Penny wasn’t the first person to die at the Flash. Tom hadn’t remembered the incidents, but the team’s research had uncovered two previous deaths – one a prostitute who was dismembered, her body parts placed into bags and thrown into the water over twenty-five years ago, the other a young man who had committed suicide more recently. They had looked into both to try to find a link, but had failed, not helped by the fact that they still didn’t know the identity of their victim.

He sensed that Becky was feeling the bleakness of the place too and felt devoid of inspiration. He was about to suggest they head out of the hide when he heard the sound of approaching footsteps on the wooden walkway leading to the entrance. Two men who, judging by their identical mops of ginger hair, were father and son, walked in and stopped. They gave Tom and Becky a puzzled glance. Clearly they weren’t used to seeing men in business suits and women who were nearly eight months pregnant in the hide.

Tom fished in his pocket for his warrant card.

‘Good afternoon. I’m Detective Chief Inspector Tom Douglas, and this is Detective Inspector Becky Robinson. We’re investigating a recent incident here at the Flash.’ He pulled a picture of Penny, drawn by a police artist, from his jacket. ‘Have either of you seen this woman around here?’

‘Sorry, mate,’ the younger one said, earning himself a slightly startled look from his father, who clearly didn’t think it appropriate to call a police officer ‘mate’. ‘We’ve seen her picture all over the park here, but nobody we’ve spoken to has ever clapped eyes on her.’

‘Shame when someone so young has to die,’ the older man said. ‘And worse when it happens in such a beautiful place, somehow.’

‘Do you come here regularly to watch the birds?’ Tom asked.

‘When we can, but we missed the worst of the weather, thank God. We were in Australia visiting my daughter, so we’ve only just found out about that poor lass. I was here when the last one tried it, though. I got a bit caught up in it myself, that time.’

Tom knew he was unlikely to mean the prostitute, given how long ago that was. ‘You mean the man who committed suicide here?’

‘No, I don’t know anything about a man. I mean the girl – the one who tried and failed.’

‘I’m sorry?’ Tom said. ‘I don’t think I know about that.’

‘No, well like as not you wouldn’t, because I don’t think it was ever reported. Me and a mate pulled her out of the water. I think she thought she could drown herself, but however bad she was feeling, the instinct to save herself kicked in.’

‘What happened to her?’

‘We called her parents and they came to get her.’