THIRTEEN

It was two days after the night of the raid on Moorside when life started to get back to something approaching normality for Daniel. Whether it would ever get back to normal for Katya was another matter entirely.

She had been inconsolable that night. To begin with, she had stormed at Tom Bowden and then she had collapsed into Hilary’s arms and sobbed with an intensity that was compounded of all the fear, stress and disappointment of the past few weeks.

Demonstrating remarkable powers of persuasion, Hilary had taken the girl upstairs, returning after three-quarters of an hour with the news that Katya had at last fallen asleep, exhausted.

From Bowden, Daniel had heard how the raid, meticulously planned and carried out, had caught Yousef Patrescu in the process of loading a minibus with a quantity of files, film-making and computer equipment. Overwhelmed by the sheer number of police he faced, he’d given himself up without a struggle, and inside the house, officers had found upwards of two dozen young Romanian women and girls locked in their rooms, bewildered and frightened at the turn of events. However, Elena Pavlenco and the young girl known as Molly were not among them, and neither, frustratingly, was Anghel Macek.

‘We had a man watching the front gates and he saw both Patrescu and Macek come back in the Nissan after you saw them at Briars Hill,’ Tom reported. ‘But something must have put the wind up them because it appears that while Patrescu stopped behind to put their affairs in order – by way of a little bonfire in the grounds – Macek picked up the two girls, cut the fence at the rear of the property with a pair of bolt-cutters and drove off down the track that runs along the edge of the moor. He was long gone by the time we went in. It’s all a bit of a mess, and with much of the evidence destroyed or carried off by Macek, it would have been a complete disaster if we hadn’t been in time to collar Patrescu.’

With Macek still on the loose, it was not deemed safe for Kat to stay with Hilary, and in the morning, a social worker had arrived at Briars Hill. In due course, with much reassurance from Daniel and Hilary, Kat and the social worker had been driven away in one of the police vehicles. Sitting in the back seat of the car, she looked lost and suddenly a good deal younger than her fifteen years.

For his part, unenthusiastic about the idea of returning to the flat for the same reason, Daniel had gratefully accepted the Bowdens’ continuing offer of hospitality. The flat had had limited appeal at the outset, and now, as he helped himself to toast and marmalade at the Bowdens’ breakfast table, with the low winter sun slanting through the Victorian bay window, the thought of moving back to the gloomy and frequently chilly room above the former lawnmower showroom was a depressing one.

At the head of the table, Fred was sitting sideways with his legs crossed at the knee, reading the morning paper, while Meg was in the kitchen, making a fresh pot of coffee. Left alone with his thoughts, Daniel found himself wondering where Macek had taken the girls. Presumably the plan had been for him to meet up with Patrescu at some prearranged rendezvous, but when that hadn’t happened, what would he have done? Were the two men freelance, so to speak, or part of a larger network?

Strictly speaking, it was no longer anything to do with Daniel – it was police business now, and he was reliant on updates from Tom – but you couldn’t switch off caring just like that. His life might have turned out quite differently if he had been able to, he thought wryly.

Not that he hadn’t got problems enough of his own to deal with. Drew was refusing to answer or return his calls, and Amanda was saying it was up to the boy whether he wanted to speak to Daniel or not and she wasn’t going to take sides. Daniel had no idea whether Drew’s silence was an attempt to punish him for what he saw as his rejection or whether there was something else going on. The uncertainty was tearing him apart and he’d decided that, come the weekend, he was heading for Taunton to sort it all out.

Just as Meg came back into the room carrying the freshly filled coffee pot, they heard the sound of a key turning in the front door.

Fred looked up from his paper. ‘Tom. He did say he might call in.’

Moments later, he appeared in the doorway of the dining room.

‘Hi, all. Any coffee left?’

‘I’ve just made fresh,’ Meg told him. ‘Come and sit down. I’ll do some more toast.’

‘Well, I’ve already had breakfast at work,’ Tom said, stripping off his coat and sitting down nonetheless, ‘but I expect I could manage another slice or three.’

