Michael White - Equinox

Ten minutes onto the motorway and the man sitting next to her dozed off to sleep. He had a newspaper on his lap, and Gail lifted it gingerly and began to read. The big news story of the day was a threatened rail strike. This competed for attention with another scandal brewing in the royal family and the sexual indiscretions of a backbench Labour MP. On the dig, they had hardly seen a newspaper and had had no TV. The radio was all in Greek and none of the other students or lecturers had cared to know what was happening in the world beyond their little heaven in the dust of Athens.

On page four she found a brief mention of the murders that Ray had described on the phone, but it told her little.

Gail put the paper back in the man's lap and went back to staring out of the window. For a moment she missed the sunshine of Greece and the work she loved. But then she thought of Ray — kind, gentle Ray. If ever a man was husband material, he was, she mused. She couldn't wait to see him again.

Raymond Delaware crossed the bridge over the Cherwell close to Parson's Pleasure, a gated and fenced-off stretch of the river which, for more than a century, had been reserved as a nudist sanctuary for the private use of the dons. It was quiet at this time; a dreary Friday evening. The clouds were heavy with rain and most of the students still in Oxford were either watching early-evening soaps on TV, making for the pub or grabbing a snack on The High or along Cornmarket Street.

Ray had missed Gail more than he'd ever believed he would. The six weeks they had spent apart had seemed like an age. He knew now that she was someone special, someone more important than the other girlfriends he had had during his first two years at university. He didn't like to think too far ahead or to get too serious, but at the same time he could not deny his emotions.

Within a few moments he had reached the wide tree-lined path that ran between the river on one side and the sodden fields on the other. Ray and Gail had walked along here on so many occasions. They loved it most in the deep winter, in January when it was freezing cold and they had to wrap up against the wind and the sleet. Last winter, Oxford had seen the heaviest snowfalls in anyone's memory and parts of the Cherwell had frozen over. This path had looked like a fantasy landscape, and even now, with the trees dripping wet and the air heavy with an approaching cloudburst, it still possessed an indefinable charm.

There was a sound behind him like the crack of a twig. Turning round, Ray felt a sudden burning sensation in his neck. Startled, he grabbed at his throat. Blood gushed between his fingers and for perhaps a second he simply stared at the red liquid. Then his head was yanked back. The branches of the trees whirled through the air in front of him and he began to choke. Blood ran across his face and into his nose and eyes, blinding him. He lost his balance and seemed to float in the air for a brief moment, a moment filled with a blend of panic and confusion before he landed heavily on the ground, his head smashing painfully against a rock. He tried to turn, to scramble to his feet, but a hand was pushing down on his face. Then came another stab from what felt like a molten hot dagger. It sent more tremors through him, screaming around inside his head.

Somehow, Ray managed to lift a hand and wipe it across his eyes. He caught a glimpse of a figure leaning over him but its face was a featureless mask. He began to shake uncontrollably. The shadowy figure straightened up and peered down at him. Then everything went black.

Gail watched the coach pull away and checked her watch. It was 6.21. She was twenty minutes early Her legs felt stiff and it was good to fill her lungs with fresh air. Too excited to wait at the bus stop for Ray to arrive, she decided to head for the lane leading to Mesopotamia Walk. Ray was bound to be early and she would meet him on the path — it would be romantic. Maybe they would have a real Hollywood moment of kissing under the trees, she thought, and smiled to herself as she heaved the rucksack onto her back. She turned from Marston Road left into the lane, a short walk that would take her to the first of two small bridges across narrow tributaries of the river: Passing the old mill on her right, she would soon be on the broad path alongside the river, where she was bound to see Ray heading towards her.

It started to rain and Gail quickened her pace. Grossing the second bridge, she ran for the cover of the trees and then made a dash for the mill. The huge wooden wheel, a relic of the Industrial Revolution and now part of an English Heritage site, stood still, and water swept through the unmoving blades. The rain was falling in great torrents now, spattering on the path and the trees, competing with the sound of the water racing by through the lock and the narrow waterway that ran beside the mill. Pulling her rucksack up a little to relieve the ache in her shoulders, Gail turned a sharp bend on the path and kept her head down against the driving rain.

Something made her look up. Ten yards ahead was a surreal tableau. What looked like a sack smeared in red lay on the ground, and standing over the object was a man in a glistening wet one-piece plastic suit. A perspex visor obscured his face and a hood covered his head. She could see in the man's hand a tapered metal object that glinted in the feeble light.

For perhaps two seconds Gail stood frozen to the spot. Then, in a sudden rush of understanding, she realised that the sack on the floor was Raymond — his body, lifeless, soaked in blood. The man in the plastic suit had spotted her.

Gail Honeywell yanked the rucksack from her shoulders and let it fall to the ground. Turning on her heel, she was driven by a primal fear, horror welling up in her throat. She ran as fast as she could back towards the path beside the mill. It was almost enough to save her. But the Acolyte's reactions were faster. In the time that it had taken Gail to realise what was happening and to shrug off the heavy rucksack, the Acolyte had almost covered the ten yards between them.

Gail made it to the bridge. Drawing in huge breaths, she ran faster than she had ever run before in her life. Adrenalin pumped through her veins. She leaped onto the bridge, grabbing for the rail to steady herself. But the wooden slats of the structure were soaked with rainwater. Halfway across, her right foot landed on a patch of mud and she slid along the planks. She almost managed to retain her balance, but just as she thought she would make it to the grass on the far side her legs gave way. She crashed down onto her back and felt a shudder of pain rip through her as she collided with the railings.

The Acolyte was on her in seconds. He grabbed her wrists as she kicked and struggled. Gail managed to bite his arm, but her teeth met only resistant plastic. He pinned her to the floor with his knee. She tried to scream, but she couldn't gather her breath. A raw animal grunt came from the pit of her stomach. Rifling through his oversuit pocket, the

Acolyte pulled out a roll of thick tape. With practised fingers, he wound the tape roughly around the girl's wrists and slapped a strip across her mouth. With his knee still pushing down hard on her chest, he wrapped more tape around her ankles.

Standing up, the Acolyte looked down at Gail Honeywell, a satisfied smile spreading across his face. At this close range she could just see it through the visor. Then he looked at his watch. It was 6.31. He had to wait forty-three minutes before he could begin the procedure, which meant that the girl could be allowed to live a little longer. He felt a thrill of excitement shoot up his spine. 'Time enough to have some fun,' he said under his breath.

Oxford: 30 March, 9.15 p.m.