THE HOUSE AT SEA’S END

call Judy. She lives near you.’
    ‘But how will she get there?’ wails Ruth.
    ‘She’s got a four-by-four. We tease her about it.’
    There is an agonising wait before Judy answers the phone. Ruth hears Nelson’s voice, barking orders as he paces round the room.
    ‘… Ruth’s place … yes … quick as you can, force entry if necessary … you can phone for back-up but I’m not sure a squad car’ll get through … yes … call me.’
    ‘Does she think she can make it?’ asks Ruth. She holds onto her arms to stop herself shaking.
    ‘Yes. The roads are bad but she’s got a pretty tough vehicle. She thinks it’ll take about an hour.’
    ‘An hour!’
    ‘Snow’s very deep in places.’
    ‘Oh, Nelson.’ Ruth collapses onto the bed. ‘Do you think she’ll be okay? Kate?’
    Nelson sits next to her. ‘I’m sure she will.’ But his voice sounds shaky.
    ‘What will I do if anything happens to her?’
    ‘Nothing will happen to her. She’ll be okay.’
    Ruth starts to cry and, after a moment, Nelson takes her in his arms.
    Judy almost misses the turning to New Road. The snow makes everything look strange and unfamiliar. She finds herself leaning forward, like an old lady in a Morris Minor. Her headlights make dingy yellow circles in the darkness; twice she’s had to check that they’re actually working. The snow has stopped but the roads are icing over. As she takes the corner, she feels the ground sliding away from her. If she’s killed, it’ll be Nelson’s fault.
    But the car’s solid tractor-like wheels hold up well. Judy feels a surge of satisfaction. They’d all laughed at her for buying this car. ‘Go off-road much, do you?’ Clough had scoffed. Clough has been even more obnoxious than usual recently, calling her ‘Bridezilla’ and implying that the wedding plans are taking her mind off the job. Bastard. She wishes she hadn’t invited him now. Besides, he’s totally wrong. She is throwing herself into work to take her mind off the nightmare of dressing in white and saying ‘I do’ in front of hundredsof gawping spectators. Why didn’t she insist on a registry office? Or the Caribbean. The Caribbean would be good.
    Anyway, tonight she’s one up on Clough. The boss called her, not him. It’s because of the car, she knows, but that just shows she was right to buy a four-by-four. Sucks to Clough and his flashy Saab. The boss asked her for help and he’ll be eternally grateful for … what exactly? Up to this point, the idea of being the heroine of the hour has taken her mind off the fact that she has no idea what this crisis is all about. Why is it so urgent that she has to drive to Ruth’s house across icy roads, forcing entry if necessary? Is Ruth’s baby in danger? But there’s someone babysitting isn’t there? ‘A girl called Clara,’ Nelson had said tersely. ‘If she gives you any trouble, arrest her.’ ‘What?’ ‘Just do it, Judy, please.’
    Please. He’d actually said please. And he’d called her Judy. Usually it’s ‘Johnson’ or ‘you’. A suspicion, which has been fluttering around in Judy’s brain since the naming day ceremony, now flaps its wings once again. Why is Nelson so concerned about Ruth’s baby? Clough told her about the incident at Broughton. The boss falling asleep with the baby in his arms. What if … no, it’s impossible.
    New Road is a nightmare. One slip, Judy knows, and she’ll plunge the car down the bank and will probably never be seen again. She grips the steering wheel. She’s a good driver (much to her satisfaction she beat Clough on the police advanced driving course) but this is something else. She crawls forward, listening to the snow crunching beneath her wheels. One lapse of concentration, that’s all it will take.
    When she sees it, she thinks at first that she is hallucinating. A dark hooded figure, trudging along at the side ofthe road. Who on earth would be walking along New Road through foot-high snow? Then she starts to panic. Her head spins with images of mysterious figures that appear beside unwary travellers, of car-crash victims who suddenly materialise on your back seat, grinning through their mangled faces, the third man – the hooded man – Christ on the road to Emmaus. She hears her breath, loud and uneven, filling the car. She checks her driving mirror. Pull yourself together, she tells herself. But the ragged breathing continues.
    She is almost level now. What if the vision vanishes into the