Meg disappeared into the kitchen once again and Fred behind his paper.

‘Any news?’ Daniel asked.

‘Bits and pieces,’ Tom said, pouring himself a cup of coffee. ‘We’ve lifted Patrescu’s phone records and pulled your friend Naylor in for questioning. And we also know who the second girl is now. Molly Stubbs – daughter of Shelley Stubbs, who was found dead in a bedsit in Bristol at the back end of last year. OD’d. Gave herself a shot of pure heroin and wasn’t found for a week. Unintentionally, it was initially thought, but given that Patrescu appears to have had big plans for her daughter, I have my doubts.’

‘Unless she was a most unnatural mother, she’d have kicked up a huge fuss if she found out.’

‘Easier to remove her from the equation,’ Tom agreed. ‘What we don’t know is how much Macek was in Patrescu’s confidence. He must have known what the girls were intended for, but would Patrescu have entrusted him with anything as important as details of his clients’ contacts? I don’t think so, do you?’

Daniel shook his head. ‘I got the impression that he was just the muscle. He certainly had a healthy respect for Patrescu.’

‘So what’ll he do with the girls now?’ Tom wondered. ‘Worst-case scenario is that he buggers off to Birmingham or Manchester or somewhere and puts them straight into work. If that’s the case, we really haven’t a hope in hell of finding them.’

‘Poor Katya,’ Daniel said. ‘What’ll happen to her?’

‘I’m not sure,’ Tom admitted. ‘Nothing’s ever decided in a hurry – you know that. The wheels of bureaucracy grind exceedingly slow. By the way, how’s your girlfriend?’

‘Well, there’s no permanent damage, but she’s pretty traumatized, as you might imagine. She’s home now and her mother’s staying with her.’

That was the bare bones of the matter, but didn’t touch on the cool way Tamzin had greeted Daniel when he’d visited her in hospital. Her mother had been with her when he arrived and the welcome she offered could only be described as frigid. Tall and elegant in a jersey skirt suit, Nadine Ellis had ignored the hand Daniel had offered and taken a seat in the corner of the room with the clear intention of staying there.

Under her scrutiny, Tamzin seemed awkward and ill at ease, offering her cheek to receive Daniel’s kiss, accepting his flowers, grapes and magazines with murmured thanks, and avoiding eye contact.

After a scant ten minutes, Nadine had voiced the opinion that her daughter looked tired and needed to sleep. Not wanting to cause friction, Daniel had accepted his cue to leave, saying he’d call in and see her at Quarry Farm the next day if she was discharged, as expected.

‘That’s very kind, but there’s no need. I shall be staying with her,’ her mother told him.

Daniel had looked at Tamzin for confirmation, and she’d smiled wanly and said, ‘I’ll be fine, really.’

An outburst of barking from Mosely brought Daniel abruptly back to the present, and after a moment, they heard the soft flop of envelopes hitting the doormat in the hall.

‘I don’t know how he does that,’ Tom exclaimed. ‘Deaf as a doorpost but always knows when the postman’s coming.’

‘One for you, Daniel,’ Meg said, coming into the room moments later with a plate piled high with toast in one hand and half a dozen envelopes in the other.

‘For me?’ Daniel was surprised. ‘But no one knows I’m here except Amanda and she’s not in the habit of writing to me.’

Putting down his coffee cup, he took the white envelope she held out. The address was printed, the postmark Bristol.

He slid his thumb under the flap and immediately noticed the letterhead of his and Amanda’s solicitor. He started to read, his eyes skipping impatiently over the legal phraseology to pick out the bits that mattered, and what he read shook him to the core.

‘Trouble?’ Tom was watching him closely.

‘Erm . . .’ Daniel cleared his throat and tried again. ‘Amanda’s filing for divorce.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ Tom didn’t sound sure whether he should be or not.

‘No, don’t be. I mean, anything we had is long gone. The thing is, it looks like she’s trying to stop me seeing Drew.’

‘What? She can’t do that!’ Meg protested. ‘On what grounds?’

