"He hasn't lived here for a long time. Years, in fact."
"I know. That's why I'm trying to find him. Do you know where he is?"
"I have no idea where he moved to, I'm afraid," she said regretfully. "He kept to himself. A very private person. I don't think we spoke more than a handful of times in five years."
May felt the first stirring of panic in her belly.
But then the woman spoke again.
"Alice Vale, who lives across the road, might know. She's an estate agent in our area and I know she tried to get him to sell the house through her, or at least rent it. So she would have been in touch with him."
"Thank you," May said.
She rushed across the road and knocked on the door opposite. A moment later, an energetic-looking woman with bright red hair opened it.
"Good evening."
"Alice Vale?" May asked.
"That's me." Alice frowned. "Are you Mrs. Kingston, wanting to sign the documents? That's who I was expecting."
"No. I'm the deputy sheriff," May explained. "I'm not looking to buy a house, but to find a person. I’m searching for Josh Evans, who used to live opposite you." She pointed. "Do you know where I might find him?"
"I might have a forwarding address," Alice said thoughtfully. "He moved to a small farm, a few miles out of town. I remember visiting him there, to discuss selling his house. In the end he told me he didn't need the money and to stop bothering him." She sighed. "You can’t close every deal, I guess. Let me see if I wrote the information down."
"That would be so helpful of you," May said. The rollercoaster of emotion she was experiencing was making her feel slightly sick.
Alice disappeared into the house. A few moments later, she returned.
"I don't have the address, unfortunately. But I can point you in the right direction, and maybe you can find it for yourself?”
“Please,” May appealed.
“If you take the road out of here going south, toward the lake it's about a mile further. It's a small, red-brick building set back from the road on the left, and you might see the name Meadow Farm on the mailbox. I’m not sure if it’s still there or not.
"Thank you," May said.
"I hope it helps you find him. I’m not surprised he’s in trouble with the law, if that’s why you’re looking for him. He was such a strange man. I distrusted him from the very first time I saw him. He was nervous, guarded. I just didn't like him." She shook her head. "It's good to know that he's off our street."
"I hope I find him, too," May said.
She hurried back to her car, and headed down the road, turning left at the end, onto a gravel road that wound out of town.
The lights of Pitcher fell quickly behind, and ahead there was nothing but darkness.
She kept an eye on the distance she'd traveled, while craning her neck for any sign of a brick building. May had the feeling that this home might not be well lit. She didn't want to miss it.
She pressed on, as the road left the town behind, and curved through the hills. Finally, in the distance she saw the dark outline of a small building.
She slowed the car so that she could see the sign on the mailbox. There it was. Very faded, but she could make out the M of Meadow.
"Police! Is anyone there? Shout if you can hear me! Police!"
She strained her ears for any sound of a reply. There was no response. Moving along, she shouted again, her voice sounding loud in the silence. May was feeling desperate now.
She felt the bitter taste of failure rise in her throat, as she thought about how she might be so close and yet so far. It might be too late, and he might already have moved his prisoners, or killed them.
And then, at last, she heard the sound she'd been hoping for.
She picked up a faint, faraway cry, coming from somewhere behind the house.