The Drowning Child

Chapter 49 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 50 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 51 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 52 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 53 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 54 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 55 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 56 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 57 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 58 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 59 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 60 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 61 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 62 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 63 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 64 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 65 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 66 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 67 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 68 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 69 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 70 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 71 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 72 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 73 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 74 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 75 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 76 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 77 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 78 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 79 (#litres_trial_promo)

Acknowledgements (#litres_trial_promo)

If you enjoyed The Drowning Child, try the previous book in the Ren Bryce series (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)

Also by Alex Barclay (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)

PROLOGUE (#ulink_6aabb906-dc0d-53a4-b344-6d07a44223f7)

February 12

Jimmy Lyle was lying, bleeding, by the pond in Montgomery Park. Behind him, at the water’s farthest edge, four ice-white swans moved with mechanical serenity, necks as long as their bodies, black eyes on brighter views.

Jimmy drifted in and out of consciousness, aware of rallying bystanders, footsteps, the tones of cell phone keys, raised voices, concern. He could smell his own blood. He had taken multiple blows to the face before he dropped to the ground, powerful kicks to the ribs and abdomen as he lay there. His left eyeball was swollen like a nut. His right eyelid flickered. Darkness to light, darkness to light.

When Jimmy was a boy, his favorite toy was a slide puzzle. He remembered how quickly his little thumbs pushed the tiles around to put the photo of a gray duckling back together again. Sometimes, he would close his eyes as he clicked the final piece into place, hoping that when he opened them, the duckling would have turned into a swan.

‘His little girl!’ someone was shouting. ‘His little girl! She’s gone! She was right there! Then a guy showed up … he just … he beat the shit out of him! Took his little girl!’

There was a man’s voice, an authoritative one. ‘Do you think you could give me a description of the attacker, ma’am?’

‘Short white guy, stocky, brown hair, khakis and a dark polo shirt, white sneakers too,’ said the witness. ‘Early thirties is my best guess.’

‘Could that have been a uniform of some kind he was wearing?’ said the officer. ‘Like a store uniform?’

‘I … don’t think so – it was just, you know, those boring guys, what they wear. Guys with a boring job and a nice wife back home.’

‘And the little girl?’ said the officer.

‘She was seven years old, eight?’ said the witness. ‘Pink leggings, pink top with a rainbow on it and something writ across it and … white socks, white sneakers? She’d been crouching down, right there, feeding the swans with her daddy.’

‘This man right here,’ said the officer.

‘Yes!’ thought Jimmy Lyle. ‘Yes!’ Blood bubbled from his mouth. More footsteps, two men, crouched beside him.