‘Apparently, she’s saying it’s what he wants. She says . . . She’s trying to say that he’s frightened of me!’

‘But that’s rubbish!’ Meg said hotly. ‘How does she work that out when all this time he’s been desperate to come and stay with you?’

‘I know. I can’t believe it either. She’s obviously spun some ridiculous story to the solicitor,’ Daniel said. ‘But the thing is, since I took him back last time, he hasn’t answered any of my calls. I wish I knew what she’s been telling him.’

‘Sounds as though he’s sulking to me.’ Fred lowered his paper. ‘He’ll change his mind in a day or two – kids are like that. It’s hardly enough to base legal action on. The woman’s a fool, and the solicitor’s a fool for going along with it!’

‘Oh, he’ll be rubbing his hands together in glee,’ Tom put in. ‘A nice meaty confrontation spells oodles of dosh for them.’

‘You need to see a solicitor yourself – straight away,’ Meg advised.

‘Her solicitor was my solicitor.’

‘Not any longer. They can’t act for both of you,’ Fred said. ‘Tell you what, why don’t you try mine? Fitch, Hall and Welland. They’re in Tavistock. I’ll introduce you, if you like. They’ve done some very good work for us, and I believe Fitch Junior specializes in divorce work.’

‘Thanks.’ Daniel sighed. ‘God, what a mess! Poor Drew. I never thought she’d use him like this.’

‘There’s a joker at Molton Nick, custody sergeant – name of Peterson,’ Tom said. ‘He’s been married three times. Anyway, he always says you never really get to know your other half until one of you files for divorce.’

Later that afternoon, Daniel slotted the Mercedes into a space in Tavistock’s Bridge Street car park and went in search of a ticket machine. Fred’s solicitors had come up trumps, not only agreeing to meet Daniel, but even managing to fit him in later that day, due to a cancellation.

He was fifteen minutes early, so having paid his dues, Daniel let Taz out of the car and walked down to the river, where he stood and gazed sightlessly at the water rushing over the weir, his head still filled with the injustice of Amanda’s words. His first instinct had been to call her, hoping that she had been encouraged in her action by a solicitor bent on generating a little lucrative work for himself and that for once a little reasonable discussion would sort it out.

Reason didn’t have a chance to come into it. Coldly Amanda told him that Daniel had brought it upon himself and that she’d been advised to have no contact with him over the matter; at which point she put the phone down.

After ten gloomy minutes, Daniel returned Taz to the car and set off to find the offices of Fitch, Hall and Welland, pulling his jacket close against a damp, cold wind. Although in the town spring flowers were blooming, winter seemed loath to loosen its grip, and today the sky above the grey stone town buildings was overcast and unpromising.

Leaving Messrs Fitch, Hall and Welland three-quarters of an hour later, Daniel felt as happy as could be expected in the circumstances. Fred’s recommendation had been a good one. Fitch Junior had a son of a similar age to Drew and sympathized fully with Daniel on the emotive issue of access. He said that in such a case the courts would require the three of them to seek mediation before any further action would be taken. Nothing would happen in a hurry, he said, and if, as Daniel believed, Drew was merely reacting to recent events, there would be plenty of time for the boy to reconsider. Fitch Junior was cheerfully reassuring as he showed his client out – as well he might be, Daniel reflected, at God knows how much per hour.

Closing the glossy black door behind him, Daniel was met with an arctic blast, liberally laced with stinging pellets of icy snow. He paused, looking up and down the street. He’d been too wound up to eat before his appointment and now he was keen to find a bakery or café that might supply him with a hot pie or bacon roll.

What he was looking for and what he found were two very different things, for out of the door of a bank some 20 feet away from Daniel came a tall, broad-shouldered man wearing a hooded sweatshirt under a denim jacket. He was wearing sunglasses in spite of the dullness of the day and had several days’ growth of beard, but it was a face that was etched on Daniel’s memory.

Anghel Macek.

His nemesis.

