As she watched the riverbank, a man emerged from the path she had just scrambled away from. He was scanning the area – was he the man who’d killed Estelle and Dee? Was the Baby dead, too? Was he still in his romper? Bridget remembered his wedding ring and wondered how his family would feel when they were notified that he was found dead, dressed as a baby with a prostitute on either side of him.
It was drawing close to the hour. Bridget felt a thud of realisation: the backpack. She had left the backpack in the car. There was no way she would make it to the rendezvous on time, and she had to find a way to let Sam know.
Judging by the intense way the man was surveying the bank, Bridget couldn’t shake the fact that it was definitely him: the one who had killed her friends. He was a big man, thick set with a beard but no hair on his head; he almost looked like a caricature of a strong man from an old circus poster. He was out of place in the picturesque setting of the river. He walked with sinister purpose, getting closer and closer to the play area. She was trapped in the wooden castle. If he thought to look in there, he’d find her immediately. Her heart stopped when he paused at the entrance to the play area, but then he carried on to the bridge and walked across, stopping again on the other side. She breathed out. She was going to have to make a break for it before he retraced his steps. It’s now or never. She slowly climbed out of the wooden structure and, with one eye on the man, she quickly moved back across the playground to the railings and slung one leg over, followed by the other. Losing her balance, Bridget fell, straight on to a broken bottle. The area was a popular spot with disaffected teens from the estates; she’d seen them guzzling their miniature ciders before returning home after school. There were discarded bottles everywhere.
‘Fuck!’ she said, louder than she should have.
The man’s head whipped around; he turned back towards her and sprinted towards the park. Bridget pulled herself to her feet using the fence as leverage; she could feel broken glass digging into her kneecap but she knew she had to shake the pain off. If he got hold of her, it was the last thing she would need to worry about. She could feel the blood draining from her face; she limped as fast as she could towards the Haven Banks housing complex but then thought better of it – she was bleeding and would leave a trail. At this time of night, the silence was so deafening that even the smallest intake of breath would be heard inside that complex – it was a nicer part of town, there would be no late-night parties, no drunks littered in the hallways or dealers pushing their gear. She should have run to one of the rougher estates where it was easier to disappear. She should have gone to a hotel and hidden. What the hell had she been thinking?
Bridget looked around and quickly assessed her surroundings, deciding where the safest place to hide would be. Where would he be least likely to venture? Suddenly it became obvious to her as she stared at the black water of the river. A few miles down the river was her meeting place with Sam, if he would just hold on she could make it there, in the water, if she didn’t pass out on the bank first. The man was getting closer and she needed to make her move now. She swiftly edged over the side into the water, being careful not to make a noise as her body became immersed in the icy cold. Breathe. If he knew where she’d gone he would follow her. She was completely in shadow as she moved through the water, hidden under some overgrowth that hung over from the bank. She was grateful that she couldn’t see any swans. That was the last thing she needed. She could hear the man on his phone approaching.
‘She was here, I just saw her. Yes. I know how important this is … Are you sure? OK, I’ll meet you there.’
He was out of earshot again. She would have to stay put for a few minutes, make sure he was gone, because as soon as she ventured out from this spot she would be in full view again. It was cold in the water, so cold; she reached down to her knee and felt the glass poking out of it. She didn’t know whether to pull it out or leave it in. Her mind buzzed with stories, thinking of reports she’d read where stab victims were fine until the weapon was removed, at which point they bled to death. She couldn’t remember if any major veins or arteries ran through the knee. Sam would know what to do. The adrenaline was pumping so fast that she couldn’t think clearly; was she afraid or just really fucking cold? For now she just needed to concentrate on getting to Sam. She had to get to their place. It was her only chance.
She edged along the side of the river towards the back of the pub where she hoped Sam would be waiting. It’d be shut now, but it was secluded enough that they wouldn’t need to worry about being seen together. She was out of breath from the cold. She hadn’t heard the man for a long time. Maybe it was safe to get out? She wanted to let go of the edge and just let her head fall beneath the surface. Moving slowly was even more exhausting. She was so tired. Is this hypothermia? Drowning wasn’t even something that she cared about; she just wanted to fall asleep for a bit. Just a little sleep, then she could start moving again. She tried not to think about what was in the water. Since she had been small and seen a documentary about a giant deep-sea squid Bridget had had a fear of dark water. She could see it now as she blinked. Each blink seemed to last a little longer than the one before. The only thing propelling her to open her eyes again was the thought of that squid with its enormous red head and the tentacles that swept through the water like wet velvet, heavy but effortless. Always just about to touch her as she moved forward beyond its grasp.
Bridget reached the Double Locks pub and dug her frozen fingers into the grass on the embankment, dragging herself out of the water. She had made it. The upside of the extreme cold was that she no longer had any pain in her knee, or any feeling in her legs at all, for that matter. She was so exhausted; she had to rest for a moment. The damp grass was warm and soft compared to the sharpness of the water. She could barely move and it was so dark that she just lay there, looking up at the moon with the clouds rolling over it. Don’t fall asleep. Her eyelids became heavy and as much as she wanted to fight it, her body was taking over. It was time to close her eyes.
The present
DS Adrian Miles sat at his desk in Exeter Police Station, making origami mandarin ducks out of report forms. It was the best possible use he could imagine for them at the moment, as he certainly wasn’t going to be filling any of them out.
He looked over at his partner’s desk. DS Imogen Grey was due back to work today. Adrian had offered to swing by and pick her up but she had been determined in her refusal. She was an obstinate one all right, rejecting help of any kind. They hadn’t really spoken while she’d been off, just the odd phone call here and there to tell her about the less exciting proceedings going on, like DI Fraser becoming the new acting DCI, and the shake-up within the department. A shake-up which included an investigation into every officer there. That had been fun.
Imogen Grey walked into the room, a slight smirk appearing on her face when she saw her desk, which was completely littered with origami animals.
‘Busy then?’
‘I made you a welcoming committee.’
‘You’ve got quite the talent there, Miley. I hope each one doesn’t represent someone you’ve killed, like in that Chinese movie about the baby.’
As the seconds passed, Imogen’s smirk turned into an uncomfortable smile, the kind of smile that says, I don’t want to talk about it. Her eyes were flat and Adrian knew that walking through those doors had taken her all kinds of courage. He really wanted to get up and give her a hug, but he also didn’t want her to thrust her knee into his genitals, so he just stood up