The news about Helen was good: if things continued to progress as expected, she could be discharged within days. The theology student, however, having rallied, had slipped backward during the night and was now unconscious and breathing with the help of a respirator, his condition giving grave cause for concern. No sign of the knife with which Helen had been stabbed, nor of any other weapon that had been used; bins and back alleys and bits of wasteland close to the attack were still being searched; divers were going down into the river again, Will guessed, even now. When he arrived in Nottingham, he found that, thanks to demolition and rebuilding in the city centre, there were diversions on the roads leading to the Central Police Station, and it took him several attempts before finding his way into the parking area at the rear. Nick Moyles had driven over separately and was waiting for him in the foyer, well turned out as usual. Moyles's clothes, he had once told Will, were from White Stuff, or, occasionally, Diesel, and tended toward the casually fashionable, without ever overstepping some recognized but invisible mark.