Daniel’s whole being started fizzing with anticipation. He’d imagined the Romanian was far away by now and the sense of unfinished business had left him feeling restless and unsatisfied. Now fate had given him another chance to bring the man to book, but he must tread softly; Macek was on his own and it was vitally important that Daniel did nothing to draw attention to himself if there was any chance that the Romanian might lead him to the two missing girls.

Drawing into the alcove of a shop doorway, he took out his mobile and put through a call to Tom Bowden, keeping his eye on his quarry all the while. Frustratingly, he was once more put through to Bowden’s answerphone and was forced to leave a message.

‘Tom, Macek is in Tavistock. There’s no sign of the girls as yet. I’m going to follow him, if I can. Please ring me as soon as you get this.’

Even as he finished speaking, Daniel saw Macek run across the road through a gap in the traffic and turn left on the far pavement. Slipping the phone into his pocket, Daniel followed him, staying on his own side of the road. The weather was in his favour because the wind, with its unpleasant cargo of snowflakes, was behind them, and wouldn’t encourage the Romanian to look round too frequently.

After 100 yards, Macek turned right into a car park. Daniel crossed the road and followed, hardly daring to believe his luck as he recognized the park where he had left his own car. Glancing round, he saw a black 4x4 in the far corner.

Could it really be that easy?

It was.

As Macek neared the black car, Daniel saw his step slow and he turned, apparently casually, to scan the car park. Smoothly, Daniel swung between the cars and headed away from him without looking back. Reaching the covering bulk of a transit van, he paused beside it, looking diagonally through the side window and windscreen to check whether he was being watched. Apparently, his behaviour hadn’t attracted Macek’s attention, for as Daniel looked across towards the black 4x4, he saw the Romanian open the driver’s door and get in.

Swiftly he made his way to the Mercedes, unlocked it and slid behind the wheel. Taz, who had no doubt been watching his antics with bewilderment, stood up and wagged his tail.

‘Did you see who that was?’ he asked the dog. ‘Our friend Mr Macek. And we’re going to follow him and see where he goes.’

Tailing another vehicle is beset with difficulties, as Daniel well knew. In a town, there is always a strong possibility that you will be separated from your target by other traffic at junctions, roundabouts and traffic lights. If you take a chance and jump a red light or force your way out of a junction to keep your quarry in sight, the chances are that you’ll provoke at least one indignant motorist to lean on his horn, instantly attracting the attention of the driver in front.

Daniel regarded pedestrian crossings as a particular nightmare. More than once in the past, he’d been stuck on the wrong side of a crossing while an elderly shopper shuffled across and had to watch the suspect he’d been following disappear into the wide blue yonder. As if these potential problems weren’t enough, Daniel knew his red Merc was already well known to Macek, so he was forced to keep his distance.

On this particular occasion, Daniel’s luck held and he managed to negotiate the town centre without any of these hazards occurring. In fact, due to two other cars turning off, he found himself arriving at a junction on the way out of the town immediately behind the big 4x4, which was not ideal.

He pulled up close to the bumper of the Nissan, knowing that the extra height of Macek’s vehicle would make it difficult for him to see the Mercedes in that position and impossible for him to see its driver. When the Nissan pulled away, Daniel dawdled at the junction, letting a couple of other vehicles go by before he followed, then, hoping that he wasn’t being observed by any zealous traffic cops, slipped his phone from his pocket and thumbed the redial button. This time, blessedly, it was answered.

‘Daniel, I was just going to ring you. What’s going on? Fill me in.’

‘I’m on Macek’s tail, just leaving Tavistock on the Plymouth road. It’s a black Nissan X-Trail with blacked-out windows.’ He gave Tom the registration, adding, ‘I don’t know whether he’s got the girls in there, but it’s possible. If not, I’m hoping he’ll lead me to them. The trouble is, he knows this car, and sooner or later he’s probably going to clock me.’

‘Where exactly are you?’

‘I’m on the 386 heading south, maybe half a mile out of Tavistock.’

‘OK, I’ll mobilize the locals and I’ll try for a chopper too. If you can keep him in sight, that’s great, but don’t put yourself in any tight spots, OK?’

