Oli feels Dean’s eyes on her. She lifts her chin to Bowman. Even if help comes, it’ll probably be too late. She glares at Bowman, and a sharp rage courses through her body, a boldness born from hopelessness. ‘Isabelle trusted you, and you fucking murdered her. You’re paedophile scum.’

He steps forward and cuffs her on the side of the head with the gun. She sees stars. Icy pain burns her skull. ‘Who do you think you are?’

She is too shocked to cry.

‘I warned her. I fucking warned her.’ He spits. ‘She knew how deep in she was.’

Oli looks over at Dean, whose eyes are closing. ‘Dean!’ she whispers.

‘Shut up or you’ll cop another one.’ Bowman stalks into the kitchen.

Choking on her sobs, Oli turns to press the panic button several times with her nose. Chest heaving, she faces forward again and wills Dean to stay awake. To stay alive.

Bowman returns holding a knife. Oli’s stomach tightens. It must be for her.

He places her phone on the floor near her foot. ‘There’s a real art to this, you know, like doing a puzzle backwards. You almost dialled triple zero.’ He shows her the screen with the number. ‘Unfortunately, you didn’t quite manage to place the call.’

Dean stirs as if he’s having a bad dream.

Oli senses an energy, tension in the air before an explosion. Her breath catches. Stays deep in her lungs.

Everything happens at once. All the doors swing open as if possessed. Icy air floods the house. Cops stream in, weapons raised.

Oli slides to the floor. Stares through the navy-clad ankles at Dean. She can’t tell if he’s still breathing.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

BOWMAN STRAIGHTENS, SNIFFS CASUALLY AND GESTURES AT OLI. ‘Ah, thank goodness. I was just about to ring this in. A nasty domestic, I’m afraid. This woman is very confused, but I’ve removed her weapon.’

The cops don’t even look at Oli.

‘I’m not sure if he’s going to make it, but I’d say it’s self-defence.’ Bowman jerks a thumb at Dean.

One of them steps forward. ‘I think you’d better come to the station with us, Chief.’ His gun is steady, aimed at Bowman’s chest.

He scowls. ‘I think you’ll find she called me earlier, making all kinds of outrageous claims.’

A pair of paramedics enter the house. Heads down, they make a beeline for Dean.

Handcuffs are fixed around Bowman’s wrists. ‘This is ridiculous!’ he splutters. ‘She shot him. And he’s implicated in the death of his ex-wife, DS Isabelle Yardley. One of our own.’

Someone grabs Oli’s wrist, checks her pulse. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four.

Bowman is led away, his protests fading into the night.

It’s stopped raining.