The wailing sirens were getting louder - flashing blue lights bouncing along the road as a patrol car San Franciscoed over the speed humps, making for Vicky Young's address. He could hear another one on the opposite side of the ravine. They could still catch the bastard. McInnis swept his torch over the surrounding grass and bushes. Three tracks led away into the damp undergrowth. One went up the hill, back towards the patrol car, another headed off to the right - where Guthrie said he'd come from - and the third snaked away to the left. McInnis staggered into a run, following the trail of flattened grass. 'What about the body? We can't just leave--' 'She's not getting any deader, is she?' There was a stream at the bottom of the ravine, swollen by the torrential rain. Guthrie slithered to a halt at the water's edge. He was on his Airwave handset again, telling Control where the body was, while McInnis tried to work out which way the bastard had gone. Upstream, downstream ... no sign of flattened grass on the other bank. McInnis picked his way around a small pile of boulders, following the course of the stream. Heading away from the road. 'Aye,' Guthrie waved his torch back towards the patrol car,'down here, we're in pursuit of--' McInnis froze. 'Will you shut up a minute?' 'Look, I'm only trying to--' 'Shhhh!' There was a clump of brittle whin, six foot further up the slope, its seed husks rattling in the downpour. Not quite loud enough to hide the faint sound of sobbing coming from inside the bush. Pulling out his pepper spray, McInnis inched forwards. 'Police! Come out with your hands up and no one gets hurt.' Guthrie crept round the other side. They made eye contact for a second and McInnis mouthed,'On three.' One. Two. Three: Guthrie grabbed the nearest branch and yanked it back. The person hiding in there squealed and tried to scrabble away, but there was nowhere to go. It was a woman: mid to late forties; only partially dressed - pale skin glowing in the torchlight; no shoes; her trousers ripped and stained; her blouse torn, the buttons missing, the material soaked with bright red blood. McInnis put the pepper spray away and held out his hand. 'You're going to be OK.' She squirmed back against the branches, clutching a big leather handbag in front of her like a shield. Her bruised face was twisted and filthy. 'Don't touch me! Please don't touch me! Please!' 'It's OK. We're the police. You're safe now.' 'Please ...'
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