‘Yep, I gotcha.’

For 5 or 6 miles Daniel tailed the black Nissan without incident, wondering what it was the Romanian had picked up at the bank. Something very important, obviously, to risk showing himself in an area where the police would be on the lookout for him. And where was he going now? The coast, perhaps?

Suddenly, the car immediately behind Macek’s vehicle slammed its brakes on to make a last-minute turn and the driver following it leaned on his horn in anger.

‘Shit!’ Daniel muttered. The Romanian would have been less than human if he hadn’t glanced in his mirror to see what the commotion was about, and it was a fair bet that in doing so he would also notice Daniel’s car, just 50 yards or so behind and now with only one vehicle between them.

For a short time, it seemed that maybe he’d been lucky, but when, a quarter of a mile or so further on, Macek turned off the main road into a side road, and then almost immediately into another, Daniel began to doubt it.

If he’d been seen, there was no point in keeping his distance, so he put his foot down to close the gap on the 4x4. However, turning into a residential road, he was startled to see not the disappearing tailgate of Macek’s vehicle, but the front view, complete with radiator bull-bars, accelerating towards him.

Daniel wasn’t prepared to play chicken with a vehicle of the Nissan’s stature. He swore and spun the wheel to the left, gritting his teeth as the Merc mounted the kerb, narrowly missing a telegraph pole.

The black bulk of the 4x4 swished by with only inches to spare, reached the junction and passed from his view as Daniel executed a rapid turn by dint of using the grass verge on both sides of the road. Back at the junction, he swung the car in a screeching curve to follow the Romanian and was rewarded, within a few hundred yards, with a sight of the Nissan disappearing round a bend ahead.

Now the chase was on in earnest.

Driving one-handed, Daniel put a call through to Tom once more.

The detective answered right away.

‘Daniel? What’s happening?’

‘He’s spotted me. We’ve turned off the main road somewhere near Horrabridge, but I’m not sure exactly where we are now. If only I had bloody sat nav! I’m still with him, but I’m not sure for how much longer. Any news on the chopper?’

‘It’s out on a shout – might be half an hour or more if it needs refuelling. Look, Daniel, hold back, OK? We’ll try and get a car to you.’

‘If I hold back, I’ll lose him. There’s any number of ways he could go from here. I’ll try and keep you updated.’

‘Daniel! Don’t—’ The rest of Tom’s exclamation was lost as Daniel tossed the mobile on to the passenger seat, needing both hands and all his concentration to stay on the tail of the Nissan along the narrow, twisting country lanes.

He had no idea if Macek actually knew where he was going, but for his own part he was already completely disorientated as they sped down steeply banked single-track roads between high hedges, occasionally passing a cottage or farmstead. He could only hope they didn’t meet anyone riding a horse or walking a dog, because at the crazy speed Macek was setting, he wouldn’t have a hope of stopping, even if he bothered trying.

The pellets of icy snow had now morphed into larger flakes that blew over the hedges, swirled round the speeding vehicles like billowing lace curtains and formed eddies on the tarmac before settling into what was becoming a visible layer on the road surface.

The one or two cars unlucky enough to be coming in the opposite direction were forced to mount the bank as they found themselves confronted by the big black Nissan. Daniel longed for a tractor and a stubborn farmer to block the road, but it seemed such things only happen when you don’t want them to, and the Nissan forged relentlessly on, with the Mercedes sticking to its tail like a limpet.

Through the gloom of a forest they raced and alongside a lake or reservoir before heading down an almost impossibly narrow farm lane with grass growing in the middle and emerging, at length, into a village that Daniel recognized as Goats Tor.

Still maintaining a suicidal pace, they passed the White Buck, where Daniel permitted himself a fleeting smile as he recognized a man angrily waving a walking stick as his old foe Major Clapford.

For one anxious moment, it seemed to Daniel that Macek might be heading for Hilary’s stables at Briars Hill, although he couldn’t see why on earth he should, but then they were past the entrance and away down another lane that was signposted as a dead end. Macek didn’t hesitate and Daniel wondered if this was indeed his destination or whether he hadn’t noticed the sign. One way or another, it looked as though the end of the pursuit was in sight.

