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looking at the sky, wondering if it would stop raining today. A clear sky and a bit of sun made his job easier, encouraged his prospective buyers into a more cheerful and optimistic frame of mind, making them more likely to sign on the dotted line
    He was feeling a lot better this morning, more like his real self. In fact, he was back to the old confident Charlie who was such a talented property negotiator and so attractive to women. It felt good to be back to normal. The events of the night before had started to feel like an exciting little adventure that he might joke about with his mates in the pub for years to come.
    Last night, he’d decided to go to the Old Horse for the last half-hour before closing time. He did it partly because he went there most nights, and a rare absence might be commented on by someone who knew his wife. But he went mostly because if he came home smelling of whisky, Barbara would never question where he’d been all evening. The word ‘alibi’ kept going through his mind, though he’d done nothing to feel guilty about. Perhaps he wasn’t thinking logically when he turned into the pub car park, but seeking reassurance, the comfort of doing something. Or maybe it was just the drink he needed.
    The Old Horse stood on a busy corner in the centre of Wirksworth. The old folk said this little Derbyshire market town once had a lot more pubs, but they’d been steadily dwindling in numbers. A couple more would close in the next few years, and the Old Horse would probably be one of them. It still relied largely on local custom, people who lived within walking distance in the town. It hadn’t reached out to the tourists the way some of the other pubs had.
    So Charlie had been in no doubt he’d see familiar faces in the bar, a few individuals who knew his name, would speak to him to say hello and would remember he was there. The landlord had a good memory for customers, and was always sober, even if none of his regulars were.
    As soon as he got the first whisky in his hand, he’d begun to feel a bit more comfortable. The man in the red rain jacket had scared him, he had to admit. The thought that the stranger had come out of the woods made him go cold. He and Sheena had been in there only a few minutes before. He couldn’t stand the idea that the man in the red jacket might have been a lurking presence, watching them all the time. What a bastard. He ought to be locked up.
    But that wasn’t going to happen, was it? It would involve talking to the police, and telling the story. The one thing that Charlie couldn’t do.
    He checked his phone for messages while he waited for the garage door to complete its arc. When it had stopped, he put the phone back in his pocket and looked up and down the road impatiently. He was supposed to be giving Barbara a lift this morning, dropping her off at the hairdresser’s in the Market Place to get her roots done. She was scared to death of reverting to her natural colour. He couldn’t even remember what it was now.
    Sheena had been terrified on that roadside last night too. She’d told him many times that she was sensitive, that she could detect things about people by some sixth sense. It wasn’t quite like reading auras, she said, but close to it. Dean didn’t know what auras were, or how you’d read one, but he didn’t say so. It was easier just to let Sheena talk when she got going. If she was interrupted, she got confused, and then tetchy. So he’d allowed her to tell him over and over again about this business of her sensitivity. She’d look at someone and say they were sad, or that she had a positive feeling about them. And Dean would nod and grunt, as if he understood. It was enough for her.
    But when they’d stood by the side of the road that night and the stranger’s car had pulled up behind them, he’d noticed an expression on her face that he’d never seen before. She looked like one of those young women in a horror film when they see the