Then the tap-tap-tap became a clatter, the sudden sound of running footsteps. Cooper swung his torch, but he couldn’t tell which direction the footsteps were coming from. The flashes and crashing of the fireworks were too disorientating, the reflection of his Maglite off the dark water too confusing.

So he spun round too late and didn’t see the black shape that came at him out of the night, or the fists that smashed into him and knocked him off balance. He teetered for a moment on the concrete edge, drawing a breath to cry out. His torch dropped from his hand and plunged into the goyt with a loud splash. A second later, Cooper was following it. He plunged into the water, falling towards the light as it swirled and spun towards the muddy depths.

It seemed a long time before the light stopped falling, its beam swinging through the water to dazzle him. Cooper closed his eyes against the shock and the roar of water in his ears. He panicked when he realized he couldn’t tell which way was up, and he began to thrash his arms and legs. He seemed to hit something, or something hit him, he couldn’t tell which. The cold was already striking through to his soaking skin.

He opened his eyes again, and saw that the light was receding now, drawing away from him into the gloom. He seemed to be trapped by something, his clothes caught up on some heavy, rusty object under the water. He thought he must be sinking, and he thrashed harder. Just when he felt he couldn’t hold his breath any longer, his head suddenly burst clear of the water and he gasped in a deep, ragged mouthful of air.

Dazed, Cooper realized that the collar of his jacket was being gripped by someone, and he was being dragged vigorously towards the side of the channel.

A deep voice laughed close to his ear.

‘Bezopasno li e pluvaneto tuk? Are you sure it’s safe to swim here?’

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Sunday, 30 October

The following afternoon, Fry was sitting alone in the CID room at West Street. Everyone else who was on duty today had joined the search for Luanne Mullen. Most of them were expecting the divers of the underwater search team to have made a find by the time they’d finished dragging the channels of the mill goyt. Unless the child’s body had been swept out into the river and was miles away from Matlock Bath by now.

Fry was thinking of her conversation with Brian Mullen early that morning. Same hospital, different ward. A Mullen who looked sicker and paler than ever.