Further on and still dropping, the way took them past a low-roofed farmhouse with a walled yard, and after a minute or two, the Merc’s wheels drummed over a cattle grid as the hedges that bordered the lane fell away on first one side, then the other, and they ran out on to the open moor.

The Romanian ignored the turning to a car park and drove on down what was now not much more than a track without slackening his breakneck speed.

The ageing Merc squeaked and rattled its way over the rough surface in the wake of the 4x4. Ahead of him, Daniel saw the Nissan dip to ford a stream before surging out the other side, almost immediately passing from view as the track skirted a rocky spur.

Moments later, the Mercedes scrunched through the icy fringe of the stream and hit the shallow water with a smack that threw spray back over the windscreen. The gravel of the streambed dragged at the tyres for a second or two; then the front of the car met the rising ground with a bang that jarred Daniel’s whole body. Pulling up the slope with a degree of wheel spin, he floored the accelerator and took the turn at a reckless speed to find chaos awaiting him on the other side.

As he simultaneously stamped on the brakes and swerved, it seemed to Daniel that the moor was all at once alive with whirling, rearing horseflesh. Grimly he fought to hold the steering wheel hard left as the Mercedes left the track and bucketed over the loose rocks that littered the short turf of the margin.

His first impression was of dozens of ponies scattering in panic. Some animals shied sideways, some bolted and some ran backwards, heads high and eyes white-rimmed. He was surrounded by a mass of flying manes and tails, glinting stirrups and bits, accompanied by frightened shrieks and the confused clatter of shod hooves on the stony track.

It was all over in a matter of seconds, the Mercedes coming to an abrupt halt with an impact that had a feeling of finality about it. Emerging from the fleeting embrace of the airbag, Daniel discovered that the car had come to rest tilted at an uncompromising angle, with its front offside wing grounded on a large granite boulder at the foot of the outcrop.

Shaken, Daniel swore and looked back to where the veritable stampede of horses had resolved itself into no more than eight ponies – nine, if you counted one that had high-tailed it back towards the open moor.

One rather plump boy was sitting in the middle of the track indulging in a fit of hysterics, and a lady in a bright-red anorak appeared to have dismounted and let go of her mount. Aside from these two, the remaining riders were still aboard and most seemed to have regained a measure of control. Further up the track and rapidly disappearing over a rise, Daniel could see the back of Macek’s black Nissan.

‘Bugger!’ he said explosively, immediately reaching for his mobile and thumbing in Tom’s number.

His call was diverted to a messaging service and he said simply, ‘Sorry, I’ve pranged the Merc and lost him. He’s on the moor – still in the Nissan – somewhere near Goats Tor. And, yes, I’m OK – just totally pissed off!’

In the back of the car, Taz whined unhappily and Daniel glanced over his shoulder as he reached for the door handle.

‘Sorry, lad. You wait there a minute. Won’t be long.’

Stepping out into the icy wind, it was quite plain to see that he wouldn’t be going any further in the Mercedes – not now or ever, come to that. Where it had hit the boulder, the bodywork of the car’s offside front quarter had crumpled like aluminium foil, the wheel pushed out of sight somewhere underneath the chassis. The damage was unmistakably terminal.

To go after the Nissan on foot would be as pointless as it was foolhardy, and as Daniel was of an essentially practical frame of mind, he turned his thoughts instead to restoring some sort of order to the turmoil for which he was partially to blame.

Wading into the mêlée, he had just caught the rein of a passing loose pony when a familiar brindle lurcher materialized by his side, its ears flattened in delighted recognition, followed closely by a greyhound in a fleece-lined coat.

Hilary!

He’d been expecting a well-deserved earful from whoever was in charge, so it was with considerable relief that he now turned to see his friend approaching – the one person who would understand and forgive the uncharacteristic recklessness of his behaviour.

Hilary reined in and looked down at him from the back of a brown pony that he recognized as Drummer, the Briars Hill reprobate.

