Jimmy’s fear drops away as he rattles the back door of the cottage. His hands are cold as he tries to pry a window open, fingers slipping from the wet glass. He scans the hillside again for a sign of the figure he’s been tracking, but there’s no movement. Even in darkness he senses that the house is empty. He can see the neat and tidy living room through a gap between the drawn curtains, a gingham cloth covering the table, ready to welcome the season’s first holidaymakers.
He’s so exhausted that he leans against the wall, his face dropping forwards into his hands. He wants to return to the comfort of his birds, but a faint sound breaks the silence. It could be a gull bawling high overhead, but the noise is coming from another ground floor window. He tries to open it, but the plastic frame is slick beneath his fingers, a blind obscuring the opening. Jimmy stands beside the glass until the sound comes again, and this time it’s unmistakable. An infant’s thin scream drifts through the air; the baby he saw must be locked inside the property, and Naomi Vine may be trapped too.
Jimmy’s instincts propel him back across open land to the first house he sees. Concern for Naomi gives him enough courage to rattle the door knocker until footsteps rattle down the hall. Gavin Carlyon is wearing nightclothes when he appears. He frowns when Jimmy points at the brow of the hill, agitation making his movements wild and uncontrolled. Carlyon stares at him, then pulls his dressing gown tighter round his throat.
‘You’re not making sense. The police say it’s not safe outdoors, you’d better come inside.’
Jimmy shakes his head, then gestures towards the cottage again, but Carlyon grabs his wrist. The man’s grip is tight enough to burn when he pulls him over the threshold.