Like This, for Ever

together.’
    Lacey took a second to get her breath back. What had happened to her police instincts? She’d had no idea anyone had been close. Had it been a real attack, and not just a careless jogger falling over her bike, she’d have been helpless.
    The jogger in question was bent over in the road, rubbing his ankle and scraping the sole of his shoe against the kerb at the same time. Quelling an instinct to apologize, she reminded herself that the pavement was nearly two yards wide and there was absolutely no way that either she or her bike had been blocking it. So if this guy was going to get lippy, good, she was in the mood. He looked up. Early forties, sallow skin, rather good-looking. His face was damp with sweat. He was wearing jogging bottoms and a blackfleece sweater, a woollen hat pulled down over his ears and a fleece scarf around his neck. She’d seen him before.
    ‘Christ, dog shit.’ More scraping and rubbing of lower limbs.
    Lacey leaned back against the embankment wall and folded her arms. He was going to pick up her bike, and he was going to express the hope that he hadn’t damaged it. He looked up again.
    ‘I’m not seriously hurt, if you were wondering,’ he snapped.
    ‘I wasn’t,’ said Lacey. ‘I was thinking about my bike.’
    ‘I bloody well fell over it.’
    ‘There was bloody well no need to. The path here’s wide enough for half a dozen bikes. And it’s perfectly well lit. I can hardly be held responsible for your clumsiness. Unless you’re planning on blaming me for the dog shit as well.’
    He glared for a second longer, then his face relaxed.
    ‘Sor-ry,’ he drawled at her. ‘Although actually, it was trying to avoid getting too close to you that was the problem. Most women get the jitters when they see a man running towards them at night. I went too close to the kerb and slipped in dog shit.’
    He bent down, picked up her bike and leaned it back against the railing. ‘Looks alright,’ he said, giving it the once-over.
    ‘How’s your leg?’
    He looked down. ‘Looks alright,’ he said again. ‘You were at the rugby on Sunday, weren’t you?’
    She knew she’d seen him before.
    ‘I saw you talking to Barney Roberts,’ he said, before she could answer him. ‘I’m his games teacher, Dan Green.’ He held out a gloved hand for her to shake.
    ‘Lacey Flint,’ she said, taking it. ‘Barney’s next-door neighbour.’
    Politeness in his eyes became genuine interest. ‘Not the detective? He’s mentioned you.’
    ‘Really?’
    ‘Yeah, you might have a new recruit there in a few years’ time. Got a very investigative mind.’
    ‘And this is often apparent in games lessons, is it?’
    He gave the easy, relaxed laugh of someone who laughs often. ‘No, my wife is his form teacher. He’s a bit of a pet of hers. I can see why, he’s a nice lad. Bit odd, but a good kid.’
    A nice lad who just might be concealing evidence in a murder inquiry.
    Green put his hands behind his head, stretched his arms back and did a little jog on the spot.
    ‘How’s the injury?’ asked Lacey.
    ‘Not nearly serious enough to stop me running home, unfortunately,’ he replied. ‘Why is it always harder to start again once you’ve stopped?’
    Knowing exactly what he meant, Lacey couldn’t help smiling.
    ‘I tell you what, there’s some heavy police presence out tonight,’ said Green. ‘All along the embankment. Anything to do with you?’
    ‘I imagine it’s something to do with the murdered boys,’ said Lacey, ‘but I’m not working at the moment, so I’m only guessing.’
    Green nodded. ‘Well, I’m only putting off the inevitable. Nice meeting you, Lacey.’
    He gave her one last nod and set off. In spite of his fall, he ran fast and well, a natural athlete. As the river turned a bend, he looked back, saw her watching and waved. Then he was gone.
    The Theatre Arm at Deptford Creek was still and silent when Barney arrived. Police tape cordoned off the area where they’d found the body, but otherwise, there was no trace of what had happened on Saturday evening.
    What
had
happened on Saturday evening? It was all very well to be blasé when the others were around, talking about freak waves and animals; it was a different thing entirely now that he was here again, alone, with an extremely vivid memory in his head of a dead child leaping out of the water. Of blind eyes that, for a second, had looked directly at him.
    No wave could have done that. And it hadn’t