‘Daniel! Whatever’s going on? Was that Macek?’ She had caught the other loose animal, which she now held by the buckle end of its reins.

Daniel nodded. ‘Yes, it was.’

‘But what’s he doing here? Has he got the girls with him?’

‘I don’t know. I haven’t actually seen them, but it’s possible. That’s why I was following him. I spotted him in Tavistock.’

‘Does Tom know?’ In her dealings with Bowden, the formalities had very quickly gone out of the window.

‘Yeah, I rang him straight away. He’s trying to rustle up a chopper, but last I heard, it wasn’t going to be here in a hurry.’

Daniel ignored the gathering cluster of ponies and riders. ‘Does this track go anywhere? Can you think why he might have gone that way?’

Hilary frowned. ‘I can’t imagine. It’s the old road to the King’s Hat Tin Mine. There’s the remains of the old blowing house, but it’s not much more than a pile of stones. You couldn’t hide anything there, or anyone . . .’

‘Perhaps he’s just trying to get away, then. Does the track go any further than the mines?’

‘Not as such, but there are several bridleways. One goes towards Princetown. I don’t know whether he’d get that big four by four along them. He won’t find it easy – they’re pretty rough and I’m fairly sure we’re in for some more snow before long. That’s why I turned back.’

‘Well, I don’t imagine he’ll risk coming back this way. He must know I’d have called the police by now. Damn! If only I hadn’t buggered up that wheel.’

‘You’d never have followed him in that, anyway. You might on a horse, though,’ she added.

Daniel gave her a narrow-eyed look. ‘Macek must be miles away by now. A horse would never catch that car.’

‘It might if you knew a shortcut . . .’

‘What are you saying?’

‘Just that the track follows the level ground pretty much and to do that it makes a huge detour. A person on a horse could cut across country and probably get to the old mine workings in a similar sort of time.’

‘If they knew the way . . .’

‘It’s only a sheep path, but Drummer could follow it. He’s been that way many times.’

‘You’re serious, aren’t you?’

‘Why not? Drummer was born on the moor. He’ll look after you. Surely it’s worth a try.’

Before Daniel could answer, Hilary was off the pony and lengthening the stirrup leathers to allow for Daniel’s longer legs, all the while keeping her elbow against Drummer’s neck to stop him from nipping.

‘When you hit the track again,’ she went on, ‘turn right and you’ll only be fifty yards from the mine. From there you’ll just have to hope you can see him. That track is incredibly rough, though. He won’t be able to go very fast, even in that car.’

Doing anything was better than nothing.

‘OK. It’s worth a try,’ he said.

Daniel went across to the stricken Merc and let Taz out before reaching in for his waxed jacket and the beanie he’d worn on his first visit to Moorside. He pulled the coat on over his leather jacket, found gloves in the pockets and put them on too, while Taz ran in excited circles, anticipating a walk.

Minutes later, Daniel settled into Drummer’s worn saddle and pushed his feet into the stirrups. Ahead of him, the moor looked bleak and infinitely uninviting, a vast wasteland of sheep-cropped turf, heather, bracken and cold hard granite. An arctic wind whistled around his ears, reinforcing the sense of desolation.

Standing at the pony’s shoulder, Hilary looked up at him.

‘You must trust Drummer, Daniel. If he seems reluctant to go somewhere, there’ll be a reason for it. The moor can be treacherous, but he knows it inside out. Trust him.’

She took the pony’s rein and led him past the others, telling the waiting riders to stay where they were.

Looking up at Daniel again, she said, ‘The path is on your right, about a hundred yards further up the track. You can’t miss it – it’s next to a big clump of gorse and a hawthorn tree.’ She put her hand on his knee. ‘Be careful won’t you, Daniel? And find Elena for us, eh?’

‘I’ll do my best. Will you see if you can get hold of Tom and tell him what’s happening?’

Hilary nodded, then with a growled ‘Goo-arn!’ she slapped the pony on the rump, and with a lurch, Daniel was on his way.