Alex and Chloe waited in the sports centre’s reception area for the staff member they had spoken with to return with the assistant manager. Alex realised they were hoping for a miracle: the path on which Corey Davies had been attacked was at least fifty metres from the building, and the security cameras would only have captured an image of the suspect if he had entered the park from a particular direction and if the sports centre’s cameras were located in the right spot.

The assistant manager was young, in his mid thirties, and was wearing a tracksuit. The sheen of sweat across his forehead suggested he’d just come from the gym, and when he saw the two women waiting for him at the front desk he self-consciously ran a hand through his hair in an attempt to make himself more presentable. Alex didn’t miss the double-take that Chloe received, though she imagined that, as always, the look had passed Chloe by unnoticed.

‘Is this about the attack on that kid last night?’ he said.

Alex nodded. ‘We’re hoping one of your security cameras might have picked something up. Can you show us where they are?’

They followed him through the centre’s main doors and out into the car park. Chloe shot Alex a look that she pretended not to notice. The atmosphere between them had been strained since they’d left the station, with Chloe still smarting from the way Alex had spoken to her earlier. Using the sports centre manager’s looks as a way to break the ice was going to fail before it even started. Ever since she’d moved out of Alex’s house, Chloe seemed to have been on some sort of mission to get Alex back into the world of dating. It wasn’t going to happen. It definitely wasn’t going to happen with a man a decade younger than her.

‘We’ve got three,’ the assistant manager said, pointing up at the far-left corner of the sports centre’s roof. ‘One up there that overlooks the car park, one at the main doors and the other one round the back.’

Alex looked across the car park and back to the security camera on the roof, assessing the angle at which it was pointed. They were going to need more than a miracle, she thought. ‘We’ll need a copy of the recordings from yesterday evening,’ she told him, knowing they would probably prove fruitless.

They followed the man back inside the centre and waited at reception as he went to retrieve the recordings.

‘You’re not hopeful,’ Chloe said, having read the reaction Alex had given in the car park.

Alex shook her head. ‘Too far away and too bloody dark.’

‘What did you think of him?’ Chloe asked with a smile.

Alex rolled her eyes. ‘You don’t give up, do you?’

‘What?’ she said with mock innocence. ‘He seemed nice.’

‘Yeah, lovely. We could go on double dates. He and Scott could talk training routines … that’d be fun.’

Chloe smiled at Alex’s sarcasm. Whatever was going on, she was confident her friend would confide in her when she was ready.

After the assistant manager returned with copies of the recordings, the two women left the centre and headed towards the park, frustration quickening Alex’s steps. The attacker could only have left the park in one of two directions: either along the street that ran parallel with a local primary school, or up a narrow path between two end-of-terrace houses and out onto the main road. She stopped at the path’s end, assessing the options. Had he planned the route he would take when fleeing the scene, or had he made an impulsive decision when faced with the choice?

‘He went this way,’ she said, gesturing to her left and speaking more to herself than to Chloe.

‘How come?’

‘The primary school is likely to have CCTV as well,’ she said. ‘I’m not so sure this was a random attack. He knows the area. If he’s managed to avoid being picked up on CCTV at the sports centre, he’d have known to avoid the school.’

The two women headed up to the main road. Sunday afternoon meant the area was fairly quiet, and the sky was already beginning to grow dark though it was not yet four o’clock. They stopped outside a terraced house that was decorated for Hallowe’en, a fat pumpkin staring at them with blackened hollowed eyes from the living room windowsill.

Alex scanned the street. She knew what she was looking for, and if her hopes were realised then there was a chance their attacker had been captured elsewhere.

‘Bingo,’ she muttered.

Chloe followed as Alex crossed the road and led them to the bus stop.

‘Our witness left the takeaway on Brynglas Terrace at quarter past eight. It would have taken him a couple of minutes to reach the sports centre, so the attacker would have got to this main road at around twenty past eight or just after.’ She traced the bus timetable with a finger, stopping at the 20.14 that passed through from Porth to Treorchy. ‘They’re never on time,’ she said, still talking to herself.

‘CCTV on the bus? Bus company might be worth a visit then.’

Chloe waited for a response, but none came. Alex hadn’t been listening all day, not really. She hadn’t been herself, and the accident the previous night was responsible for that. Chloe wondered why she was so reluctant to talk about it.

‘I’m leaving the country,’ Chloe said. ‘I was thinking Asia, maybe. I’ve heard Thailand is nice.’

‘Hmm.’

She narrowed her eyes. Whatever was going on, it was definitely keeping Alex somewhere else. More had happened the night before than she was letting on.

Alex’s mobile sounded from her pocket, its ringtone bringing her back from wherever it was her thoughts had strayed. ‘Detective Inspector King,’ she said, answering the call.

It was the garage. She stepped away from Chloe, keen to keep the details of the conversation to herself. Chloe would only worry, and if Alex’s suspicions proved to be correct, there would be too many questions she didn’t have the patience to answer.

Pulling her jacket closer around her to stave off the biting cold that nipped the air, she crossed the road and headed back towards the corner that led down to the sports centre.

‘Bad news, I’m afraid,’ the man at the other end of the call told her. ‘If you weren’t already with them, I’d be suggesting you call the police. This was no accident. Someone cut your brake fluid line.’