‘So this is definitely where it says Meredith’s phone is?’ Emad began to explore around the edge of the pool. When his torchlight picked out the tiles on the bottom of the pool, he gasped. ‘Fuck – look.’

In the middle of the empty pool’s bottom was a small but clearly-recognisable puddle of blood, so dark in the dim light that it looked black.

‘Oh God. And – here. Clothes. What the hell’s going on?’ Gemma had found a pile of men’s clothes on the tiled side – shorts, boxers, T-shirt. Like someone had decided to have an impromptu skinny dip, without noticing that the pool had no water in it. No shoes or socks though, she noted.

‘More over here,’ said Emad. ‘Looks like dungarees.’

‘Meredith was wearing dungarees earlier. Let’s see…’

She joined him and examined the pile, feeling through the pockets for Meredith’s iPhone. Nothing, except a scrunched-up tissue and a Minstead House-branded cherry lip balm. ‘They’re hers, I’m sure. Those are her flip-flops. I wouldn’t recognise her underwear, obviously, but that bra looks about the right size. I don’t remember what top she was wearing, but the dungarees…’

‘So how come her flip-flops are here, but there are no shoes by the guy’s clothes?’

Emad shone his torch near Gemma’s face. ‘We’re assuming they’re Pete’s, aren’t we…?’

‘Let’s get back-up,’ Gemma said. ‘This is too weird.’

‘Is the app still saying her phone’s in here?’ Emad asked.

Gemma immediately scrolled to it. ‘You call it in, I’ll check.’

Emad rang the control room and was just reciting his CAD number to the desk sergeant when Gemma exclaimed again and jabbed a finger at her screen.

‘Phone’s showing as moved. It’s now there. Looks to be about—’

She was interrupted by the deafening and unmistakeable crack of a gunshot, from what sounded like very nearby.

‘Send backup, air support and ground unit, out to beyond the old pool house on the Minstead Estate, south of the main house, NOW!’ Emad yelled down the phone. ‘Gunshot heard. Hostage situation likely,’ and without hesitation or consultation they both ran out into the black night in the direction of the sound.

52

Meredith

By the time Caitlin had forced them off the grass and onto a small dark path through the woodland, dimly lit by Graeme’s torch, Meredith had changed her mind; acceptance had evaporated and was replaced by a nugget of something small and determined. Her bare feet were studded with small stones, her thighs scratched by brambles, whippy twigs snatched at her face, and it felt as if the universe was telling her to get a grip. She didn’t want to die. And there was no fucking way these two psychos were going to hurt Pete any more than they already had.