And you know, it was kind of cool, once my eyes had adjusted to the gloom.

Music was playing low: ‘Come Together’, followed by ‘Something’. Abbey Road. A big man in an apron stood at the grill, flipping burgers.

‘How you doin’,’ he said. ‘Waitress will be with you in a minute. How is it out there?’

‘It’s cold. Clear skies, though.’

‘Weather Channel says it could go down to ten degrees tonight.’

‘At least you’re warm in here.’

He was sweating over the grill. Nobody was going to have to salt a hamburger.

‘I always got insulation.’

He patted his massive belly, and I instantly recalled Candy back in the Tender House in Bangor, watching her weight and counting marshmallows. It reminded me of why I was here.

A compact middle-aged woman with huge hair materialized out of the darkness. I had already begun to make out half a dozen figures scattered around, but it would have taken a flashlight shone on their faces to discern their features.

‘Table, hon?’ said the woman.

‘I was looking for Euclid Danes,’ I said. ‘His sister told me he might be here.’

‘He’s in his office,’ she said. ‘Table at the back. She send you to bring him home?’

‘Apparently she’s cooking meatloaf.’

‘I can believe it. She can’t cook nothing else. Get you a drink?’

‘Coffee, please.’

‘I’ll make it extra strong. You’ll need it if you’re going to stay awake listening to his ramblings.’

Euclid Danes looked like his sister in male drag. They might even have been twins. He was wearing a shabby blue suit and a red tie, just in case he was suddenly required to interfere in someone else’s business. The table before him was covered with newspapers, clippings, random documents, assorted pens and highlighters and a half-eaten plate of French fries. He didn’t look up as I stood over him, so lost was he in annotating a sheaf of reports.

‘Mr Danes?’ I said.

He raised his right hand while the fountain pen in his left continued to scrawl across the page. His notes were longer than the report itself. I could almost hear the rise of frustrated sighs at some future meeting as Euclid Danes stood, cleared his throat and began to speak.

A long time went by. My coffee came. I added milk. I took a sip. Oceans rose and fell, and mountains collapsed to dust. Finally Euclid Danes finished his work, capped his pen and aligned it with the paper on which he had been working. He clasped his hands and looked up at me with young, curious eyes. There was mischief in them. Euclid Danes might have been the bane of life in Dearden, but he was smart enough to know it, and bright enough to enjoy it.

‘How can I help you?’ he said.

‘You mind if I take a seat?’

‘Not at all.’ He waved at a chair.

‘Your French fries?’ I said, pointing at the plate.

‘They were.’

‘Your sister is going to be annoyed that you’ve eaten.’

‘My sister is always annoyed, whether I eat or not. Is she now hiring detectives to monitor my habits?’

I tried not to show surprise.

‘Did she call ahead?’

‘To warn me? She wouldn’t do that. She’s probably at home praying that you make me disappear. No, I read the papers and watch the news, and I have a good memory for faces. You’re Charlie Parker, out of Portland.’

‘You make me sound like a gunfghter.’

‘Yes, I do, don’t I?’, he said, and his eyes twinkled. ‘So how can I help you, Mr Parker?’

The waitress appeared and freshened my coffee.

‘I’d like to talk to you about Prosperous,’ I said.

Chief Morland picked up Harry Dixon at his home. He didn’t inform Harry why he needed him, just told him to get his coat and a pair of gloves. Morland already had a spade, his pickax and flashlights in the car. He was tempted to ask Bryan Joblin to join them but instead told him to wait with Harry’s wife. Morland didn’t want her to panic and do something stupid. He could see the way she was looking at him while Harry went to fetch his coat, like he was ready to put her husband in the ground, but it hadn’t come to that, not yet.

‘It’s all right,’ said Morland. ‘I’ll bring him back in one piece. I just need his help.’

Erin Dixon didn’t reply. She sat at the kitchen counter, staring him down. She won, or he let her win. He wasn’t sure which. In either event, he simply looked away.

Bryan Joblin was sitting by the fire, drinking a PBR and watching some dumb quiz show. Bryan was useful because he didn’t think much, and he did what he was told. A purpose could always be found for men like that. Empires were built on their backs.

‘How long is he going to stay here?’ said Erin, pointing at Bryan with her chin. If Bryan heard her, he didn’t respond. He took another sip of his beer and tried to figure out on which continent the Republic of Angola was situated.

‘Just until the next girl is found,’ said Morland. ‘How’s that coming along?’

‘I’ve driven around some, as has Harry,’ said Erin. ‘It would be easier if we could move without that fool tagging along with us everywhere.’

Bryan Joblin still didn’t react. He was lost in his show. He’d guessed Asia, and was smacking the arm of his chair in frustration. Bryan would never serve on the board of selectmen, not unless every other living thing in Prosperous, cats and dogs included, predeceased him.

Morland knew that Bryan alternated his vigils between Harry and his wife. He was currently helping Harry out with an attic conversion on the outskirts of Bangor. Bryan might not have been smart, but he was good with his hands once he worked up the energy to act. In practical terms there wasn’t much Bryan could do if either Harry or Erin decided to try something dumb while he was with the other spouse, but his presence was a reminder of the town’s power. It was psychological pressure, albeit with a physical threat implied.

‘As soon as we have a girl, he’ll be gone,’ said Morland. ‘You brought him on yourselves. You brought all of this on yourselves.’

Harry had reappeared with his coat. He’d taken his time. Morland wondered what he’d been doing.

Harry patted his wife gently on the shoulder as he passed her. She reached out to grasp his hand, but it was too late. He had moved on.

‘You have any idea how long we’re going to be?’ he asked Morland.

‘Couple of hours. You got gloves?’

Harry removed a pair from his pocket. He always had gloves. They were part of his uniform.

‘Then let’s go,’ said Morland. ‘Sooner we get started, sooner we finish.’

* * *

Euclid Danes asked me why I was interested in Prosperous.

‘I’d prefer not to say,’ I told him. I didn’t want the details to end up in one of Euclid’s files, ready to be raised at the next meeting.

‘You don’t trust me?’ said Euclid.

‘I don’t know you.’

‘So how did you find out about me?’

‘Mr Danes, you’re all over the Internet like some kind of cyber rash. I’m surprised that the residents of Prosperous haven’t paid to have you taken out.’

‘They don’t much care for me up there,’ he admitted.

‘I’m curious to know what your beef is with that town. You seem to be expending a lot of energy to insert splinters under the fingernails of its citizenry.’

‘Is that what they are – citizenry?’ he said. ‘I’d say “cultists” was a better word to use.’

I waited. I was good at waiting. Euclid pulled a sheet of blank paper from a sheaf and drew a circle at the center of the page.

‘This is Prosperous,’ he said. He then added a series of arrows pointing out toward a number of smaller circles. ‘Here are Dearden, Thomasville and Lake Plasko. Beyond them, you have Bangor, Augusta, Portland. Prosperous sends its people out – to work, to learn, to worship – but it’s careful about whom it admits. It needs fresh blood because it doesn’t want to start breeding idiots in a shallow gene pool, so in the last half-century or so it’s allowed its children to marry outsiders, but it keeps those new family units at arm’s length until it’s sure that they’re compatible with the town. Houses aren’t sold to those who weren’t born in Prosperous, nor businesses either. The same goes for land, or what little the town has left to develop. Which is where I come in.’