find his avenues of inquiry quickly exhausted.

Hayley Conyer poured the last of the tea into her cup. It must have been cold and unbearably strong by now, but she was not one to let it go to waste. To her right sat Warraner, his face frozen. That was the other thing: Warraner had wanted them to take action but he couldn’t specify what kind of action. Killing the detective wasn’t an option, and Warraner had no solution of his own to offer. He just didn’t like seeing Morland get his way. Warraner would rather have been the king of nothing than the prince of something.

‘I’m still not entirely happy,’ said Warraner. ‘This man is a threat to us.’

‘Not yet,’ said Morland, for what seemed like the hundredth time. He removed his hands from his face. ‘Not unless we make him a threat.’

‘We’ll discuss it again when Thomas and Luke have returned,’ snapped Hayley. She seemed as weary of Warraner as Morland was. ‘In the meantime, I want to be informed the moment he returns to Prosperous, if he returns here. I don’t want to have to wait to hear it from the pastor.’

Warraner’s face thawed into a smile. Morland didn’t react. He simply wanted to be gone from the house. He stood and took his coat from the chair.

‘If he comes back, you’ll know,’ said Morland.

He was hungry. Julianne would have done what she could to save some dinner for him, but it would still be dried to hell and back by now. He’d eat it, though, and not just because he was hungry. He’d have eaten it even if Hayley Conyer had force-fed him caviar and foie gras during their meeting. He’d eat it because his wife had prepared it for him.

‘Good night,’ said Morland.

‘Just one more thing, Chief,’ said Hayley, and Morland stiffened as surely as if she’d inserted a blade into the small of his back.

He turned. Even Warraner seemed curious to hear what it was she had to say.

‘I want the girl’s body moved,’ said Hayley.

Morland looked at her as though she were mad.

‘You’ve got to be kidding.’

‘I’m far from kidding. This detective’s presence in Prosperous has made me uneasy, and if that body is discovered, we’ll all be fucked.’