Page 43 of In Too Deep

“What sort of summat?” Scotty asked.

Roman shrugged. “One of the yard lads said police had the riverside taped off yesterday. Divers and all sorts.”

Jake drove the crowbar deeper beneath the sheet. Careful. Steady.

“What, chemical spill?” someone shouted.

“Nah.” Roman altered his grip on the metal. “Body, apparently.”

Jake altered his footing, driving the crowbar under the sheet and levering harder than he should have. The metal groaned in protest. A body. Exactly what Harrison had said. But Jake knew more than that. Murder. Yet not to be repeated. And now Jake was standing here, thirty feet up, on a roof that shifted under his boots, surrounded by blokes who didn’t know him, didn’t know his history, didn’t know what this place had been through as they talked about it as if it was gossip.

It had him off balance.

Not ideal, this far up.

“Dead long?”

“That’s what they’re saying.”

The metal suddenly gave with a sharp crack. Jake swore under his breath and caught himself before his balance went with it.

“Careful,” Roman said.

Jake nodded. The others carried on talking. He barely heard them. All he could think about was Harrison somewhere down by that river, dealing with whatever they’d dragged from the water. And whether it was possible for one body to drag thirteen years of ghosts up with it. So he forced himself back to the job. This roof. This sheet. The next one after that. Nothing else. Because if his head started wandering now, this wasn’t the place for it.

Thankfully, the conversation eventually died, and the helicopter buggered off, leaving only the wind, the clatter of tools, and metal tearing free beneath their hands just in time for lunch.

The sun had pushed higher, burning off the last of the morning chill. He might get another day with the sun on his back. Get a tan. So he climbed down from the scaffold, hands aching, shoulders tight in that satisfying way that came from a few hours’ solid graft as the burger van pulled up just off the main track. The smell of grease and fried onions cut through everything else.

Perfect.

Jake grabbed a bacon butty and a brew, leaning back against the side of the van with the others, half-listening to the chatter. They’d moved onto football and Jake wasn’t much of a fan, so he had one ear on the music drifting out from inside the food van instead.

Until the local mid-morning bulletin cut across In Too Deep by Sum 41, right as Jake was drumming his fingers against his cup.

“…Hartswick police have confirmed that a body was recovered from the river near the Lancaster Industrial Estate yesterday morning…”

Jake took another bite of his butty.

“…officers are treating the discovery as unexplained, and formal identification has not yet taken place…”

Around him, the conversation about Hull City’s latest defeat petered out.

“…Detective Inspector Harrison Black, the senior investigating officer, has urged the public to avoid speculation…”

Jake nearly choked when Harrison’s voice came through next.

“We understand the concern this will cause within the local community. At this stage, we’re working to establish the identity of the individual and the circumstances surrounding their death. We ask that people avoid speculation and allow us to carry out our enquiries.”

Jake stopped eating.

“Where the fuck’ve we started working at?” Scotty barked a laugh.

Jake barely heard him as his phone rang in his pocket. He pulled it out and something dropped through his stomach before he’d even answered. “Mum?”

“Oh, Jake, love!”

The sound of her crying had him pushing away from the van immediately.