Gemma was cooing at them in an unsteady voice. ‘It’s OK, love, you’re all right; you’re both safe now. Help’s on its way. Pete, can you hear me?’

‘He’s badly hurt,’ Meredith managed, her own voice bubbly with panic. ‘I don’t know how he managed to walk this far. I think he’s got a broken arm and bad concussion, maybe a fractured skull. Please, help him.’

Gemma gently removed the gun from Meredith’s grip, holding her hand instead, stroking it as Emad draped his shirt over Pete’s motionless frame. With Gemma’s help, Meredith slowly pulled herself up to a seated position and tried to lay the stripy jumper over Pete as well, but Gemma stopped her. ‘You’re freezing. You put this one on.’

Meredith ignored her. ‘He’s passed out. Don’t let him die,’ she begged.

‘Shhh,’ Gemma soothed, while Emad hopped uselessly from foot to foot. ‘Just a few more moments. The helicopter crew will have life-support equipment and a stretcher for Pete. They can get him straight to hospital. Lift your arms up for me…’

Finally, Meredith permitted Gemma to help her into the jumper, raising her arms like a submissive child, and Emad couldn’t help the relief he felt that Meredith’s breasts were now covered. He knew he shouldn’t be having such puerile thoughts, but he also felt very self-conscious that he was standing there without his shirt, and relieved that Gemma had been wearing a bra – it was weird enough to see her in just that. He wasn’t sure he could have coped with seeing her chest completely bare as well as Meredith’s.

The police helicopter was noisily landing in a paddock a few metres away, rendering further conversation impossible.

Thank God it got here so fast, thought Emad, glancing at Pete’s lifeless body. And thank God I didn’t have to try and immobilise either of them. The dead guy was built like a brick shithouse.

He was just looking at his phone to call through to the station with an update, when a sudden movement caught his eye, illuminated for a moment by the chopper’s lights shining through the trees. Unnoticed and not heard over the din of the chopper’s blades, Catherine Brown had managed to stagger to her feet. She was pulling the small curved knife out of her neck and brandishing it over her head as she lumbered towards Meredith, who was seated with her back to her. Brown was about to bring it down…