As Meade’s boat receded from view, Winston could feel his energy fading fast, sapped as much by the weight of his waterlogged clothing as by the bitter cold of the water. Thankfully, his stitches appeared to be holding firm and, with each sluggish stroke, he was slowly dragging himself across the Brede and getting closer to his objective on the opposite river bank.
When he was about halfway across, his painfully slow progress hampered by cramping legs and searing lungs, he paused to tread water and catch his breath. Suddenly, his head went under and he felt himself sinking fast. As the dark water closed around him, dragging him down, Winston was overcome by a deep sense of dread. His mouth opened in an involuntary scream but, instead of the air he so desperately craved, polluted river water flooded into his nostrils and gushed down the back of his throat. His body jerked in shock as the foul liquid cascaded into his lungs, causing acute spasms of pain that seemed to spread through every fibre of his being.
Was this it?
Was this the end?
With what felt like a superhuman effort, he thrashed his tired legs and weary arms wildly until he finally forced himself back to the surface. Hungrily gulping down air as every cell in his body screamed for oxygen, Winston tried to suppress the mindless panic that was threatening to take control.
Winston knew that if he didn’t get out of the water soon, he would go under again, and the next time he might not be so lucky. Spurred on by fear and adrenaline, he set off with renewed determination towards a half-dozen boats that were moored against what was now the nearest section of Rock Channel Quay. Maybe, he would be able to hide out on one of those until the heat died down?
After what seemed like forever, he reached the keel of the first boat and dragged himself along its length until he came to a wooden ladder that led up to the quay. Struggling for breath, he pulled himself upwards, each step draining him more than he would ever have imagined possible. When he reached ground level, he hoisted himself onto the concrete quayside and flopped down onto his hands and knees. With his head spinning and his limbs trembling, and with water pooling on the floor all around him, he gratefully sucked in air and swore to himself that he would never go swimming again.
◆◆◆
Craig Masters was a strong swimmer. At school, he had completed all his swimming badges with ease, and he still regularly went to the pool as part of the rigid exercise regime he carried out to keep himself looking good in his role as Steve Michaels on Docklands.
Even as he swam across a freezing river in the middle of a cold winter’s night, with the police hot on his trail and his freedom at stake, all he could think about was the lavish lifestyle that had so cruelly been snatched away from him just as his star was finally beginning to rise.
Only the week before Katie’s death, his agent had been in contact to say that he was being considered for a big role in an upcoming action film that would bring him to the attention of the big Hollywood studios.
As he carved his way through the water with an effortless front crawl, one thought repeated itself over and over in his mind: How had everything gone so wrong for him so quickly?
He reached the opposite bank and began climbing one of the wooden ladders that led up to the quay above. He was confident that none of the gun-carrying police officers would have been inclined to jump in and come after him.
A few short days ago, Masters had felt like he had the world at his feet; that it was just sitting there ripe for the taking. Now, the best he could possibly hope for was getting out of the country and setting himself up somewhere that didn’t have an extradition treaty with the UK.
But even if he managed to avoid going to prison, his glittering career was over, and he was far more devastated by that than he was over the death of his stunning, trophy girlfriend.
Poor Katie. No one would ever believe him, but he hadn’t even meant to hurt her, let alone kill her.
Theirs was a tumultuous relationship, but he had loved her in his own selfish way, and, ironically, it had been his foolish desire to please her that had ultimately led to his undoing.
They had been out partying until the early hours of New Year’s Day, and by the time they returned to the luxury flat that they shared, they had both been as drunk as skunks and stoned out of their heads. Instead of calling it a night, they had opened another bottle of bubbly and then snorted a few more lines of cocaine. When they finally retired to the bedroom, Kathie had still been wired, and she had insisted on trying something new – something ultra-kinky.
The strangling had been her idea. She had read somewhere that autoerotic asphyxiationgreatly heightened sexual pleasure, and she wanted to find out for herself if this was true. He hadn’t been nearly as keen as her, but she had promised to let him do her up the arse if he went along with her warped little fantasy, and she didn’t often agree to that, so he had played along.
In many ways, Katie was a wonderful girl, but she was also a wild child who was always looking to push boundaries. Well, she had pushed them a little too far this time, and now they were both paying the price for her licentious behaviour.
Maybe he’d got a little too carried away
