Page 4

Helen looked out over the city, entranced by the twinkling lights below.

The hotel had been Christopher’s choice and she approved.

The Mayflower was a new boutique hotel on the fringes of Watts Park, whose penthouse suites commanded magnificent views over Southampton.

The vista was particularly beguiling at night when the cityscape came alive, a mass of sparkling whites, yellows and reds.

Helen could have stood for hours watching the cars, the late-night revellers, wondering where they were going, who they were with, what pleasures awaited them.

Tugging the fluffy bathrobe around her, Helen couldn’t deny that she was content.

Happiness had always been a relative concept for her.

It wasn’t something she’d had much experience of, nor was it something she expected.

But despite the questions about her future that continued to trouble her and the guilt she felt about abandoning Charlie and her colleagues at Southampton Central, she couldn’t deny that there were elements of her new life that she enjoyed.

The time to be herself, to explore new things, to make a stab at having a proper, functioning relationship.

Her liaison with Christopher was still in its early days, but the dating app algorithm that had paired them seemed to know its stuff.

They were of similar age, had a background in law enforcement and both enjoyed the occasional retreat from the world, usually in an upmarket hotel.

Helen knew her funds wouldn’t last forever, that at some point she would have to think about future employment, but for now at least she was content to savour the moment.

Pressing her head to the glass, Helen allowed her gaze to wander over Southampton, seeking out new diversions. Christopher was in the shower, meaning she had a moment’s solitude to savour. Smiling, her eyes moved back and forth, like a prison search light, seeking signs of life.

Then she spotted something that immediately set her nerves on edge.

Maybe a hundred feet below, in a gloomy shopping parade, a young woman was sprinting at full pelt, casting frequent looks behind her.

Instinctively, Helen pressed closer to the glass.

What on earth was this woman doing in that deserted spot so late at night? And who was she running away from?

Moments later, Helen had her answer, two burly figures coming into view, racing after the fleeing woman.

Helen’s body tensed, a host of unwelcome questions pulsing through her mind.

Why were they chasing her? And what did they intend to do if they caught her?

Helen found herself whispering encouragement to the fugitive, urging the young woman to stay ahead of her pursuers and now, to her enormous relief, she saw the woman reach a kebab takeaway, the only establishment still open.

Helen watched intently as the woman disappeared inside.

Her luck was out, however, her two pursuers following her in, before dragging her out onto the concourse.

As she fought to free herself from their clutches, a man appeared in the shop doorway, wearing a chef’s apron over a bright pink t-shirt, but he made no move to intervene, remaining frozen to the spot.

Helen’s heart was hammering in her chest. Surely the takeaway owner would get involved?

Or at least call the police? But to her horror, he did nothing, watching on impassively as the two thugs threw the poor woman to the ground.

Immediately, their victim scrambled to her knees, clasping her hands together, imploring them for mercy.

But they were clearly not the forgiving type, Helen gasping as one of them pulled what looked like a bicycle chain from his jacket pocket.

Was Helen imagining she heard a cry, the woman shrieking out in fear and desperation?

Either way, her terror did not save her, the man bringing the chain down on her with all his might.

Helen was already on the move, sprinting towards the door as Christopher emerged from the bathroom, towelling his hair.

‘Hey! Where’s the fire?’ he cried, as she surged past him.

Helen didn’t respond, flinging the door open and racing down the corridor.

Behind her, she could hear Christopher calling out, but she powered on, reaching the emergency exit and pushing into the stairwell.

Perhaps it would be more sensible to take the lift, but Helen couldn’t risk any delays, convinced that every second counted.

She flew down the steps, jumping them four at a time, myriad questions rattling round her brain.

What had this woman done to provoke their anger?

Why was their attack so violent? And how come they were so blatant about it, apparently heedless of possible witnesses to their crime?

Consumed with a desire to understand, to intervene, Helen burst into the lobby, causing the night manager to look up sharply.

Breathless and sweaty, she raced on, her robe flapping wildly behind her as she ran towards the exit.

Frustrated, she discarded it, sprinting across the lobby in her satin nightdress.

Seconds later she was on the street, pausing momentarily, before spotting a dimly lit cut through to the shopping precinct.

Sprinting across the road, her bare feet pounding the tarmac, Helen pushed away all thoughts of danger, disappearing inside the shabby passage.

Suddenly plunged into a gloomy darkness, Helen tore on, barely pausing as her leading foot hit something sharp.

Shrugging off her discomfort, she kept going, convinced the punishment being meted out to the anonymous woman would be far worse.

The corridor seemed endless, but now finally Helen burst out into the desultory parade, casting wildly around her.

Immediately she spotted them, a shadowy group not fifty feet away.

She’d been hoping for cries, a struggle, signs of life, but to her horror, the woman lay motionless on the ground, her breathless attacker looming over her.

Helen didn’t hesitate, tearing towards the clutch of figures, her speed increasing with each stride.

Athletic, lithe and light on her feet, she made little sound and it was only at the last second, as the vile thug raised his arm for yet another blow, that he seemed to clock her approach.

The expression on his face changed suddenly, alarm at an approaching intruder morphing to shock as he struggled to process the image of a striking woman in a nightdress bearing down on him.

But before he could respond, Helen took off, flying through the air, and planting a solid foot squarely in the middle of his chest. The man fell backwards, landing heavily on his back and gasping in shock.

