He had his hands on his head. One foot was firmly on the deadman's pedal and the other was on the very edge of the accelerator, ready to move to the brake at any second. He was making good progress at 60 kilometres an hour. Tree trunks hurtled past on the periphery of the glow of the headlights and the bogies clacked on the jointed rails.

The darkness beyond the brightly lit interior of the tram seemed unending. The tram was empty, his only companion the stop announcements. He felt tiny in his Canterbury Transport-branded tram driver's uniform. After he completed the round trip he would be running back to the depot.

He slowed down for the sharp curve ahead. The wheel flanges screeched as the tram rounded the curve.

"The next stop will be Nijntje."

Nijntje was a minor halt in the middle of thick forest, just a tiny square patch of concrete with a stop pole poking out of it. A well-worn path led away into the tall trees.

He was surprised to see a person in wolf form, standing stiffly to attention in the middle of the tiny platform, staring at him, its golden eyes reflecting in the spread of light thrown by the tram's headlights.

Bringing the tram to a smooth stop, he made the familiar hand gesture, wiggling his thumb upwards. Shift.

The wolf didn't react, its gaze unwavering.

Canterbury Transport protocol said you weren't meant to let people board in wolf form. But it was the middle of the night and there was nobody on board. To hell with the damned protocol.

He opened the front door. The wolf leapt up the steps and slinked down the aisle to a space between two seats, without making eye contact. As it walked past him he could see there were some bruises on its flanks. They looked quite fresh.

***

The streets of Grindelwald were empty as the tram traversed the short stretch of mass concrete track along the main street. It was a stark contrast to the bustling nightlife of Canterbury. The bodywork of parked cars, partially shaded by the silhouettes of elm trees, glinted under the streetlights. He thought he saw a flicker movement in the shadows, but that was gone.

The wheels screeched as the driver maneuvered into the left-hand siding of the terminus and opened the doors. No wolf alighted. There was no sound at all apart from the quiet hum of the heating blowers.

He searched the length of the tram. The wolf was gone. There wasn't a trace but some dusty prints on the aluminium oxide floor.

He pulled the mirror in and locked the instrument panel before heading for the toilet cubicle, on the other side of the street, looking warily over his shoulder the whole time. He had eight minutes before he needed to head back to Canterbury.

***

"Detective Inspector Brown speaking."

Simon rubbed the sleep from his eyes with his free hand.

"A girl's been reported missing in Constantia Heights."

"She's probably just run away. She'll probably turn up tomorrow in some dodgy suburb with some guy twice her age. Can't you deal with this yourselves?"

"Her parents aren't so sure. They requested Homicide."

"Is that even possible? Bloody Monagh." Most nights he just sat by the fire and played his extensive record collection until he finally dozed off from sheer exhaustion. Tonight he had managed to fall asleep quite early. Of all the nights they could have called.

The stark bluish-white light of the ensuite, reflecting off the white tiles, felt jarring and disconcerting compared to the dark space he'd emerged. Standing in front of the washbasin, he splashed his face with cold water and looked into the mirror.

There were lines and wrinkles and grey hairs that he didn't remember being there. Just five more years and he would be at the retiring age. He probably needed a shave.

He could faintly hear the roar of cars on the main road. A tram rattled along in the distance.

***

In the garage, he fired up the old Ford Sierra Sapphire. He had been meaning to get a new car for a long time, but it had always ended up on the backburner. He looked admiringly for a moment at the sleek Zagato-styled shape shrouded under a tarp behind the Sierra.

Later, he thought to himself.

***

Even though it was 12:03 in the morning, it looked no different to peak hour on a dry winter evening, as Simon waited behind a long line of red taillights to enter the Canterbury Ring Road on-ramp.

Canterbury was, after all, the city that never slept.

He tuned into the radio as he cleared the traffic and entered the Ring Road proper. The Larry Waters show was on. Some academic was on, and she talking about wealth distribution or something like that. "...statistically, Zirconians descended from the pre-Liberation Alpha families still control 78% of the wealth. This figure has seen a dramatic increase in the past five years..."

They discussed some more. Larry moved onto the latest opinion polls. The ruling Social Dems were slipping and the Lycan Front was gaining rapidly. They'd increased nearly six percentage points since the last poll a few months ago.

He'd voted for the Zirconia Social Democrats in the last election. Mairead O'Connor was a good leader in his opinion, even though he reckoned she was a bit softly spoken at times. She was tough in dealing with the Independent Territories Alphas, though, and that was most definitely a good thing.

He didn't like the Lycan Front much. They talked tough on border security and immigration from the Independent Territories, but they didn't have much to offer beyond that.

They moved onto the rest of the day's news. A rogue had self-immolated in the Special Industrial Zone. A entire crowd had formed around him, but nobody had done anything as the he had ranted and raved and eventually doused himself in petrol in the middle of the road.

Simon put another finger on the wheel as he navigated the complicated junction between the Canterbury Ring Road and the M1 motorway. He'd heard so many similar tales he didn't remember how to react any more. They just registered in his mind like ordinary events, like a cabinet reshuffle or an increase in fuel prices.

***

Constantia Heights was a typical northwestern dormitory suburb of Canterbury, just off the M2 motorway, a spaghetti of cul-de-sacs full of hulking McMansions and expanses of treeless lawn. Dark shapeless silhouettes of houses lined the streets, with the occasional lit window breaking the monotony. Fallow paddocks stretched out on the edges of the estate. In the far distance an ore train blew its horn, heading for the refineries on the other side of the river.

The house was typical of the neighbourhood, an oversized stucco affair with no discernible architectural style and a surprising amount of external water damage, from what Simon could discern within the range of the Sierra's headlights. There were two black SUVs parked in the driveway, followed by a patrol car.

Inside, the mother and father were sitting at the dinner table in their enormous living room, talking to an uniformed officer. Simon felt dwarfed.

The uniformed officer did the introductions. The mother's name was Evelyn and the father was called Peter.

Evelyn began, as the uniformed officer exited the room. "She always told us when she was working. She left with no warning and she hasn't been answering her phone ever since.

"When did you last hear from her?"

"Yesterday. 11 in the morning. That's when she left for university."

"Do you know where she might have gone?"

"She studied full time at CIT."

"Simon made a mental note to visit the Canterbury Institute of Technology as soon as possible.

"OK. CIT. And how did she get there?"

"She took the bus. She always took the bus. She didn't have her licence yet."

Simon noticed cabinet at the side of the room, filled with what looked like racing trophies. On one of the bottom shelves, There was a framed portrait of a young girl, standing with a trophy next to a go-kart. Next to it was another photo of the same girl, standing next to a futuristic-looking car of some sort.

"She's part of the CIT solar car endurance team." It was Peter who broke the silence. "You build a car and race against other universities. Usually the comp is held in Australia or the USA."

"She's very involved in it. Talks about it all the time. Sometimes she'd work on the car for the entire day and only come home at midnight."

"Lately she's been working on another project, though," Evelyn interjected. "She was talking to me about it just the other day. A hybrid that could run on both petrol and solar power. She said it could do 100 MPG."

Simon suddenly perked up. "100 miles to the gallon?"

"We only had a brief conversation, but, yes, that's what I believe she said." Evelyn looked quite earnest in her statement.

Simon looked at the clock hanging on the wall. 12:36. From experience, he knew that it was exam period and the campus closed at 1am. He had just a tiny window of time.

Simon bade the parents a short farewell and headed for the car. It was just a hunch, and he didn't know how, or why just yet, but he felt the hybrid was a part of the puzzle.