Miller moved forward quickly. Anything wrong?
Police! Hammond gasped. I need the police.
Youve found them, Miller said crisply. Whats up?
Girl down there in the water, Hammond said. Other side of the coal barges beneath the wharf.
Dead? Miller demanded.
Hammond nodded. Gave me a hell of a turn, I can tell you.
Theres an all-night café on the other side of the bridge. Phone for a patrol car and an ambulance from there. Ill go down and see what I can do.
Hammond nodded, turned away and Miller went down the steps quickly and moved along the bank. It had stopped raining and a cool breeze lifted off the water so that he shivered slightly as he jumped for the deck of the first coal barge and started to work his way across.
He couldnt find her at first and then a sudden eddy of the current swirled, clearing the flotsam from the surface and she stared up at him.
And she was beautiful more beautiful than he had ever known a woman to be, that was the strangest thing of all. The body had drifted into the arched entrance of a vault under the wharf and hung suspended just beneath the surface. The dress floated around her in a cloud as did the long golden hair and there was a look of faint surprise in the eyes, the lips parted slightly as if in wonder at how easy it had been.
Up on the bridge, there was the jangle of a patrol cars bell and in the distance, the siren of the approaching ambulance sounded faintly. But he couldnt wait. In some strange way this had become personal. He took off his trenchcoat and jacket, slipped off his shoes and lowered himself over the side.
The water was bitterly cold and yet he was hardly conscious of the fact as he swam into the archway. At that moment, the first rays of the morning sun broke through the clouds, striking into the water so that she seemed to smile as he reached under the surface and took her.
A line of broad steps dropped into the basin twenty yards to the right and he swam towards them, standing up when his knees bumped a shelving bank of gravel, lifting her in his arms.
But now she looked different. Now she looked dead. He stood there knee-deep, staring down at her, a lump in his throat, aware of a feeling of personal loss.
Why? he said to himself softly. Why?
But there was no answer, could never be and as the ambulance turned on the wharf above him he went up the steps slowly, the girl cradled in his arms so that she might have been a child sleeping.
CHAPTER 2
Detective Superintendent Bruce Grant, head of the citys Central Division C.I.D., stood at the window of his office drinking a cup of tea and stared out morosely at the driving rain. He had a slight headache and his liver was acting up again. He was getting old, he decided old and fat through lack of exercise and the stack of paperwork waiting on his desk didnt help. He lit a cigarette, his first of the day, sat down and started on the In-tray.
The first report was headed Found Dead Unidentified. Grant read it through, a slight frown on his face, and pressed the button on his intercom.
Is Sergeant Miller in?
I believe hes in the canteen, sir, a neutral voice replied.
Get him for me, will you?
Miller arrived five minutes later, immaculate in a dark blue worsted suit and freshly laundered white shirt. Only the skin that was stretched a little too tightly over the high cheekbones gave any hint of fatigue.
I thought you were supposed to be having a rest day? Grant said.
So did I, but Im due in court at ten when Macek is formally charged. Im asking for a ten-day remand. That girls going to be in hospital for at least a week.
Grant tapped the form on his desk. I dont like the look of this one.
The girl I pulled out of the river?
Thats right. Are you certain there was no identification?
Miller took an envelope from his pocket and produced a small gold medallion on the end of a slender chain. This was around her neck.
Grant picked it up. St. Christopher.
Have a look on the back.
The engraving had been executed by an expert: To Joanna from Daddy 1955. Grant looked up, frowning. And this was all?
Miller nodded. She was wearing stockings, the usual in underclothes, and a reasonably expensive dress. One rather sinister point. Just beneath the makers label there was obviously some sort of name tab. Its been torn out.
Grant sighed heavily. Do you think she might have been put in?
Miller shook his head. Not a chance. There isnt a mark on her.
Then it doesnt make sense, Grant said. Suicides an irrational act at the best of times. Are you asking me to accept that this girl was so cold-blooded about it that she took time off to try to conceal her identity?
Its the only thing that makes sense.
Then what about the chain? Why didnt she get rid of that, too?
When you habitually wear a thing like that you tend to forget about it, Miller said. Or maybe it meant a lot to her especially as she was a Catholic.
Thats another thing a Catholic committing suicide.
Its been known.
But not very often. There are times when such things as statistical returns and probability tables have their uses in this work or didnt they teach you that at the staff college? What have Missing Persons got to offer?
