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that Prosperous was the only place that mattered. He walked with the slightest of limps, a consequence of a car accident near Augusta back in the day. No one had ever suggested that his injured limb might affect his ability to carry out his job, and the chief had never given anyone cause to do so.
    “Where is she?” he asked.
    “In the bathroom,” said Ben. “She wasn’t feeling good.”
    Morland had been in Pearson’s store often enough to know it nearly as well as he did his own house. He went straight through to the bathroom and knocked on the door.
    “Miss?” he called. “My name is Lucas Morland, and I’m the chief of police here in Prosperous. Are you okay in there?”
    There was no reply. A cold breeze flipped the ends of Morland’s trousers against his shoes and legs. It was coming from under the bathroom door.
    “Shit!” he said.
    He stepped back, raised his right foot, and kicked hard against the lock. The lock held, but the jamb broke on the second attempt. The door opened to reveal an empty bathroom. The small window above the toilet gaped open. Morland didn’t even waste time trying to look out. The girl would already be seeking the cover of darkness.
    Thomas Souleby had followed behind the chief, and was almost bowled over by him as he moved back into the store.
    “What is it?” he asked, but Morland didn’t answer. He was trying to hide the pain in his left leg. This damn weather always played hell with it, and he’d be glad when summer came. He stomped into the parking lot and turned left at the corner of the store. Pearson’s was close to theintersection of two roads; the front faced north on the main road into Prosperous, while to the west was the highway. Morland’s eyesight was good, even in the dark, and he could see a figure moving fast between two copses of trees, making for the highway. The road crested a hill at Prosperous’s western boundary. As he watched the girl, the lights of a truck appeared on the hill.
    If she reached it, he was lost.
    ANNIE RAN.
    She’d been so close to safety, or so she’d thought, and then the cop had appeared. She’d recognized him at once: the shape and size of him, but most of all the way that he limped. She’d seen him twice before. The first time was just after the handover, when she was brought to the basement. She’d fought against them as they carried her from the truck, and the cloth across her eyes had slipped a little. The cop had been there, supervising the operation, following behind as they took her to her cell. The second was on one of the occasions when they permitted her to shower, although they always kept her hands and feet manacled. She had glanced to her right as she left her basement cell, and caught a brief glimpse of the man with the gray eyes at the top of the stairs before the door closed. On neither occasion had he been in uniform, otherwise she would have known better than to let the old geezers call the cops.
    The couple had kept her well fed. That, at least, was something. She had strength, perhaps more than she’d had in many years. There was no alcohol in her system, and she was clean of drugs. Her own speed surprised her.
    Annie saw the truck at the same time that Morland did. If she could get to the highway in time, she could stop it and beg for a ride to another town. There was a chance that the cop might come after them, but any truck driver in his right mind would be able to see her bare,bloodied feet and her tattered nightgown, and know that something terrible had befallen her. If that wasn’t enough to convince him, she was sure that her story would do the rest. He—or she, if she was lucky enough to be picked up by a woman—could take her to the cops in Bangor, or to the nearest state police troop house. The truck driver could haul her to the FBI in Washington, DC, for all Annie cared. She just wanted to get away from this godforsaken town.
    The ground began to slope upward as she neared the road. She