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world.’
    Laura tingled. ‘Good idea. He loved animals.’ Images from the nightmare shot back with such a pungent reality that she clenched her fists so tightly her fingers ached. For a moment she stood in the green cell again, steel door locked, a drugged Tod Langdon cowering on the bed, the only homely touch a poster on the wall of his favourite animal.
    â€˜More than anything –’ Laura heard her voice as if it came from some other place – ‘he loved polar bears.’
    â€˜And that’s what Maureen bought him. A big poster of a polar bear swimming in a bright blue sea.’ She sighed. ‘Well . . . here we go.’ The line of cars followed the hearse through the gates to the chapel. The handles on the coffin flashed silver, as if they sent out a warning: danger ahead. Take care . . .

Six
    Siluria is such a small island, with a permanent population of just two hundred and eighty or so, that when a large party of visitors arrives a good chunk of its residents pitch in to help. When the party from Badsworth Lodge arrived it was dusk. Victor Brodman helped his neighbours carry the children’s holdalls from the boat on to dry land. As the tired-looking party disembarked from the ferry he counted ten girls aged between eight and eleven. Twelve boys in the same age group. Then four girls and four boys in the twelve to sixteens. Add five members of staff and that cranked up the island’s population by a decent percentage. The kids from Badsworth Lodge had been coming here ever since he could remember. They were kids that tended not to be fostered for various reasons. Most had behavioural problems. But the custom of them spending a week on the island worked surprisingly well considering. Instead of staying at the hostel like the school parties, they were shared out amongst more than a dozen homes. Childcare specialists advocated a homely environment for a few days each year to help prevent them becoming too institutionalized. Victor liked the children from the Lodge. Despite what they’d gone through they tended to be better behaved than school parties and they took a greater interest in the animals. The guy who’d been the island ranger before him insisted that they formed a bond with the Saban Deer. ‘These animals share the same kind of quality as dolphins. Do you follow what I’m saying? The deer have a calming effect on troubled souls.’ The ranger had believed in that absolutely, especially when one of the carers explained that children from the Lodge often developed a deep mistrust of human beings. Animals didn’t steal, trick them, lie to them, or use their heads as punch balls. Animals could be trusted.
    The sun was setting as the exhausted group moved ashore. As he took one carer’s bag she confided in a melodic Jamaican accent, ‘Poor lambs. They’re all shattered. They’ve been through a terrible ordeal over the last couple of days, Mr Brodman.’
    â€˜The mayor told me you’d lost a colleague. I was sorry to hear about it.’
    â€˜It was a shock, Mr Brodman. Here, don’t carry too many bags.’
    â€˜Lou, remember to call me Victor or I’ll make sure they hide the cider.’
    â€˜You’ll do no such thing – Victor – that’s the elixir of life. I’ve been promising myself a big, big glass tonight. Heck, no, just fill a bathtub: I’ll leap in naked.’
    They laughed. Victor remembered how Lou had the knack of infusing the entire island with her good-natured presence. Staff like that at the Lodge must be as precious as rubies. He scanned the faces as they disembarked on to the jetty. He recognized some of the children from last year. These he greeted by name. The others he helped ashore with ‘Hi. Welcome to the island. My name is Victor. I hope you enjoy your stay.’ Behind him an assortment of fishermen, craftspeople, and even a TV scriptwriter