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‘A police horse,’ Jasim says.

‘What the …?’

‘That’s what my mother-in-law told the kids.’ Jasim grins, and heads up onto the bridge.

There are no footprints in the snow. Either the man is still on the bridge, or he’s jumped. The cables above them are whistling eerily. The ground beneath them falls away steeply.

The lights of Hall Prison are glowing through the haze, lit up like an underwater city.

Fredrik tries to contact their colleagues, but the radio just crackles.

They head slowly further out across the bridge. Fredrik is walking behind Jasim, a torch in his hand. Jasim can see his own shadow moving across the ground, swaying oddly from side to side.

It’s strange that their colleagues from the other side of the bridge aren’t visible.

When they are out above the frozen inlet the wind from the sea is bitter. Snow is blowing into their eyes. Their cheeks feel numb with cold.

Jasim screws up his eyes to look across the bridge. It disappears into swirling darkness. Suddenly he sees something at the edge of the light from the torch. A tall stick-figure with no head.