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Next to that her lime-green nightdress.
    Back downstairs I stood in the living room, half crushed under the weight of terror. My mouth was dry and my heart was racing.
    I had this desperate urge to call the police. They could be here in minutes and begin a frantic search for my family. Patrols all over the county would be alerted and maybe road blocks set up.
    But I knew I had to resist. I couldn’t take the chance. Whoever had killed Vince and taken Maggie and Laura hostage was ruthless in the extreme. I had to assume that he – or they – would carry out the threat to commit more murders.
    I felt helpless and alone. My life had been shattered. The evil and violence in the world that I had written about for years had suddenly consumed me. This time I wasn’t a detached observer – I was a victim.
    I lost it then and started to cry. I was completely overwhelmed by fear, remorse and even guilt. I should have been here for Maggie and Laura when that monster came to call. I could only imagine the terror that my little girl must have experienced.
    The sobbing eventually subsided, by which time my chest hurt and my head throbbed. I knew I couldn’t afford to lose control. I had to stay calm and alert for their sakes.
    I poured a large whisky, slumped on the sofa. Laura smiled at me from a framed photo above the television. It had been taken on her last birthday. Her sixth. We went to the zoo and she rode on a camel. She talked about it for weeks afterwards and I often heard her telling Max what a great day it had been.
    Time passed slowly. I sat there checking my watch every couple of minutes. As midnight approached I felt panic well up inside me. When would the kidnapper call again? What was happening to my family? Had I turned off all the lights in the cottage? For the life of me I couldn’t remember. I also couldn’t remember locking the front door.
    The whisky burned its way down my throat, but it didn’t make me feel any better. There was nothing I could do to help my family. They were at the mercy of a man who had already demonstrated how ruthless he was.
    I paced the room, in desperate need of a distraction. I flicked through the television. Sky News. A story about a near miss involving two passenger planes over the English Channel. I was only half-aware of what was being said when the newscaster mentioned the lottery draw. Suddenly the television had my full attention.
    ‘And finally we can confirm that there’s just one winning ticket for tonight’s eighteen million pound triple rollover lottery jackpot. It was purchased in the south of England by an extremely lucky punter who hasn’t yet come forward to claim the prize.’
    A huge ball of fear formed in my solar plexus and I suddenly found it hard to breathe.

6
    A grey Mercedes with tinted windows eased its way up the driveway of a house four miles outside Southampton. It was approaching midnight and the moon threw a cold, hard light on to the ground. That same light created myriad shadows out of the edges of the woods that bordered three sides of the property.
    The driver cut the engine and switched off the lights. He sat for a short while staring at the house through the windscreen. It was supposed to be empty, but he wanted to be sure that it was before he went any further.
    The house was a two-storey affair that had been erected in the fifties. Grey and characterless. A high chimney. A flat-roofed garage that had been attached as though as an afterthought. The place was in need of a makeover.
    He had never set foot inside it before, but it was the only place he could think of using at such short notice. It was by no means completely safe, but he was in no position to be choosy. There was no time to think things through. He had to go with his instincts and trust that his spur-of-the moment decisions were the right ones.
    Outwardly he might have looked calm but his insides were coiled up like a spring. But that was to be expected. After all, what had