Crosswell’s driving round the same slick streets and seeing nothing but blurs through the rain. It’s a waste of time, and all he’s doing is waiting for the call that says it’s too late and Neuman’s been discovered or killed someone or whatever. He’s been cruising for hours, sick of his life. The damned thing can’t have disappeared, there’s something they’re doing wrong, a fault in the weave. Anger swarms through his thoughts. The old coot thinks he can fix it with that dumb girl, and Crosswell yells in wordless frustration as he passes Pernicious House for the third time