Souleby, ever the diplomat, chose that moment to intervene.

‘Throwing blame around is not going to help us,’ he said. ‘Chief Morland, the question is this: will the detective give up?’

‘No, but—’

Morland thought hard about how he was going to phrase his next words.

‘Go on,’ said Souleby.

‘He has no evidence, no clues. He has only his suspicions, and they are not enough.’

‘Then why did he return to the town a second time?’

‘Because he is taunting us. In the absence of evidence, he wants us to act. He wants us to move against him. By acting, we will confirm his suspicions, and then he will respond with violence. He is not just the bait, but the hook as well.’

‘Only if he lives,’ said Nowell, filled with malice as the end neared, as though he were intent on expending all his viciousness before he passed on.

‘He has friends,’ said Morland. ‘They would not allow any action against him to go unpunished.’

‘They can die too.’

‘I don’t think you understand—’

‘Don’t!’ cawed Nowell. He raised a withered finger, like an ancient crow clawing against the darkness. ‘I understand better than you think. You’re afraid. You’re a coward. You—’

The rest of his accusations were lost in a ft of gasps and coughs. It was left to Luke Joblin to secure the mask to Nowell’s face and leave it in place. For now the old man’s contributions to the meeting, however worthless they might be, were over. Why don’t you just die, Morland wished – die and free up a place for someone with an ounce of sense and reason left to him. Nowell eyed him over the mask, reading his thoughts.

‘You were saying?’ said Souleby.

Morland looked away from Nowell.

‘The detective has killed,’ he said. ‘He has victims who are known, and I guarantee you there are just as many who are unknown. A man who has acted in this way and is not behind bars, or has not been deprived of his livelihood and his weapons, is protected. Yes, some on the side of law would be glad to see him removed from the equation, but even they would be forced to act if he was harmed.’

There was quiet among the members of the board, broken only by the tortured breathing of Kinley Nowell.

‘Could we not approach the Backers and seek their advice?’ said Luke Joblin. ‘They might even work with us.’

‘We don’t ask the permission of others to act,’ said Hayley Conyer. ‘Their interests and ours are not the same, not even in this case. If they are unwilling to move against him on their own behalf, they will not do so on ours.’

‘And there is the matter of another girl,’ said Calder Ayton. They were his first words since the meeting had begun. Morland had almost forgotten that he was present.

‘What do you mean, Calder?’ asked Conyer. She, too, seemed surprised to hear him speak at all.

‘I mean that we have received a warning, or four warnings, depending upon one’s view of the current dilemma,’ said Calder. ‘The people are worried. Whatever the threat this detective poses, another girl has to be found and delivered – and quickly. Can we take the chance of having this man nosing around at such a delicate moment in the town’s history?’

‘What news from the Dixons?’ Souleby asked Morland. ‘Has there been progress?’

‘Bryan is watching them,’ said Luke Joblin, answering for Morland. ‘He thinks they’re getting close to finding someone.’

But Morland had his own view of the situation.

‘Bryan tells me that he’s been out scouting with Harry but – and please don’t take this the wrong way, Luke – your son isn’t the sharpest tool in the box. My view is that the Dixons aren’t to be trusted. I think they’re leading Bryan on. We should have given the job of finding a girl to someone else.’

‘But Chief Morland, it was your suspicions that led us to test them with the hunt,’ said Conyer.

‘There might have been better ways to satisfy ourselves as to their loyalty,’ said Morland.

‘It’s done now,’ said Conyer. ‘Your regrets are a little late.’

Again, it was Thomas Souleby who intervened.

‘But if they are leading Bryan on – and, by extension, the rest of us – they are doing so to what end?’ he asked.

‘I think they’re planning to run,’ said Morland.

His opinion went down badly. People did leave Prosperous. After all it wasn’t a fortress, or a prison, and a larger world existed beyond its boundaries. But those that left were secure in their loyalty to the town, and many of them eventually returned. Running was another matter, for it brought with it the possibility of disclosure.

‘There is a precedent for it on Erin’s side,’ said Ayton.

‘We don’t blame the children for the sins of the adults,’ said Conyer. ‘And her mother more than made up for the failings of the father.’

She returned her attention to Morland.

‘Have you taken steps?’ she said.

‘I have.’

‘Could you be more precise?’

‘I could, but I would prefer not to,’ said Morland. ‘After all, I may be wrong about them. I hope that I am.’

‘But the detective,’ Ayton insisted. ‘What of the detective?’

‘We’ll vote on it,’ said Conyer. ‘Reverend, do you have anything to add before we start?’

‘Only that I believe the detective is dangerous,’ said Warraner.

A nicely ambiguous reply, thought Morland. Whatever they decide, and whatever the consequences, no blame will fall on your head.

‘And you, Chief?’

‘You know my views,’ said Morland. ‘If you attack him and succeed in killing him, you will bring more trouble down on this town. If you attack him and fail to kill him, the consequences may be even worse. We should not move against him. Eventually he’ll grow weary, or another case will distract him.’

But Morland wondered if he was engaged in wishful thinking. Yes, the detective might leave them in peace for a while, but he would not forget. It was not in him to do so. He would return, and keep returning. The best for which they could hope would be that his visits might bring no reward and, in time, someone else might do them the favor of killing him.

Around him, the board meditated on what it had heard. He could not tell if his words had made any impact.

‘Thank you both for your contributions,’ said Conyer. ‘Would you mind waiting outside while we make our decision?’

The two men rose and left. Warraner wrapped his coat tightly around himself, thrust his hands into his pockets and took a seat on the porch. It was strange, but Morland had the sense that something of his own words of warning had penetrated Warraner’s carapace of blind faith and deluded self-belief. He could see it in the pastor’s face. Warraner lived to protect his church. For him, the town’s continued safety and good fortune were merely a by-product of his own mission. It was one thing for him to assent to the killing of a homeless man, one whom Warraner believed would not be mourned or missed; it was another entirely to involve himself in an attack on a dangerous individual which could well have negative consequences whether they succeeded in killing him or not.

‘Bait,’ said Warraner.

‘What?’ said Morland.

‘You said that the detective was prepared to use himself as bait. Why would a man put himself in that kind of danger, especially for someone he didn’t even know?’

‘A sense of justice, maybe. The world beyond the limits of our town isn’t as entirely corrupt as we might like to believe. After all, look at how corrupt we ourselves have become.’

‘We do what is necessary.’

‘Not for much longer.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘Our ways can’t continue in the modern world. In the end, we’ll be found out.’

‘So you believe that we should stop?’

‘We can stop, or we can be stopped. The former might be less painful than the latter.’

‘And the old god?’

‘What is a god without believers? It is just a myth waiting to be forgotten.’