14
Sleeping. Sleeping. Sleeping.
Waking.
Wanting to die. Incapable of death.
Having conceded defeat on the first photograph, Baseball Cap reached again into the pocket of his jacket, extracted a second photo and placed it alongside the image of Chloe.
‘Recognise him?’ he said.
She peered down at a man in uniform, his face youthful and lean. The glossy black-and-white finish to the print dated it seventies or early eighties. The policeman in the picture would be much older now. Over thirty years older, she judged.
But age didn’t lie. She knew who the officer was – and why these men wanted him. His name was Tanner. Frank Tanner. At least, that was his name in 1984. A good cop. And what is more, a witness, like her, to wicked men like her captors.
Here was a witness they’d failed to t
