I pulled up behind the car on the bridge. I had found her. She stood on the outside of the railings and was looking down into the water, some 30 metres below. I got out of my Jaguar and began walking towards her. The bridge was deserted, but for the two of us. My job was nearly done.

"Stop there, or I'll jump," she said, looking at me over her shoulder.

She was beautiful in the moonlight. I hadn't seen her in person before, only a photograph. She was the property of the head of a crime league the like of which had never been seen in these parts. She had been with him for the last 18 months and - being ever-present - she knew the full extent of his involvement in the criminal activity that was plaguing the city. That's why the police were anxious to talk to her. They hoped she could provide them with evidence damning enough to convict him.

I continued walking slowly towards her.

"I'm not going to stop you jumping," I assured her, "if that's what you really want to do."

"What else can I do?" She was crying.

"You could go to the police," I said, still walking. "You could put Stephens away for a long, long time." She was tired of her lover loving others, and had dumped him. But she wasn't ready to turn on him just yet.

"That would be the same as jumping. He'd have someone find me."

I reached her side. I stood inside the railings, looking out down the river. It was a beautiful, clear night. The city lights playing on the water memerised us both.

"That's true enough," I said. "I've heard he owns the police."

"He has his contacts," she said, turning again to look at me. "And he's not even a mason." She turned back to the river.

"Are you really going to jump?" I asked.

"Yes," she whispered. But she didn't jump; I pushed her, and my job was done.