M. Arlidge - Little Boy Blue

Robert was only twenty feet ahead but vaulted the boundary fence without hesitation before sprinting on. His levels of fitness really were impressive and Helen suddenly had the nasty thought that it would be she who’d tire first. Clearing the fence, she touched down hard, narrowly avoiding a tree root, then burst forward once more. If she lost him, who was to say when she would get another chance to confront him. It was now or never.

They had been running for over ten minutes, but Helen knew that Robert’s escape options were narrowing. They were nearing the outskirts of the docks. There were many warehouses, in use and derelict, for him to hide in, but the whole of the Western Docks was fenced off and unless Robert had a craft of some kind waiting for him, he couldn’t keep heading south.

Up ahead of her, Robert slammed into the dock’s perimeter fence, scaling it as he did so. Helen could see he was wearing gloves, but as he reached the top, he yelped in pain, the razor wire clearly doing its work. But he pushed on through, falling to the ground on the other side, obliging Helen to follow him. She scampered up the links, pausing only at the top to manoeuvre herself through the coiled wires. It would lose her valuable seconds, but it would be disastrous to get caught up in it and a false move would cut her to ribbons.

The metal teeth of the wire caressed her cheek as she eased her head through, but didn’t draw blood. Twisting again, she wiggled her torso through the gap, feeling the back of her vest tear slightly as it snagged on its way through. Now she could grip the fence on the other side and, pulling her legs through, quickly swung down on to the ground – just in time to see Robert disappearing into Quay 42.

Helen stumbled as she moved forward – her legs were growing weary of the pursuit – but she drove herself on. Quay 42 was a derelict outpost of the Western Docks and was a fitting place for this endgame to play out. The last time Helen had visited the mothballed warehouses that littered it was to recover one of Marianne’s victims. Perhaps the historic associations were too much to resist – Helen couldn’t believe he’d made his way here by chance.

She was entering the dock area now – great, empty warehouses looming up on all sides. Helen hurried towards the old dockside, peering into the shadows on either side, searching for her prey. Was he hiding in the shadows, waiting to attack her from behind, or had he come here to make his escape? Peering over into the water, Helen could see no craft, no signs of movement. Turning she cast a look further down the quayside, but it too was deserted. She had been too close behind for Robert to have made it out of the quay completely, so he was here somewhere. Was he watching her right now?

There were four main warehouses on this part of the quay, all in equal states of disrepair, shattered windows giving a fractured view of the darkness within them. If Helen picked wrong, then he would escape. There was no margin for error now. He was unlikely to be hiding in the first as he had veered round to the left past it when entering the quay. Presuming he hadn’t doubled back, this left three more. The next-nearest one was little more than a shell, the roof having collapsed some time ago. There was plenty of detritus within to provide cover, but the moon that now hung overhead was full, lighting up the interior clearly. It would be a gamble to conceal yourself there in plain sight, so Helen moved on to the last two. Both of these were in good repair and would be smart places to hide, the fire escapes that snaked down the sides providing a possible means of escape if need be. If Helen was being pursued, she would have picked one of these two.

Helen wrenched open the door to the nearest one and peered inside. It was one vast hangar, littered with abandoned crates and dead pigeons. Again there was plenty of cover but there were no internal walls to hide behind, so now Helen’s gaze strayed to the last warehouse, which bordered the quayside. This was a two-tier building – a series of offices and small units on top of the main hangar. This seemed much more promising, so, making her choice, Helen hurried towards it.

The main hangar doors lay in front of her, but the fire escape that led up to the second floor intrigued her more, as it would have been out of view when Helen entered the quay complex. She walked forward confidently, then came to an abrupt halt. A dark spot lay on the ground by the steps and bending down Helen dipped her finger in it. Holding it up to the light, she could see that it was blood, glistening in the moonlight, fresh and wet.

Now Helen moved quickly up the steps. Reaching the top, she paused. There was every chance that Robert was inside. She was about to face him unarmed, with nothing but her experience and training to protect her. If he meant to do her harm, even kill her, then who would ever know that she’d been down here? That she had solved the case? For the first time since this desperate chase had begun, Helen paused to catch her breath, pulling her mobile from her pocket. She sent a quick text, then switching the phone to silent, stepped into the darkness within.

Immediately, something came at her. She flung her arm up to protect herself, then watched in alarm as the startled pigeon flew away, the sound of his flapping wings echoing around the empty rooms. Any element of surprise was gone now, so Helen pressed on, walking swiftly down the corridor that stretched out in front of her the full length of the building. There were small offices off it and Helen checked them over as she walked past. She wasn’t keen to get caught in one of these – she wanted him to make the first move, rather than walk into a trap herself.

Her eyes scanned the space ahead of her, looking for signs of movement, and then, in the distance, she saw it. At the very end of the corridor there was a room which was probably the biggest in the building. It overlooked the water, was the width of the warehouse and all roads led to it. And unlike every other room in this decaying edifice, it was emitting a pale-blue light.

Intrigued, Helen crept forward. As she did so, she spotted a few abandoned bits of scaffolding. Bending down, she picked up a short length of pipe and carried on, getting closer and closer to the office ahead. She was fifteen feet from it, now ten, now five. Helen stood on the threshold, then pushed into the room, braced to defend herself.

But no attack came. Was Robert even here? It was hard to make out the outer edges of the room – her eye was drawn to the computer whose weak light she had noticed from the corridor. Next to it on a rickety table was a camping lantern and Helen grabbed it, turning it up. Now the room came into focus – empty coffee cups, an ashtray full of cigarettes, discarded sandwich wrappers, a hoodie hanging over a chair, but also a white iPhone 5 nearby. Helen guessed it was Max Paine’s – but time would tell. And flanking all this, pinned up on the walls were maps of Southampton, picking out Banister Park, Bitterne and the docks.

This then was Robert’s bolthole – a perfect hiding place from which to plot his killing spree. And as Helen took another step forward, turning the lantern to get a better view of the room, she saw him, framed by the large windows behind him. He was silhouetted against the moonlight, but as Helen stepped closer she took in his face. He looked pale, impassive and oddly effeminate – there didn’t seem to be a single trace of hair on his face, head or neck. She hadn’t seen him in years, and now as he took her in, his blue eyes sparkled malevolently.

‘Nice to see you again, Helen. It’s been a long time.’

The unmarked car hurtled down the road, sirens blaring and light flashing. Even though she was safely strapped in, Charlie held tight to the armrest. Sanderson was wound tight tonight and driving way too aggressively. She didn’t dare say anything, but she didn’t want to become a casualty of her colleague’s desperation to nail their boss either.