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them.
    “How would you like it if someone had done that to you?” Miles bleated.
    “Oh shut up and give me the ball,” said Graham, snatching it from him.
    The huge frame of Paul Harvey loomed ahead of them, rising from behind a fallen tree stump as if he had sprung from the very ground itself. He towered over them huge hands bunched into fists which looked like ham hocks. Wreathed in mist, he looked like something from a nightmare and, when he took a step towards them, both boys screamed and ran. They darted in opposite directions, the football falling to the ground where it bounced three or four times. Forgotten. They ran and Harvey ran after them.
    They crashed through bushes, ignoring the low branches of trees which clawed at their faces, oblivious to the thorns which scraped their flesh. They both burst into the open, running like frightened rabbits. Colin saw them, saw the terror in their eyes and he too, without knowing why, joined them in their crazed flight.
    Harvey watched the children as they dashed across the clearing. He waited until they were out of sight, then, scanning the open ground ahead, anxiously emerged from the trees. He crossed to the Tesco bag and rummaged inside, finding several sandwiches, some of which he stuffed into his mouth immediately. The others he jammed into his pockets. He picked up the first thermos flask, flinging it to one side when he discovered it was empty. The second one, however, was full and he could hear the contents slopping about as he shook it. Pieces of half-eaten sandwich fell from his mouth as he tried to swallow as much as he could.
    Beyond the clearing lay the rolling fields which marked the outskirts of Exham. Careful not to drop any of his food, he loped off.
    In twenty minutes he had disappeared.
    It was 10.05 a.m.

 
     
     
     
Four
     
    The Exham police station was a two storey red brick building set on the perimeter of the town centre. A small construction, barely large enough to house the force of nine men and three women, Randall himself excluded.
    At 2.56 p.m., the entire force was crowded into what normally passed as the rest room. There wasn’t enough seats for everyone to sit down so one or two of the constables leant against the white-washed walls, their attention focused on the Inspector who stood beside a board at the far end of the room. There were several monochrome photos stuck to it and, resting precariously on the chair in front of him, Randall had a dozen or so more of them.
    “Paul Harvey,” he said, motioning towards the photos. “Get to know that face because we’ve got to find him and quick.”
    The Inspector lit up a cigarette and sucked hard on it.
    “Exham’s quite a big town,” he said. “So there’s plenty of places for the bastard to hide. That’s if he’s even got here yet.” He paused. “Or even coming that is.”
    A murmur of sardonic laughter rippled around the room.
    “I want a thorough search of the whole town. Any disused houses, places like that and ask people too. Take one of these with you.” He held up the photo and waved it before him. “But just be careful with your questioning. If word gets around that Harvey is on his way back to Exham then we could have a panic on our hands. It’s going to be difficult enough finding him without having people ringing up every five minutes wanting to know if we’ve caught him.” He blew out a stream of smoke. “And if the local press ask any questions, tell them to sod off. This lot around here can’t write about jumble sales without getting the facts wrong so we don’t want stories about Harvey splashed all over the front page of the local rags.” A lump of ash dropped from the end of his fag and Randall ground it into the carpet.
    “Any questions?” he asked.
    “Did Harvey have any family, guv?” The question came from P C Charlton,
     “Yes he did. If you can call it a family. The information’s a bit vague but it seems he lived with his father up until