"Ow!" Howard exclaimed when Carabella's nails dug into his arm for the second time that day. One to pull him into the lift and now a second to pull him into her hotel room at the Premier Inn.

His grandmother ignored him as she paced into the living area, gazing at the wall where she had pasted many pieces of paper. There were two photos: one, of the farmer grinning as he petted a cow that looked like it was going to be sick. Howard's memory flitted to biology, where he'd learned that cows had four stomachs which meant they were essentially eating their sick all of the time. He'd considered biology for A-level but found that psychology suited him better.

The workings of the human mind fascinated him. What were people thinking? How did all those little neurons make up something so vast as the brain? How could all everyone's thoughts, feelings and desires stem from some flesh that could be cupped in both hands?

Howard turned his attention back to the wall. The second picture was of Jonathan Coyle – a man with a broad smile and laughing eyes. He had his arms round a small girl. Howard recognised her now. It was Eleanor, probably about eight or nine, scowling into the camera. Howard decided it must have been taken at least fifteen years ago since Eleanor Coyle was probably in her twenties now.

There was no third picture. Just a blank space on the wall. The third man that Howard didn't know.

"Jonathan Coyle," his grandmother drawled. "Body missing. No one knows where you went, do they?"

Howard shuddered.

He wandered to the table by the window, plucked an apple out of the fruit bowl and bit into it. Sweetness trickled down his throat.

"But I'll find you," Carabella whispered. "I'll find you and, if you're not dead already, I'll make sure my bullet goes through you."

Howard shuddered again.