CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVEThe police car drove through the dizzyingly dark night, Delphine huddled in one corner of the back seat, Colin a stiff consignment in the other. After they had radioed their Paris colleagues, the officers in the front had given up trying to make conversation with them, or with each other. The wildness of the Morvan was only guessable through the blackness: a bleak incline lit by moonlight, the charcoal bone yard of a forest. He glanced across at his granddaughter; her face retained its white, strained aspect, although her eyes were closed and he assumed she was asleep. He leaned back against the headrest, too tired to sleep himself, caught in the headlights of what was happening and unable to think or move, waiting for the moment of impact.
Be careful what you wish for,
