The Olympus Project

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On the far bank of the river everything was bathed in late evening sunshine. The man in the water was barely breathing; his right arm was hooked over a lower branch of one of many overgrown bushes and trees scattered along the waterline.

He could see a thinning group of people peering across the water, shading their eyes; they were blinded by the glare of the sunlight as it was almost disappearing behind the roofs of the nearby buildings. Although they continued to gaze across to the opposite bank, searching and searching for a glimpse of their quarry, they saw nothing. He was too tired to move. The bushes and tethered barges strung along that stretch of water below the Pulteney Weir provided the perfect shelter.

The man rested; in safety for now, letting his mind drift back over the events of the previous hours. All his plans had gone out of the window when that stupid female copper had recognised him and started shouting! A bullet had shut her up but an old bag, probably her mother, had chased after him and started lashing out at him with her handbag. He remembered running down the steps to the towpath in a blind panic; trying to calm his nerves and gather his thoughts.

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