NETFLIX PRESENTS A HEART-STOPPING CHASE: THE HUNT FOR DAVID MURDOCH HAS BEGUN!
No time to breathe, no room for error. Stranded in the pitch-black woods with searchlights tearing through the trees, David Murdoch grips Rosie’s hand on Netflix as the footsteps close in. The terrifying realization that strikes them right when the spotlight locks onto their faces is…
In December 2015, ITV delivered the second and final series of its gritty crime thriller Prey. Three intense episodes starring Philip Glenister as prison officer David Murdoch and Rosie Cavaliero as Detective Sergeant Susan Reinhardt quickly established themselves as one of the channel’s strongest limited-run offerings of the decade. Now available on Netflix in multiple territories, the series has found a new audience drawn to its relentless pacing, moral complexity, and unflinching portrayal of an ordinary man pushed into extraordinary desperation.
David Murdoch is not a career criminal. He is a middle-aged, widowed prison officer whose quiet life revolves around his pregnant adult daughter, Lucy. When Lucy is kidnapped, the kidnappers issue a single, non-negotiable demand: Murdoch must break a dangerous inmate out of prison and deliver him to a specific location. Refuse, and his daughter dies. Comply, and he becomes a hunted man. Within hours of the escape, Murdoch is the subject of a full-scale manhunt led by the determined and personally invested DS Susan Reinhardt.
What follows is a taut, high-stakes chase that moves through urban backstreets, industrial wastelands, and—most memorably—dark stretches of woodland where searchlights cut through the trees and every footstep feels amplified. The original promotional language capturing Murdoch and Reinhardt’s fraught proximity in the woods is no exaggeration. The series repeatedly places its central figures in situations where escape seems impossible and trust is a luxury neither can afford.
Philip Glenister delivers one of his finest television performances as Murdoch. Gone is the swaggering confidence of Gene Hunt from Life on Mars. In its place is a man visibly aging under pressure: sweat-streaked, injured, exhausted, yet driven by a father’s singular purpose. Glenister plays the physical toll of the chase with complete commitment—limping, gasping, making desperate choices that chip away at whatever remaining moral high ground he still claims. Viewers watch a decent man discover just how far he is willing to go, and the performance never asks for easy sympathy. It demands understanding.
Opposite him, Rosie Cavaliero’s Susan Reinhardt provides the series’ steady, intelligent counterweight. Reinhardt is a detective still carrying the emotional weight of previous cases and personal setbacks. She is competent, relentless, and increasingly troubled by the possibility that the man she is hunting may not be the monster the official narrative claims. Their eventual confrontations—verbal and physical—crackled with tension precisely because both characters feel fully formed. Neither is reduced to a simple hero or villain.
The supporting cast elevates the material further. MyAnna Buring appears as Jules Hope, the inmate whose freedom is the price of Lucy’s life. Nathan Stewart-Jarrett, Adrian Edmondson, and others populate a world of compromised officials, dangerous criminals, and ordinary people caught in the crossfire. The writing by Chris Lunt keeps the conspiracy elements grounded; every twist feels earned rather than manufactured for shock value.
Visually, Prey Series 2 maintains a stark, naturalistic style. Night sequences in particular stand out. When the action moves into wooded areas, the production uses practical lighting and careful sound design to create genuine claustrophobia. Searchlights sweep through branches. Radio chatter crackles with urgency. The camera stays close to the characters’ faces, capturing every flicker of fear, calculation, and fleeting hope. These sequences remain among the most effective chase scenes in British television of the 2010s precisely because they prioritize tension over spectacle.
The series structure works in its favor. At only three episodes, Prey Series 2 never overstays its welcome. Each installment escalates the stakes without padding. The first episode establishes the impossible choice and the initial escape. The second deepens the conspiracy and forces Murdoch into increasingly compromised alliances. The third brings the pursuit to a climax that resolves the central mystery while leaving emotional residue. There is no room for filler, and the result feels lean and purposeful.
One of the series’ quiet strengths is its interest in the human cost of the chase on both sides. Murdoch’s relationship with his daughter is sketched economically but effectively; we understand why he is willing to destroy his own life. Reinhardt’s professional isolation and personal vulnerabilities are given space to breathe. Even secondary characters receive enough shading to feel like people rather than plot devices. In an era when many thrillers lean heavily on twist mechanics, Prey invests in character and consequence.
The decision to place the series on Netflix has introduced it to viewers who may have missed its original ITV broadcast. For many, the experience of discovering Prey Series 2 in one sitting has amplified its impact. The tight runtime rewards binge-watching, while the moral ambiguity lingers long after the final episode ends. Discussions online frequently return to the same questions the series itself poses: How far would you go to save someone you love? At what point does a desperate act become unforgivable? And what happens when the people hunting you start to question the orders they have been given?
Glenister has spoken in interviews about the physical demands of the role and the challenge of portraying a man who is neither action hero nor helpless victim. Cavaliero has similarly noted the intensity of the filming schedule and the satisfaction of playing a detective who is allowed to be both tough and emotionally complex. Their performances anchor the series and remain its greatest asset.
Prey Series 2 does not reinvent the crime thriller. Instead, it executes the form with unusual clarity and commitment. The central premise—a father forced into criminality to save his child—is familiar, yet the execution feels specific and lived-in. The woodland pursuit sequences, the mounting pressure on both hunter and hunted, and the slow reveal of the larger conspiracy all contribute to a coherent, gripping whole.
For viewers coming to the series through Netflix, the experience is straightforward: three episodes, no filler, strong performances, and a story that respects the audience’s intelligence. The promotional line about David Murdoch and the searchlights in the woods is not mere hyperbole. It accurately captures the series’ most viscerally effective mode—ordinary people trapped in darkness, with nowhere left to run and everything left to lose.
In the end, Prey Series 2 stands as a reminder of how effective focused, character-driven television can be. Philip Glenister’s David Murdoch remains one of the more memorable reluctant fugitives of the decade, and Rosie Cavaliero’s Reinhardt is a detective worth following across any landscape—urban or wooded, lit by streetlamps or by the cold sweep of searchlights. The hunt begins quickly. The consequences last far longer.