The persistent chill of a Suffolk coastal morning permeated the tiny, sparsely furnished office of Handful Investigations. I’d long since given up hope for mail; three weeks in Oxmarket and my postbox remained stubbornly empty. The faint scent of brine and neglect clung to the distempered walls, a peculiar shade of grey that only time and sea fog could achieve.

My daily ritual was a solitary one: instant coffee, bitter and strong, consumed while poring over the local rag, the East Anglian Daily Times. Today, however, the mundane routine was shattered. A front-page story, featuring a photograph of a tubby man with a straggly beard and unnervingly bright eyes, arrested my attention. The caption screamed: "This is Tador Zhivkov. Police want to interview him in connection with the disappearance of his heavily pregnant wife, Adrianna."

He'd been at large for two months, a long time for someone so distinctive. Polish immigrants, they'd sold their 4x4 for a smaller car, and Adrianna had vanished on the day a prospective buyer was due. The police, after a week, suspected Zhivkov himself, and he'd disappeared before further questioning.

Just as I finished my coffee, a deep double chime echoed from the reception room, followed by the unmistakable creak of hinges. Someone was ringing and entering. I quickly scattered papers on my desk, rising just as a knock came at my inner door. The man who entered was elderly, wearing a hat, and instantly recognizable from the newspaper photo. My mind raced; a mix of revulsion and a strange sense of obligation warring within me. This hunted man had come to me.