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Diatom analysis of her lungs. The bastard had really thought this through. He must have been prepared for this eventuality way in advance, had thought about how to kill Jane just in case, as soon as her investigation was threatening to uncover his duplicity. Threatening to open up his history of God knows how many deaths?

When Colin Wilson had taken the fall for the murders, she imagined DS Johnson had breathed easy for the first time since she had started to re-investigate Alice Rogers’ death. Only for his devious and sickening crimes to be revealed by the woman he thought he’d hoodwinked.

The only hope Jane clung to now was the imminent arrival of the help she had summoned. DS Johnson was assuming he could kill her here then transfer her body to the lake. That no one would suspect her missing at first; it was Sunday after all, she wasn’t due in the office. She would be found drowned and written off as taking her own life after her mother’s death. All elements that made the meticulous planning of the manner of her death more potent. And without Jane there to raise the red flags, who would question his theory?

No, it wouldn’t be that simple for DS Dave Johnson. Not now. The financial fraud had already been flagged to DI Baxter, Bill Hargreaves’ post-mortem not being acted on properly was on Dr Lydia’s radar. Jane might not be around to see his downfall, but she had already set it in motion.

Suddenly she realised what had happened to Alice. He must have drowned her in this very bathtub, using the water from the river in which he would later dump her. Kicking her legs as best as her sedated body would allow her, trying to wake herself up despite her nausea, Jane knew she had to remain conscious and mentally alert. Looking for anything that might be of use, her vision was limited by the sides of the tub. She tried to sit up as he carried on pouring the water over her, but she couldn’t. The water was starting to splash over her face now, adrenaline spiking as she felt she would drown. She coughed, which gave her body some momentum. Using this, she kicked out hard with her legs, trying to push her body upright.

Now DS Johnson stopped pouring the water. He was wearing latex gloves, the sort that must have caused the reaction on Mark’s skin. Without warning, he grabbed both of Jane’s ankles and pulled her body sharply forward, her head sliding easily underwater. Jane tried desperately to stop herself, but it was hopeless. She was powerless to resist, with her hands tied behind her back. DS Johnson tugged her ankles ever higher, forcing her head deeper underwater. She tried to cry out, but her silent screams burst into bubbles of air around her.

Chapter 73

This was it, this was how she was going to die. Always afraid of drowning after Ed’s death, her attacker had chosen the worst possible way to kill her. The earthy water of the lake was filling her lungs, suffocating her. Jane tried to kick her legs free, twisting her body, but there was no give. The panic set in; she imagined in those moments what Alice had suffered, what Ed had. There was nothing she could do as the life ebbed from her. Jane stopped trying to fight the sheer terror creeping over her, the instinct to breathe, to live. The thought whispered across her slackening brain: this was it, she was going to be with Ed, be with her mother.

Resigned to her fate, she felt her body suddenly being yanked backwards, as Dave Johnson forced her to the surface again. Violently choking out water while gagging, Jane tried to draw in deep gulps of air into her burning lungs. Suddenly he plunged her into the water again, dragging her body up by her heels.

At first Jane fought him as much as she could. She wouldn’t make her body pliant for him. Again and again, her lungs seemed to fill and burn, but with each fresh gasp of air as he pushed her to the surface, Jane felt the desire to survive mixed with the dread that he would be pulling her under again any moment. Repeating the process more times than she could count, holding her under long enough for Jane to feel as though she was going to die; only then to pull her out of the water to let her breathe for a moment, before submerging her again. Each time he repeated this attack, her strength faded still further. The next time he plunged her under the water, Jane felt sure her body would relent, the struggle over. Death was inevitable, why was she fighting it? Help would come, he would not get away with her murder. Or the others. She had done her job. She should just give up.

No, she had made a promise to Emily Rogers and was going to ensure that justice was done. DS Johnson would be punished for his crimes and she would be the one to do it.

Once again as she choked on the fresh air, as he pushed her out of the water, Jane thought she heard the distant sound of police sirens. It was just a moment, but it was enough to distract him. This was it, this was her only chance. Addled as her mind was from the drowning, Jane felt a surge of resistance running through her leaden body. From somewhere deep inside, she summoned the strength she needed. Catching her captor off guard, freeing one of her ankles, she kicked him hard in the face. She heard cracking, saw blood, watched him fall, swearing viciously at her.

Spluttering and coughing water, Jane tried in vain to free her hands. Now DS Johnson was looming over her again, blood covering his mouth and nose, trying to grab her. This time she was ready for him. Using as much momentum as she could, Jane propelled her body upwards. The top of her head connected with DS Johnson’s face, the latter crying out as he fell backwards to the floor. Taking advantage of this, Jane scrambled upright, tipping her body up and over the lip of the tub. She fell hard onto the ground, but scrambled quickly onto her knees, then her feet. Spotting a workbench nearby, she made straight for it; the adrenaline from her desire to survive surpassing the weakened, broken state her mind and body were in.

