He sought for ways to make amends, to win back a friendship that had been the mainstay of his life. He had to convince Cochran that he was still on his side and would go to any lengths to get him off the charge they were both facing even if it meant committing perjury. Brooding on his folly, he glanced into the dark water and saw a face appear in it behind his own. Gatliffe sat up in alarm and turned round to find Oliver Cochran hovering over him.

‘What’re you doing here, Ol?’ he croaked.

Cochran gave a crooked grin. ‘Guess.’

She had to know the truth. After hours of thinking it over, Irene Bayard decided that she could stand it no longer. The cutting from the Liverpool Echo had raised a frightening possibility. At first, she tried to dismiss the notion as a wild fantasy but the strategy failed. It was the date that was critical. She’d checked it in her diary. When Irene was staying with her sister in London, her landlady in Liverpool often sent her cuttings from the local newspapers that she deemed might be of interest. None had had such a stunning effect as this one, nor held such potential significance for her. Yes, it could be an unfortunate coincidence — she prayed that it was — but the signs indicated otherwise. Irene had to find out.

Reaching for her handbag, she took out the slip of paper on which she’d scribbled an address then she tried to work out the best way to reach that part of the city. Minutes later, she left the house and went striding off along the pavement.

Gatliffe scrambled quickly to his feet and took a precautionary step backwards. One glance at Cochran’s face told him that he was in dire trouble.

‘Have they let you out, Ol?’ he asked.

‘I let myself out.’

Gatliffe was astounded. ‘You mean that you escaped?’

‘Remand prisoners have more leeway. They gave me too much.’

‘So the police will be out looking for you.’

‘Bugger the police!’ snarled Cochran.

‘I’ll help you to hide,’ said Gatliffe, anxious to placate him. ‘You obviously can’t go home and we can’t take you in. But there must be somewhere you can lie low.’

‘Forget it, Gatty.’

‘What about that derelict house by the canal?’

‘I told you to forget it. I’m not looking for a hiding place.’

‘Then what are you looking for?’

He saw the glint in his friend’s eye and stepped even further away. Cochran wanted retribution. He knew where to find Gatliffe. That was the whole purpose of his escape from prison. He was there to inflict punishment. Gatliffe’s mouth was dry. He glanced around but there was nobody to whom he could call. Nor could he hope to outrun Cochran. His friend was much faster than him. His only hope lay in appeasing Cochran.

‘I’ve changed my plea,’ he said with a hollow laugh. ‘I told the police we were nowhere near Jermyn Street that night. They can’t prove it, Ol. I mean, that girl wouldn’t dare to come forward. Think of the one you shagged after that dance. She knew it was a waste of time going to the police. It’s the same here. They got nothing on us. If we stick together, we’re in the clear.’ His mouth was drier than ever. ‘Well, aren’t we?’

‘You should’ve kept your trap shut, Gatty.’

‘I know.’

‘Because of you, we’re up to our necks in shit.’

‘I’ve told you — I’m pleading not guilty now.’

‘It’s too late.’

‘The case might not even come to court.’

‘I don’t care about that now,’ said Cochran, advancing on him. ‘Killing you is all I care about.’

‘But we’re friends, Ol. I’ll stick by you.’

When he backed away again, Gatliffe came up against the trunk of a tree. He was cornered. Cochran was on him in a flash, grabbing him by the shoulders and banging him hard against the tree. Then he landed a series of stinging punches. Gatliffe tried to fight back at first but he soon buckled under the onslaught and resorted to covering his head with his arms. The blows were unremitting. When he could not beat him to the ground, Cochran used his feet instead, kicking him repeatedly until he doubled up in pain. Shoving him down on the bank, he dived on top of Gatliffe and got both hands to his throat, slowly applying pressure.

Gatliffe became desperate. Realising that he might be throttled, he took hold of Cochran’s wrists and wrenched them away so that he could speak again.

‘There’s no need for this, Ol,’ he bleated. ‘We’re friends.’

‘You betrayed me, you bastard.’

‘Get off. You’re hurting me.’

But Cochran was in no mood for mercy. Pulsing with anger and prompted by the need for revenge, he went for the throat again and squeezed hard. Gatliffe began to panic and found a surge of strength that allowed him to grasp his friend by the arms and force him sideways. Locked together, the two of them rolled over and over on the grass until they fell into the water. It was very shallow but the shock of the cold water made Cochran release his hold at last. Gatliffe struggled to his feet, spitting out water. When Cochran surfaced, he, too, was spluttering but was the first to recover. As Gatliffe tried to wade to the bank, he was gripped from behind and hurled back into the river, disappearing from sight for a few seconds.

Cochran was not going to let him go a second time. As soon as Gatliffe’s head rose above the water, Cochran grabbed his hair and pushed him down again, determined to keep him there until he drowned. Gatliffe flailed wildly but he could not shake off his attacker. It was only a question of time before his resistance was broken. Cochran was exultant, laughing at his triumph, thinking of nothing else but of meting out the ultimate punishment to his friend.

He was so obsessed with getting his revenge that he didn’t see the two detectives running along the bank towards him. Keedy was in the lead but Marmion was only a yard behind him. Sizing up the situation, they didn’t hesitate for a second. They flung off their hats, tore off their coats, then plunged straight into the water. While Keedy knocked Cochran over with a crash tackle, Marmion helped the victim, taking Gatliffe by the scruff of the neck and hauling him up to the surface. Gasping for air, he was so weak that Marmion had to carry him to the bank.

Keedy, meanwhile, was involved in a frenzied contest with Oliver Cochran. Waist-deep in the water, they traded punches, then grappled. Cochran did everything he could to get free, struggling, spitting and even trying to bite his assailant. Keedy did not stand on ceremony. Pulling one hand away, he bunched his fist and pounded Cochran’s face until the man yelled in agony, ending with a vicious right hook that caught him on the ear and momentarily dazed him. Keedy was quick to overpower him, twisting one arm behind his back and forcing him to the bank. Marmion was waiting to snap handcuffs onto the escaped prisoner. Cochran was not finished yet. Even though both detectives had hold of him, he managed to swing a foot and kick Gatliffe who was still sprawled on the grass.

Keedy pulled the prisoner out of reach of his former friend.

‘It’s all over, Cochran,’ he said. ‘You’re going back to prison.’

Uniformed policemen were now hurrying along the bank. When they arrived, Keedy handed over Cochran. As they dragged him away, he was howling with rage. Marmion assisted Gatliffe to his feet.

‘How do you feel now?’ he asked.

‘He tried to kill me,’ said Gatliffe in horror. ‘Olly tried to drown me.’ He gave a shudder. ‘Thank God you came, Inspector!’

‘The person to thank is your mother, sir. When we called at your house, she told us you’d gone fishing and where we’d be likely to find you. We had a feeling that Cochran might have got here first.’

‘It’s where we always used to come. It was our special place. Me and Ol spent hours fishing here.’

‘Well, you won’t ever do it again,’ said Keedy. ‘Cochran’s fishing days are over.’ He glanced down at his sodden clothing. ‘Look at the state of me,’ he moaned. ‘I’m soaked to the skin.’