But their secret was safe. It had to be.

Suddenly, she heard the sound of a glass panel shattering. But the sound was not in the distance. It was at her kitchen door.

Teresa lay perfectly still, her ears straining for further sounds. The noise would not have alerted anyone else. The next detached home sat two hundred feet away, on the other side of a leylandi hedge that rose twenty feet high.

The silence of her house thickened around her. The quiet that followed the loud noise was fraught with menace.

Perhaps it was nothing more than a mindless act of vandalism. Maybe a couple of the students from Saint Joseph’s had learned her address. By God, she hoped so.

The blood thundered along her veins, vibrating into her temples. She swallowed, in an attempt to clear her eardrums.

Her body began to react to the sensation that she was no longer alone. She brought herself to a sitting position. The sound of the water rearranging itself was loud as it sloshed against the tub. Her hand slipped on the porcelain and her right side fell back into the water.

A sound at the bottom of the stairs destroyed any vague hope of mindless vandalism.

Teresa knew that she was out of time. In a parallel universe, the muscles in her body reacted to the impending threat, but in this one both her body and her mind were stilled by the inevitable. She knew that there was nowhere left to hide.

As she heard the creak of the stairs she briefly closed her eyes and willed her body to stay calm. There was an element of freedom when finally confronted by the fears that haunted her.

As she felt the cool air enter the room from the doorway, she opened her eyes.

The figure that entered was as black and featureless as a shadow. Utility trousers met a thick black fleece which was covered by a long overcoat. A woollen balaclava covered the face. But why me? Teresa’s mind raged. She was not the weakest link.

She shook her head. ‘I haven’t spoken,’ she said. The words were barely audible. Every one of her senses was beginning to close down as her body prepared for death.

The black figure took two steps towards her. Teresa searched for a clue but found none. It could only be one of four.

Teresa felt the betrayal of her body as urine slipped from between her legs into the scented water.

‘I promise ... I haven’t ...’

Teresa’s words trailed away as she tried to lift herself to a sitting position. The bath bubbles had turned the tub slippery.

Her breath came in short, sharp rasps as she considered how best to beg for her life. No, she didn't want to die. It wasn't time. She wasn't ready. There were things that she wanted to do.

She had the sudden image of water flooding her lungs; inflating them like party balloons.

She held out her hand imploringly, finally finding her voice. 'Please ... please ... no ... I don't want to die ...'

The figure leaned over the bath and placed a gloved hand above each breast. Teresa felt the pressure being applied to force her under the water and struggled to sit up. She had to try and explain but the force of the hands increased. Again she tried to rear up from her inert position but it was hopeless. Gravity and brute strength made it impossible for her to fight back.

As the water framed her face she opened her mouth. A small sob escaped from between her lips as she tried one last time. ‘I swear ...’

The words were cut short and Teresa watched as the air bubbles escaped from her nose and reached the surface. Her hair swam around her face.

The figure shimmered on the other side of the water barrier.

Teresa’s body began to react to the oxygen deprivation and she tried to quell the panic rising inside her. Her arms flailed and the gloved hand was briefly dislodged from her breast bone. She managed to raise her head above the water and got a closer look into the cold, piercing eyes. Recognition sapped the last of her breath.

The brief second of confusion was enough for her attacker to reposition. Two hands forced her body underwater and held her fast.

Her mind was full of disbelief, even as her consciousness began to wane.

Teresa realised that her co-conspirators could not even imagine who it was they had to fear.

Two

Kim Stone stepped around the Kawasaki Ninja to adjust the volume on her iPod. The speakers danced with the silvery notes of Vivaldi’s Summer Concerto as they headed towards her favourite part; the finale called ‘Storm’.

She placed the socket wrench on the work bench and wiped her hands with a stray rag. She stared at the Triumph Thunderbird she'd been restoring for the past seven months and wondered why it had not captured her tonight.

She glanced at her watch. Almost eleven p.m. The rest of her team would be staggering out of The Dog right about now. And although she didn't touch alcohol, she accompanied her team when she felt she'd earned it.

She retrieved the socket wrench and lowered herself to the knee pad beside the Triumph.

It wasn’t a celebration for her.

The terrified face of Laura Yates swam before her eyes as she reached inside the guts of the bike and found the rear end of the crankshaft. She placed the socket head over the nut and turned the wrench in a back and forth motion.

Three guilty verdicts of rape were going to send Terence Hunt away for a very long time.

‘But not long enough,’ Kim said to herself.

Because there had been a fourth victim.

She turned the wrench again but the nut refused to tighten. She’d already assembled the bearing, sprocket, clamping washer and rotor. The nut was the final puzzle piece and the damn thing refused to tighten against the locking washer.

Kim stared at the nut and silently willed it to move for its own sake. Still nothing. She focused her anger on the arm of the socket wrench and gave it one almighty push. The thread broke and the nut turned freely.

‘Damn it,’ she shouted, throwing the wrench across the garage.

Laura Yates had trembled in the witness box as she'd recounted the ordeal of being dragged behind a church and repeatedly brutally sexually assaulted for two and a half hours. They had seen with their own eyes how hard it had been for her to sit down. Three months after the attack.

The nineteen-year-old had sat in the gallery as each guilty verdict was read out. Then it came to her case and two words were stated that would change her life forever.

Not Guilty.

And why? Because the girl had consumed a couple of drinks. Forget the eleven stitches that stretched from back to front, the broken rib and the black eye. She must have asked for it, all because she'd had a couple of bloody drinks.

Kim was aware that her hands had started to tremble with rage.

Her team felt that three out of four wasn't bad. And it wasn't. But it wasn't good enough. Not for Kim.

She leaned down to inspect the damage to the bike. It had taken almost six weeks to track down those bloody screws.

She eased the socket into position and turned the wrench again between her thumb and forefinger as her mobile phone began to ring. She dropped the nut and jumped to her feet. A call so close to midnight was never going to be good news.

‘D.I. Stone.’

‘We have a body, Marm.’

Of course. What else could it have been?

‘Where?’

‘Hagley Road, Stourbridge.’

Kim knew the area. It was just on the border with their neighbours West Mercia.

‘Should we put a call in to D.S. Bryant, Marm?’

Kim cringed. She hated the term Marm. At thirty-four, she wasn’t ready to be called Marm.