The Body in the River (3 page)

Neither of the detectives answered.

Eventually, Brookes said,
‘
Anything
’
s possible I suppose. But let
’
s not speculate too much at this stage. What is certain is that she didn
’
t strangle herself then throw herself in the river.
’
He added,
‘
Thanks for your help, Doctor. Please let me know as soon as you have the test results.
’

*

‘
What
’
s in a name? that which we call a rose

By any other name would smell as sweet.
’

William Shakespeare
–
Romeo and Juliet

Detective Inspector Derek Short was Brookes
’
office manager. Of medium height and stocky build, he looked more like a solicitor
’
s clerk than a policeman, and in his early fifties, he was approaching retirement. After a long career as a thief taker he was content now to send others to do the leg work while he used his knowledge and experience to point them in the right direction. With an excellent memory, he made the ideal office manager, and as he was long-divorced and with two grown-up children who
’
d long flown the nest, he was usually first in the office and last to leave.

He
’
d already organised the incident room and gathered the murder team together. Brookes was fussy about who he had on the team. Not counting himself, Short, and Middlemiss, there were six detectives who worked in pairs.

To help collate the information generated, Sally Barnes, a young clerical officer, manned the computer. She was a tubby girl in her late teens and a wizard on the machine. She had a sharp mind and a ready wit; the older detectives knew her worth and treated her like a favourite niece.

Short sat at his desk in front of a huge whiteboard. It was blank at the moment but would soon be covered with all the salient points of the investigation as they came in. Displaying it where all team members could see it provided a constant reminder to them of where they were at and where they were going.

As Brookes and his DS entered the room, the detectives perked up; all were eager to get the show on the road. Brookes nodded to them in passing as he headed for Short
’
s desk.

The old DI smiled a greeting.
‘
Morning, boss, Fred; how did it go?
’

Brookes replied,
‘
Morning, Derek, I
’
ll fill you in when I brief the team. Anything on mispers yet?
’
He used the police shorthand for missing person reports.

Middlemiss had headed in the direction of the coffee machine, which was the first item of equipment set up in any major enquiry.

Short nodded.
‘
Yes, boss; apart from the usual nutters, there
’
s one possible. I
’
ve sent Bob Parrot and Stumpy Gerrard to look into it.
’

‘
Good, anything else come in?
’

‘
We
’
ve run the victim
’
s prints; no matches I
’
m afraid. The rest you know. We got a good response from the TV and press; the statement Press Bureau put out is all over the news. The phones haven
’
t stopped ringing. But apart from the dross, there
’
s just the one possible.
’

Middlemiss appeared at Brookes
’
elbow and handed him a cup of steaming black coffee.

Brookes took it.
‘
Thanks, Fred. Put the PM details on the board, I
’
ll start the briefing.
’

Short coughed nervously.
‘
There
’
s one other thing, boss. They
’
ve given you a flyer to look after, a DS Rose. I
’
ve put her file on your desk.
’

‘
Shit! That
’
s all I need; where is she?
’

Short smiled.
‘
I
’
ve sent her up to the canteen for some grub.
’

‘
OK, I
’
ll deal with her later; I need to get this moving first.
’

Short insisted,
‘
You might want to look at the file first, boss, there
’
s a note on the front from the commander asking you to phone him ASAP.
’

The frown on Brookes
’
face deepened. The area commander, Bert Mclean, was a personal friend as well as his boss. There must be something special about this DS that she had been sent to him.

‘
OK,
’
he said,
‘
first things first. I
’
ll do the briefing then see her.
’

Looking around, he saw that all his team were present with the exception of DI Brigid Jones, who he knew was on leave. He called for attention and briefed them on the information they had so far.

He finished by saying:
‘
We
’
re waiting for an ID but there are a few things to note at this stage. First her clothing: she was wearing no jewellery and there were no ring marks on her finger. Her nails were well-manicured and she
’
d had some expensive work done on her teeth. She was wearing a formal skirt and blouse and an old woollen cardigan; as if she
’
s just come home from work in an office.

‘
Next there are no defence wounds, despite the fact that the killer appears to have been facing her as he strangled her. She had no footwear on yet there was no debris on the soles of her feet, nor are there any drag marks. That leads me to think she was indoors when she was killed. That
’
s all we
’
ve got at the moment; hopefully Bob and Stumpy will come up with an ID.
’

As if on cue, Bob Parrot walked through the door.

