He went up to the door and rang the bell.

There was no answer, so he gave it ten seconds, then rang again.

Still no answer.

Cursing silently, he listened at the door, and heard the faint sounds of a TV coming from somewhere inside.

This time he banged hard on the door knocker, then opened up the letterbox, listening again to discern if there were any signs of a human presence inside.

But there was nothing.

Stepping back from the door, Scope took a deep breath. It was possible there was no one in there and they’d left some lights and the TV on to give the impression they were at home and deter burglars, but if so they’d gone some way over the top, which left him with a straight choice. Did he keep walking, or did he break in and use the landline they were bound to have inside to dial 999?

The windows on the cottage looked new, and the front door looked solid. Even if he wanted to get in, he might not be able to without causing all kinds of damage and taking a lot of time.

Sighing, he turned away.

As soon as Casey had stepped inside Eleanor’s bedroom, she’d felt uneasy. It smelled really funny and there was no kids’ stuff anywhere. And then when she’d asked to come back downstairs, the old man had suddenly looked a lot less friendly, and had locked her inside the room.

Running over, she banged on the door and started yelling: ‘Let me out! Let me out!’ She’d always hated being stuck in enclosed places, and now she felt really frightened. But it didn’t do any good, and finally she stopped, not knowing what to do, or why the old man was suddenly being so nasty to her. She bet he hadn’t called the police either.

Casey could hear movement on the other side of the door – someone shuffling around – and she wondered what the old man was doing. Mum had always taught her to be polite, so she thought that maybe if she asked really nicely he’d take pity on her. ‘Please can you let me out?’ she said, leaning close to the door. ‘I’ll be really good, I promise.’

She heard the door being unlocked on the other side and she grinned. See, being polite could really work. She stepped back as it opened, and her grin immediately disappeared.

The old man was dressed in a pair of stripy pyjama bottoms and an old vest, and there was a strange look in his eyes. It was as if he’d been taken over by something evil, and was having to do what it told him to.

‘It’s okay, wee lassie,’ he said soothingly. ‘I just thought it would be nice for us to talk.’ He shut the door behind him and locked it.

Casey took a step back, then another one. ‘Can we go downstairs, please?’ she asked, her voice shaking, because she was trapped in here now and she didn’t know what to do, and the old man was bigger and stronger-looking than she’d initially thought. And there was that look in his eyes . . .

He followed her further into the room. ‘Why don’t we sit down on the bed? I can tell you a story and help you sleep.’

He reached out a hand, but Casey darted away in the direction of the bedroom’s only window.

‘Little bitch,’ the old man hissed, and grabbed her from behind, pulling her back.

At that moment, the doorbell rang.

Casey let out a gasp of relief that was stifled straight away when the old man clamped a hand over her mouth. She struggled in his grip with all the strength she had left – but she was so tired, and she couldn’t seem to manage to get away from him.

‘Stop moving or I’ll put a knife in you,’ the old man hissed. ‘I’ll stab you and cut you up and bury you in the woods.’

Casey stopped struggling, trying to work out what to do. He didn’t have a knife – not on him, anyway – but he did have the key. If she could get hold of that, she might be able to run outside and find out who was ringing on the doorbell, and get them to rescue her.

The doorbell rang again, followed a few seconds later by a loud banging on the door knocker, and Casey could feel the old man stiffening as he tightened his grip over her mouth. It was obvious he didn’t know who it was, and was scared himself, which gave her just a little bit of hope.

They stood in the middle of the room, waiting to hear if there’d be another knock or ring, but there was none, and Casey could feel the old man relaxing his hold on her.

Suddenly she wriggled free of him and ran for the window, pulling back the curtains and hammering on the glass. She couldn’t see a thing in the darkness, but prayed whoever it was who’d been at the door was still there.

But then the old man was on her, dragging her backwards and throwing her on the bed. For a moment he stood over her, his eyes full of rage as he clenched and unclenched his fists.

‘You little bitch,’ he said quietly. ‘Now I’m going to make you very, very sorry you did that.’

Scope was standing by the car belonging to the house’s occupants, an ancient Land Rover Defender, wondering whether there was some way he could hotwire it, when he caught a glimpse of movement from one of the upstairs rooms. A curtain was jerked back and a face briefly appeared in the gap before disappearing again. It all happened so quickly Scope didn’t get a good look at it, but he had a feeling it belonged to a girl.

For a couple of seconds, he stared up at the window. But the curtains were closed now. Was it possible that the occupants were simply scared of opening the door at night, and one of them had just pulled back the curtains to check whether or not he’d gone? But he knew from experience that people in these parts tended to be pretty hospitable. Unlike a lot of places, they didn’t turn their back on those in trouble, but tended to stop and help. They were also inquisitive.

Slowly, carefully, Scope walked back to the front door, keeping to the shadows so he couldn’t be seen, and very gently lifted the letterbox and listened. The TV was still on, but there was still no movement from inside. Then he heard what sounded like a man’s grunted curse coming from somewhere upstairs, followed by something else. A girl’s cry?

Moving fast now, he climbed over the wall into the rear garden and circumnavigated the house until he reached the back door. Unlike the front door, it wasn’t new, but it still looked pretty solid. Scope gave it a hard kick just below the handle, but it wasn’t budging. He was in a hurry now, knowing that the kick would have been heard inside. Looking round, he saw a large stone plant pot the size of a bucket with a bay tree sticking out of it, and tugged the tree free. Full of soil, the pot was heavy, and he had to clutch it in his arms as he charged forward and hefted it with all his strength into the wood, just below the handle.

The door opened with a loud bang, and Scope fell inside after it, landing on one knee in the kitchen as the pot upended its contents on the floor. He was on his feet in an instant, the gun out of his waistband and back in his hand as he raced through the cottage until he found the staircase. He took the stairs two at a time, remembering that the window where he’d seen the movement was on the right. There were three doors at the top of the stairs, but only one on the right-hand side. He grabbed the handle but the door was locked, so he took two steps back and launched a ferocious kick, sending it flying open, before racing into the room.

A white-haired guy in his late sixties was standing beside a single bed, dressed in a white wife-beater vest and a pair of pyjama bottoms. His face was red and he had an expression of guilt written all over it. The reason was simple enough. Sitting on the bed was a blonde girl of no more than ten, wearing a coat and blue jeans. The coat was hanging half off her shoulder, her hair was a mess, and she looked terrified. This, Scope knew, had to be Jess’s sister, Casey, and it was clear what had been about to happen. He thrust the gun back in his waistband, hoping Casey hadn’t seen it, then advanced on the man.