The man in the bed stirred and rolled over onto his back, kicking the covers to one side. He was completely naked, his genitals brazenly exposed below the white tan line where his shorts normally began.

Rachel looked at him as she towelled her hair, trying to remember what his name was. Don? Dan? Dale? He did definitely tell her when they met in the cocktail bar near her hotel, but by then she’d chased down a beer with most of the minibar wine and two margaritas, and hadn’t been paying much attention. He was meant to be her holiday distraction. A small compensation for having the willpower to resist Rob McConnell, but of course it hadn’t worked that way. It never did.

And now that she was sober and a headache was squeezing her temples, she was full of regret and just wanted him gone. Rachel prodded his bare foot. ‘Hey!’

He stirred slightly, but did not wake up.

Her phone rang shrilly, and this time he opened his eyes. Rachel looked down at the display. Rob.

The nameless man opened his jaw as though he was about to speak, and she had a flash of memory from the night before. He had a loud, strident voice. She clicked Accept, simultaneously positioning herself by the side of the bed and holding her hand over his mouth. His eyes flashed with surprise.

‘Morning!’ Rob sounded cheerful.

‘Morning to you too.’ Rachel released her palm from Don/Dan/Dale’s mouth and motioned to the door, indicating that she would like him to leave. Then she took the call outside on the balcony.

‘Where the hell are you?’ Rob asked, picking up the screech of the sea birds harmonising with the wail of a car alarm.

‘Florida. Daytona Beach to be precise.’

‘Fancied a little R & R before you left, huh?’

‘Not exactly.’ Rachel peered through the French windows. Don/Dan/Dale had disappeared, but she couldn’t tell whether he was in the shower or had set off on the walk of shame. Where had he dropped his clothes the night before? But no, that was a detail she couldn’t remember.

‘In that case, it’s a question of d’you want the good news or the bad news.’

‘Go on,’ said Rachel cautiously.

‘The good news is I’ve located Kaydance Rowe for you.’

Rachel punched the air silently.

‘The bad news is that she’s not in Florida. She’s in Maryland.’

‘Wait, what?’ Rachel attempted to re-run the conversation with Harland Rowe, but her pounding head was not cooperating. ‘Rob, I don’t want to be rude, but can I call you back when I’ve showered and I’m on the other side of a cup of coffee. It sounds like I need to focus.’

‘I’m in meetings all day, which is why I’m calling so early. I can easily email you what I have. Which is not a whole lot, but it’s possibly significant.’

‘Okay. But let’s try and talk again after I’ve seen the email. Thanks so much Rob.’

‘We still friends?’

‘Possibly. Maybe.’

---

---

Rachel digested this as she sipped a double espresso in the motel coffee shop. Don/Dan/Dale had departed without the need for an awkward goodbye, and Rachel had just checked out. She was steeling herself to drive to the airport as soon as she had finished her breakfast. The last time, she told herself. This is the last internal flight I’m going to take. We’ve narrowed the list of suspects to one, and I’m possibly, maybe, about to bring her in.

There was another email in her inbox, from Mike Perez. He too had been able to track Kaydance easily once he had the right spelling. He forwarded a copy of her State of Maryland driver’s licence, showing an angry but still beautiful Kaydance scowling at the camera. It recorded a Baltimore address, though not the same one that Rob had found. Either way, it looked like a return to Baltimore. Rachel shut her laptop, shouldered her bag and prepared to take what she hoped would be her final domestic flight.

---

The Francis Merritt Residential Re-entry Center was in a run-down suburb on the eastern edge of the city.

‘You sure you want to go there?’ the car rental clerk had said dubiously, when she asked him to show it to her on the map. He looked her up and down, frowning. ‘I have to tell you, it’s kind of rough. Tourists don’t go there.’

‘That’s okay; I’m not a tourist,’ Rachel said pleasantly. Now that she was here, against Rob’s advice, she could see exactly what he meant. The wide streets had an impersonal air, their pavements ill-kempt and lined with boarded-up row houses. On a fenced basketball court, teenagers stopped their game and stared at her as she parked. Rachel had watched a few episodes of The Wire, and this could easily be a scene from that show.

The centre was in a modern low-rise block opposite a second-hand car lot. It smelt of cheap carpet and had jarring fluorescent lighting. There was an overweight woman with bobbed steel-grey hair and winged glasses sitting behind the reception desk.

‘May I help you?’ she asked, cocking her head to one side to reinforce her helpfulness.

Rachel flashed her warrant card. ‘I’m looking for a Kaydance Rowe. Is she a resident here?’

The woman checked a clipboard. ‘Yes, she is. She’s room eighteen. Would you like me to show you where that is?’

‘Yes, please, if you wouldn’t mind.’

‘Surely,’ said the woman pleasantly, squeezing out from behind her desk and beckoning Rachel to follow her down a long corridor lit by flickering, buzzing fluorescent bulbs. They stopped outside number 18, and the woman knocked on the door. ‘Kaydance?’

There was no response.

‘Kaydance, somebody to see you dear.’

The woman opened the door and stuck her head in. ‘Looks like she’s not here.’ Before she closed it, Rachel got a full view of the chaos inside. A grimy, unmade bed was strewn with clothes and at its centre was an overflowing ashtray and a plate of congealing food. The floor was a mess of shoes, make-up, coins, used tissues and dirty underwear.

‘She may be in the recreation room,’ the woman told her, pointing to the far end of the corridor. Rachel followed the noise of a blaring TV and raised female voices. A handful of residents, who all seemed to be dressed in sweats, were watching the TV. Several were smoking. There was a pool table in the corner, and a game was in progress, amidst much swearing and dispute.

‘Kaydance Rowe?’

Kaydance was among the spectators, but Rachel spotted her before she moved free of the group. Her beauty was just about discernible, but dulled by her unwashed hair, nicotine-stained fingers and the prominent pentagram tattoo on her neck. She stepped forward from the group of pool spectators.

‘Who’s asking?’ She dragged belligerently on her cigarette.

Rachel held up her warrant card. ‘I’d like to ask you some questions, if that’s okay.’

‘Fuck you,’ retorted Kaydance. ‘I ain’t talking to you. Not unless you got an arrest warrant.’

‘I just want an informal chat.’

‘Well that’s too bad, because I don’t.’ Kaydance turned her back and motioned to the pool players to continue.

‘Kaydance—’

A tall black girl squared up to Rachel, invading her personal space. ‘She just said she don’t want to talk to you. Now don’t make me show you what that’s about.’ She placed two fingers on Rachel’s sternum and pushed her, reinforcing her message.

Rachel gave Kaydance a long look, then turned and walked to the reception area, where the grey-haired woman was back at her desk.

‘You okay, honey?’

Rachel showed the warrant card again. ‘Can you look in her record and see how long Kaydance Rowe has been here.’

‘Let me see now…’ The woman reached into a filing cabinet. ‘She arrived here at the centre five weeks ago, from MCIW. That’s the Maryland Correctional Institution for Women.’

‘And how long had she been in there?’

The woman chewed her lip as she flicked through the pages of the file. ‘Looks like she served eleven months on a three-year sentence for felony battery. Prior to that incarceration she was out on parole for felony animal cruelty for four months, and then prior to that—’

‘That’s very helpful. Thank you.’ Rachel turned to go, then stopped. ‘One other thing, does she ever get any visitors?’

‘One woman comes sometimes. Think she’s the only one.’

‘Fuller-figured woman with short dark hair and round glasses?’

‘Yes,’ smiled the woman. ‘That’s her. Walks with a limp.’