Brookes greeted him.
‘
Excellent timing, Bob, what can you tell us?
’

‘
A Miss Joan Wilson, boss, a close friend of the victim. Stumpy and I took her to the morgue; we just missed you there. She
’
s made a positive ID. The victim
’
s name is Alison MacPherson: lived in Limehouse Causeway, right on the river. Miss Watson says she last saw Alison Saturday lunchtime. They had lunch together, then Alison had to go back to work. She worked at Canary Wharf for some upmarket holiday company.
’

Parrot looked at his notebook and continued,
‘
Miss Wilson phoned the victim Sunday morning, as they
’
d arranged to spend some time together that afternoon. She got no reply. She thought Alison may have met someone on Saturday night and got lucky, so she did nothing more about it then. But she kept phoning her home and got no reply. Finally, this morning she phoned Alison at work and was told she hadn
’
t come in. She
’
d seen our request for help on the news, put two and two together, and contacted us.

Brookes smiled.
‘
Well done, Bob. Where is she now?
’

‘
Downstairs in the interview room with Stumpy, boss.
’

‘
Good, I
’
ll talk to her just now.
’
Turning to Short, he said,
‘
I want Fred to take a team and the forensic people to the address straight away. I want the flat gone over with a fine-tooth comb; treat it as a crime scene until we know different. Get another team on house to house locally. Phone the place she worked and find out what you can. Then I want background enquiries on the victim, the friend, and the company. You know the form, Derek; let
’
s get the show on the road.
’
Raising his voice, he said to the group,
‘
Right, let
’
s move it, people.
’

Then to Middlemiss he said,
‘
OK, I
’
ll have a word with the witness then join you at Limehouse Causeway.
’

*

‘
Speaking to a friend is like thinking aloud.
’

The interview room at Leman Street Police Station was sparsely furnished. It contained one government issue wooden desk and three sturdy chairs; beneath the desk was a metal waste bin. A tape recorder was bolted to the desk and a video camera mounted on a bracket above the door.

There was no window, the only illumination a florescent strip on the ceiling. It was not a pleasant place and smelled of strong disinfectant and tobacco. Despite the prominent sign on the door, the inside rim of the waste bin bore evidence of the countless nervous smokers who had stubbed out their cigarettes there.

It was in this room that Brookes found Joan Wilson and DC
‘
Stumpy
’
Gerrard. At a bare 5
’
7
½”
in his stocking feet, Gerrard was the shortest man in the CID office; he anyway preferred the nickname to his given name, Albert. His build was stocky, his features regular, and he had a ready wit; he was popular with the women on the team. More to the point, as far as Brookes was concerned, he was a first class detective and well worth his place on the team.

Joan Wilson was an attractive brunette in her mid-twenties. She wore a fashionable version of a donkey jacket, blue in colour, with a bright yellow T shirt, blue jeans, and a jumper. The bottoms of the jeans were tucked into black leather boots. The effect was one of casual elegance; despite her obvious distress she was an attractive young woman.

Brookes opened the door and walked into the room. Like most detectives, he had many faces. The one he chose to wear at this moment was of the concerned, sympathetic policeman who had a sad duty to perform. He pulled out a chair and sat down opposite the woman. When he spoke, his tone matched the expression on his face.

‘
Good morning, Miss Wilson. My name is John Brookes. It is my duty to investigate the unfortunate death of your friend. I am very sorry for your loss and that you have been put through this experience.
’
He paused for a moment, then added,
‘
I
’
m sure you appreciate it is important for us to find whoever did this to Alison.
’
He paused again, this time waiting for a reaction.

She nodded and mumbled,
‘
Yes, that
’
s OK.
’

‘
I
’
ll be as brief as I can; I know you have already spoken to my officers. But I do need to go over things with you again. Is that alright?
’

She nodded again.

‘
I understand you have known Alison for some time?
’

‘
Yes, we were at Manchester University together. We
’
ve been friends ever since.
’

‘
Really, Manchester?
’
Brookes asked.
‘
I have a son who is about to go there. Is it a good university?
’

A nod;
‘
Yes, very good.
’

‘
What did you study?
’

‘
Fine art. Alison studied computer science and business administration.
’

‘
Were you in the same year?
’

‘
Yes, we came down together three years ago.
’

‘
And what do you do for a living, do you paint?
’

‘
I do but I can
’
t earn a living from it yet. I design greetings cards; that pays the rent.
’

‘
And Alison?
’

‘
She works for a holiday company. I mean worked, of course.
’

‘
Who did she work for, is it a well-known company?
’