At the moment Oliver Church is the far more urgent target. Church kidnapped and killed a boy, for which he only served six years. Schroder knows Church’s involvement ups the danger factor for Sam Hunter. Bracken didn’t choose somebody who would just stash the kid away for a few hours and free her somewhere, but somebody capable of ending the life of someone so young.

He redirects the assault team to Church’s address, and twenty minutes later it’s all for nothing. The address is current—there’s mail inside addressed to Church, there’s fresh food in the fridge and a half-empty packet of cigarettes on the table, but no sign of Church.

More detectives arrive, among them Detective Watts, who has Church’s criminal record with him.

“A model prisoner,” Watts says. “According to the file he made every meeting with his probation officer.”

“There has to be another address.”

“Only other thing listed here is his parents,” Watts says.

“And we’ve already sent people there. He’s probably somewhere with the girl, somewhere he’s stashed her away with nobody else around.”

“That could be any one of a thousand places,” Watts says.

“That’s not real helpful,” Schroder snaps at him. “Look, there can’t be too many possibilities. It’s probably somewhere he knows, right?” He looks back down at the file. “Last time he took the kid to the North City Slaughterhouse.”

“You think he’s taken her there?”

“Only one way to find out,” Schroder says. He needs coffee and he needs a break and he needs this all to be over and for Sam to be returned safely. “It’s as good a place as any.”

He calls Landry for an update. “Johnson knows nothing,” Landry says. “He certainly robbed the bank, but he’s not giving anything up. I think he knew Sam Hunter was going to be taken, but I don’t think he knew who by, or where she’s being held.”

Liam Marshall comes over. “We’re all ready to hit the next house.”

“Let’s go,” Schroder says. On the way he makes a call to the station and asks for a patrol car to head out urgently to the North City Slaughterhouse to take a look around.

chapter fifty-five

Everything looks normal. Take away the fact that the man sitting down playing on a handheld games unit isn’t anybody I’ve seen before. Take away the fact the floor is concrete and the windows are boarded up and the walls have graffiti on them. Ignore the damp air, ignore the smell that’s etched into the walls like a stubborn stain, ignore the fact the mattress my daughter is lying on is a hundred years old, and it’s all normal, just a night in at home.

The light coming from a battery lantern is pale blue and doesn’t make the room any prettier. There’s a couple of relics in here—an old rusted filing cabinet, a laminated table that must weigh close to fifty kilos, cables and wires hanging freely from the ceiling like spiderwebs. Church lowers the game unit. It keeps making animal fighting sounds. There’s a cell phone on the table next to him and I wonder what he’s waiting for.

“Oh Jesus, please don’t kill me,” he says, and it’s taking all my willpower not to. He’s as thin and as creepy-looking as he was in the photos in his file.

“You took my daughter.”

“I know, I know, but it was just business.”

“And so is this,” I say, and I pump the shotgun.

“Wait, wait,” he says, putting his hands up. “We can deal,” he says.

“Deal?”

“I can give you a name.”

“Yeah? What name? Austin Bracken?”

“Shit.”

“Exactly.”

“Wait, wait, there has to be something I can offer.”

I move toward Sam, keeping the gun trained on Church. When I reach the mattress I squat down but decide not to wake her. My little princess is dreaming of much happier times, her little mouth wide open.

My father walks into the room. He’s found a piece of rebar about half a meter long with a small chunk of concrete attached to the end. He looks at Church, then at me, then down at Sam, and he smiles at her, comes across, and crouches down. It’s the first time he’s ever seen her and the emotion gets to him. I’ve never seen it before—but my father starts to cry.

“So this is my granddaughter,” he says. “She’s beautiful.”

“She’s exactly like her mother,” I say.

Mummy’s a ghost.

I stroke her hair back. “He doesn’t know anything useful,” I say, nodding toward Church.

“You sure?” he asks, wiping at the tears.

“Please, guys, I can help you.”

“I’m taking Sam out to the car,” I say.

“I think that’s best, son.”

“You’ll be okay here?”

“It’s been twenty years, son. I have certain needs. Best you hurry up and get your little girl out of here. If he knows anything more, I’ll find out. I promise.”

I scoop Sam up. She tightens her arms around my neck without waking. “I’m done,” I say to Dad, keeping my voice low, not wanting to wake Sam. “Whether you learn anything or not, I’m done now. The police can do the rest. Whatever this bastard has to say, we’ll hand the information over.”

“Okay, son. I understand. Leave me the shotgun, would you?”

“Come on, let me help you out here,” Church says, “All I know is my old probation officer called me up and told me I had to help him out. He said if I didn’t he’d make life hard for me. I don’t know anything else. There’s no need to do this, any of this. It was business, I swear, just business.”

“Shut up,” Dad says, then turns toward me. “The shotgun, son.”

I think about Jodie and her parents, then I think about the cop parked outside their house and the bank manager and then I think about Gerald Painter. I hand Dad the shotgun and carry Sam outside.

chapter fifty-six

The dark sky is breaking on the horizon, a purple-colored light bruising the edge of the world. I carry Sam over my shoulder and she’s chilly; I wonder if her blanket is still in Jodie’s car. I walk quietly. I keep waiting for the gunshot that will send hundreds of birds into the sky and Sam jumping out of her skin. I buckle her into the backseat, tucking the blanket in around her and under her chin. I sit in the driver’s seat and wonder what Dad is doing right now, but I don’t go and check. I look at the cell phones, killing time while my father kills time in a different way. I’ve missed a couple of calls from Schroder but I don’t phone him back. I turn them off. I don’t care about anything else now except Sam.

After a couple of minutes an engine revs loudly, then headlights appear as a car races toward us, slightly out of control, as if driven by someone who hasn’t driven a car in twenty years. It swerves past us, then it’s gone, a dust cloud following it.

I turn the key but nothing happens. I try a couple more times but the result is the same. I pop the hood. Dad hasn’t done any damage. All he’s done is tug the leads off the spark plugs. It only takes me a minute to secure them back into place, but it’s all the head start he needs. I pop the boot. The bag of money is gone. The taillights of Dad’s new car have disappeared; he’s getting further away, with a shotgun and a bag full of cash and his desires of the last twenty years no longer suppressed.

I don’t bother chasing him because I’d never catch him, not unless I drove at speeds that would put my daughter’s life at risk. What I said to Dad earlier still stands now—I’m done with it. The police can catch the rest of the men—they surely know by now who they’re looking for. On the chance they haven’t been caught, I can’t go back home and can’t go to my in-laws’. Driving into the police station is an unknown—too many reasons for them to arrest me. By now they want to put me away, if for nothing else than for freeing my father. They’re out there searching for him too. Before I end up in jail I want to at least spend Christmas Day with my daughter.

My head is jumbled up with anger and hate and fear, and I’m so tired that, in the end, the easiest decision is to head to a motel. I find a place modern enough to have been built this year, with a sign out front saying VACANCY. I park outside the office and ring the bell and a couple of minutes later a sleepy man in his fifties appears and helps me out. I pay with cash.