On top of the bench sat a metal vice, its edges sharp, strong and inviting. Sliding her hands into the vice, Jane worked the rope against the jutting metal edge, desperate to free her arms. Her assailant was already clambering to his feet, however, his face bloody, swollen and red. Still the rope refused to break and DS Johnson quickly filled the space between them, step by laboured step. His plans for a staged suicide may have gone up in smoke, but he was clearly not minded to let her live, savage fury burning in his eyes.

Jane worked the rope as fast as she could, feeling it break just as DS Johnson snatched up a knife from the workbench. Without hesitation, he lurched towards her, thrusting the knife at her throat. Instinctively, she seized the blade with both hands, stopping its progress even as she was consumed with agonising pain, blood pouring from her palms. Twisting away from him, Jane saw her baton lying by the side of the bathtub. Letting go of the knife, she rushed to grab it. As DS Johnson descended upon her once more, she swung around, smashing the baton into his face. His shrieks pierced the air, so Jane followed up her advantage. Bringing the baton down hard again, she heard bone crunch as she made contact with his nose, blood pouring down his face. Lurching away from his grasping hands, she swung her baton round to smack him hard in the back of the head. He fell to the ground, but refused to give up, crawling towards her, the knife still gripped tightly in his blood-smeared fingers. Arcing through the air, he swiped at Jane’s shin, but dodging the blow, she clapped her baton hard across his face with everything she had, watching in relief as he finally slumped to the floor, unconscious.

And now, finally, Jane heard the wail of sirens were close to the house.

She rested her body against the workbench, catching her breath. Grabbing a fistful of Wonder Wipes, she pressed them to her ravaged hands, desperately trying to stem the bleeding. As she pushed down hard on her wounds, her eyes wandered around the basement, taking in boxes of latex gloves and small bottles of pills. There was rope that looked similar to the type that had been used on Bill Hargreaves and a canister with a helium symbol on it.

Suddenly she was hurtling forwards, crashing hard on the ground. Stunned, Jane spun round to discover DS Johnson had come to and was even now baring down on her. Once more, he drove the blade at her throat. It grazed her skin, Jane aware of the sticky blood trickling down her neck. She kicked him hard, but he didn’t relent, as the knife came for her again. Jane threw her arms up in defence, feeling cold steel slash against her forearms, the backs of her fingers, the deep cuts stinging as blood flowed from the open wounds. Now he grabbed her hair from behind, exposing her throat. Jane knew what was coming next, catching his wrist in mid-air, the blade just inches from her skin. DS Johnson now redoubled his efforts, straining every sinew as the knife moved ever closer to her throat. Left with no choice, she leant forward and bit his arm as hard as she could. He screamed in pain, letting go of her hair, giving her a moment to scramble to her feet.

The pair stood facing each other. DS Johnson was glaring at her, sweaty, vengeful, deranged.

Upstairs a loud hammering on the front door, angry shouts.

‘It’s over, Dave,’ Jane gasped. ‘So drop the knife and give yourself up.’

‘You wrecked this for me,’ he spat back. ‘If you hadn’t turned up, no one would have given a damn about that dead junkie. None of this would have happened.’

‘I aim to please,’ Jane said, spitting blood from her mouth. ‘And if you didn’t want me here, you shouldn’t have been so shit at your job.’

He leapt at her, the force causing them both to crash against the workbench. Jane felt something crack in her back as DS Johnson brought the knife towards her eye. Grabbing his wrist to stop him blinding her, she grappled around the bench for something she could use to defend herself with her other hand. It alighted on a screwdriver, which she smashed across his broken nose. Johnson jerked backwards, keening like a wounded animal. Once more he lunged at her with the knife, but she caught his wrist, twisting it savagely. He cried out, so Jane twisted harder, the blade now turning to face her attacker. Still he wouldn’t give up, fighting to regain the momentum, throwing himself at her. Now they were falling, the back of Jane’s head connecting sharply with the floor as DS Johnson collapsed upon her. Another cry, a sudden jerking of his body and then he was still, lying heavily on top of her.

Pushing him off, Jane saw the blade of his own knife firmly lodged in his chest.

The blood was already pooling around him and Jane knew that it was over. DS Dave Johnson was still alive but only just, his eyes locked on to hers, pleading. But Jane wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. She broke eye contact and moved away, leaving him to die alone.

Epilogue

The morning air was chilled, her breath fogged as Jane breathed out. The lake waters were lapping, deep and dark, against the banks. Jane stepped into the cold water, her body temperature adjusting to it, then started to swim to where she had seen Ed disappear all those years ago. She ducked her head under the water, holding her breath, despite the pulsing fear of drowning that ran through her. She kept it at bay; this was important for her to do.

For a brief moment, she was weightless, unencumbered, free. This was her way of saying goodbye to her brother. And it felt right.

She surfaced, wiping lake water from her eyes and taking in deep cleansing breaths, keeping her body afloat by paddling her feet and legs. There was a sense of peace around her, the water still.