Nothing yet, Miller said. Theres time of course. She looks old enough to have been out all night. Someone could conceivably wait for a day or two before reporting her missing.
But you dont think so?
Do you?
Grant looked at the form again and shook his head. No, Id say anything were going to find out about this one, well have to dig up for ourselves.
Can I have it?
Grant nodded. Autopsy isnt mandatory in these cases but I think Ill ask the County Coroner to authorise one. You never know what might turn up.
He reached for the phone and Miller went back into the main C.I.D. room and sat down at his desk. There was an hour to fill before his brief court appearance a good opportunity to get rid of some of the paperwork in his In-tray.
For some reason he found it impossible to concentrate. He leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes, and her face rose out of the darkness to meet him, still that faint look of surprise in the eyes, the lips slightly parted. It was as if she was about to speak, to tell him something but that was impossible.
God, but he was tired. He settled back in his chair and cat-napped, awaking at exactly five minutes to ten feeling curiously refreshed, but when he went downstairs and crossed the square to the county court building, it wasnt the Macek case he was thinking about.
The City Mortuary was at the back of the Medical School, a large, ugly building in Victorian Gothic with stained glass windows by the entrance. Inside, it was dark and cool with green tiled walls and a strange aseptic smell that was vaguely unpleasant.
Jack Palmer, the Senior Technician, was sitting at his desk in the small glass office at the end of the corridor. He turned and grinned as Miller paused in the doorway.
Dont tell me let me guess.
Anything for me? Miller asked.
Old Murrays handled it himself. Hasnt had time to make out his report yet, but hell be able to tell you what you need to know. Hes cleaning up now.
Miller peered through the glass wall into the white tiled hall outside the theatre and saw the tall, spare form of the University Professor of Pathology emerge from the theatre, the front of his white gown stained with blood.
Can I go in?
Palmer nodded. Help yourself.
Professor Murray had removed his gown and was standing at the sluice, washing his hands and arms, when Miller entered. He smiled, speaking with the faint Scots accent of his youth that he had never been able to lose.
Hardly the time of year to go swimming, especially in that open sewer we call a river. I trust youve been given suitable injections?
If I start feeling ill Ill call no one but you, Miller said, thats a promise.
Murray reached for a towel and started to dry his arms. They tell me you dont know who the girl is?
Thats right. Of course she may be reported missing by someone within the next day or two.
But you dont think so? May I ask why?
Its not the usual kind of suicide. The patterns all wrong. For one thing, the indications are that she did everything possible to conceal her identity before killing herself. He hesitated. Theres no chance that she was dumped, is there? Drugged beforehand or something like that?
Murray shook his head. Impossible the eyes were still open. Its funny you should mention drugs though.
Why?
Ill show you.
It was cold in the theatre and the heavy antiseptic smell could not wholly smother the sickly-sweet stench of death. Her body lay on the slab in the centre of the room covered with a rubber sheet. Murray raised the edge and lifted the left arm.
Take a look.
The marks of the needle were plainly visible and Miller frowned. She was a junkie?
Murray nodded. My tests indicate that she had an injection consisting of two grains of heroin and one of cocaine approximately half an hour before she died.
And when would you say that was?
Lets see now. You pulled her out just before six, didnt you? Id say shed been in the water about five hours.
Which means she went in at one a.m.
Or thereabouts. One cant be exact. It was a cold night.
Anything else?
What can I tell you? She was about nineteen, well nurtured. Id say shed been raised in more than comfortable surroundings.
Was she a virgin?
Anything but two months pregnant. He shook his head and added dryly. A young woman very well acquainted with the sexual act.
What about her clothes?
A chap was here from your Forensic Department. He took them away along with the usual things. Scrapings from under the fingernails, hair samples and so on.
Miller moved to the other side of the slab, hesitated and then pulled back the rubber sheet revealing the face. Murray had closed the eyes and she looked calm and peaceful, the skin smooth and colourless.
Murray covered her again gently, his face sombre. I think she was someone who had suffered a great deal. Too much for one so young.
Miller nodded, unable to speak. That strange aching dryness clutched at his throat again and he turned away quickly. As he reached the door, Murray called softly, Nick! Miller turned. Keep me posted.
Ill do that, Miller said and the rubber doors swung together behind him.