The cottage was nestled on the outskirts of Haven, down a dog walkers’ country lane. It had taken every ounce of Nick’s strength to reach it. He showed no mercy to his body as it cried out for sleep, forcing it to walk the three miles through the back roads so he would not be seen. He would not have put it past the police to have him under surveillance, although he had seen the yearly budget and he knew they couldn’t afford it. He thought of DC Knight, her eyes full of conviction when she talked about following correct procedures, and doing things the right way. But contrary to his comment earlier, he knew more than anyone that justice didn’t always prevail. He had closed enough unsolved cases to know of the pain that families carried when the perpetrator of evil was free to roam at will. Life was unfair, but he would not be a victim. If Radcliffe would not tell him Abigail’s whereabouts, then he would die. As time ticked mercilessly by, it was a case of his daughter’s life or Radcliffe’s.