Surprise was now Helen’s ally and she stepped forward decisively, crunching the heel of her foot into the prone thug’s exposed cheek, slamming his head into the floor.

Dazed, in pain, he blinked stupidly at the night sky for a moment, before turning away to groan and whimper.

Helen paid him no heed, for she could hear footsteps behind her.

Turning, she saw the other thug bearing down on her.

He was clearly a street warrior, with heavy scarring around his prosthetic left eye, and intent on doing her some serious damage.

‘I don’t know who you think you are, lady, but—’

He didn’t get any further, Helen’s powerful right foot snapping up sharply into his groin.

Her assailant groaned, his face contorted in agony.

Helen was not minded to show him any mercy, however, driving her fist into his stomach, prompting him to double up sharply, before bringing her elbow down on the back of his neck.

With a pitiful groan, he collapsed to the concrete, out cold.

Turning, Helen hurried over to their victim, who lay motionless on the ground.

Kneeling down next to her, Helen gently raised the injured woman from the floor, cradling her in her arms. The young woman’s face was bloodied and bruised, her body quivering with agony, but she was alive, which was a relief given the sustained brutality of the attack.

Desperately worried, Helen shouted out to the takeaway owner to call an ambulance, only to discover that the shop was now swathed in darkness, the ‘closed’ sign clearly visible.

‘What the f—’

Helen was about to launch a volley of abuse in his direction, but now the woman in her arms coughed violently, a mist of blood drifting from her lips.

‘It’s OK, love, you’re going to be OK,’ Helen intoned, trying to sound as friendly and positive as she could. ‘We’re going to get you help. You’re going to be fine.’

The woman’s eyes swivelled in her head, before finally coming to rest on Helen, her expression a mixture of pain and confusion.

‘I’m a friend,’ Helen reassured her. ‘And I’m going to get you out of here. But I’m going to need you to stand. Do you think you could do that for me?’

Helen regretted now coming out without a phone or any means of summoning help.

They would have to make it back to the road, or the hotel just beyond, and they would need to do so fast, before her attackers rallied.

But the woman in her arms made no move to respond, barely registering Helen’s presence.

‘Can you tell me your name?’ Helen asked, remembering her basic training. ‘What are you called?’

And now Helen did see a reaction, the woman raising her head, trying to find the words, even through a clutter of broken teeth.

‘Selima,’ she whispered, before sinking back into her arms.

Helen nodded, smiling warmly at her. The injured woman seemed to be in her twenties and of Central Asian or Mediterranean appearance, with ebony hair and rich brown eyes.

Intriguingly, she had small tattoos on both her chin and forehead – a cross and a gazelle – though an explanation of their significance would have to wait.

The important thing now was to get away.

‘OK, Selima. My name’s Helen and I’m going to help you, but we do need to get you on your feet. I know you’re in pain, but we’ve got to try . Do you think that you can do that for me?’

Selima raised her head again. She looked as if she wanted to say something, but in the end this proved beyond her, so instead she simply nodded, trying to raise her head a little higher.

‘That’s it, slow and steady …’

Helen slipped her hand behind Selima’s back, trying to lever her off the ground.

For a moment, Selima seemed to respond, a brave smile tugging at her lips.

Then suddenly her expression changed markedly, her face clouding over, panic etched in her features.

Helen stared at her for a moment, confused, before realizing the magnitude of her mistake.

Convinced that one of Selima’s attackers had roused themselves, Helen turned to look behind her, but she’d barely moved before she received a savage blow to the back of her head.

Her whole body lurched sideways, her head spinning, but now a second blow came, sending her crashing to the ground.

Her face hit the concrete hard, tearing the skin on her cheek, even as her arms relinquished their grip on her injured companion.

Gasping, choking, Helen half-raised her head, but the world was spinning around her, darkness threatening to consume her, and she fell back down to earth with a crash.

She lay there on the dusty concrete, breathing heavily.

She felt nauseous and disoriented, yet even through her confusion, she heard Selima cry out once more.

Summoning what remained of her strength, Helen attempted to rise again, struggling first up onto her knees and then, falteringly, onto her feet.

The precinct floor seemed to sway in front of her, and Helen staggered sideways as if on the deck of a pitching ship.

Vomit was rising in her throat, she couldn’t see properly and, as she clamped her hand to the back of her head, her fingers found hot, sticky blood.

For a moment, Helen felt sure she would faint, but in spite of this, she was now moving forwards again, following the sounds of Selima’s distress.

Everything was a blur, she could only see outlines, colour and shapes, but even through her confusion, Helen knew that Selima was being dragged away.

Now a new sound cut through, an engine roaring, the sound of a vehicle screeching to a halt.

Desperately trying to focus, Helen made out the blurred shape of a white van, its one working brake light pulsing red at her.

She heard doors open, a cry, then the doors slam shut again.

Helen knew exactly what was happening and tried to focus on the vehicle, but the number plate was too far away, too indistinct, for her to make out.

Worse still, the van itself was now receding in her fractured vision, driving away at speed.

Forlornly, Helen cried out, raising a hopeless arm as if to stop it, only succeeding in unbalancing herself in the process.

Startled, Helen was now pitching forward, powerless to stop herself as first her torso, then her head, connected sharply with the ground.

Then everything went black.