Page 64 of In Too Deep

Harrison had remained there long after he should have left, supervising recovery positions, authorising scene extensions, listening to CSIs discuss water degradation and transfer possibilities while trying not to think about the fact the dead woman still didn’t have a name. Or a face. Eventually DCI Pollard had told him to go home before he keeled over into the bloody river himself. That’s when Harrison had gone to Jake’s flat. But there’d been no answer, so he’d gone home. To find Jake waiting for him in the rain.

“Any indication the clothing’s linked?” he asked.

“Nothing concrete yet.”

Nothing about this investigation seemed willing to become concrete.

He headed through the adjoining corridor towards the exhibits processing room where CSI had temporarily set up for wet recoveries. The deeper he moved into that side of the building, the cooler the air was. Sterile chemical smells replaced stale coffee and office heat. Evidence drying racks had been set up along one wall beneath humming portable fans, while technicians in gloves and paper overshoes hovered between stainless steel tables, photographing and cataloguing recovered items.

One of the forensic technicians looked up as Harrison entered. “Sir.”

“What’ve we got?” He slapped on a pair of gloves.

The technician gestured at the central exhibits table where the items sat individually bagged and labelled, condensation clinging faintly to the inside of some of the clear evidence packaging. But it was obvious what they were. A pair of women’s shoes. Cheap high-street brand. Black, though river water and mud had turned them grey. Pencil skirt. A pale cropped top, one side seam split almost entirely open.

“Items were located roughly half a mile downstream from the primary body recovery site,” the technician said. “Caught in reed beds near the eastern bank.”

“Condition?”

“Consistent with prolonged water exposure. Could’ve been in there days.” She glanced towards the sealed shoes. “No obvious blood staining visible yet, but that means very little after immersion.”

“Any signs they were deliberately damaged?”

“The top may have been torn rather than naturally degraded, but we can’t confirm that yet.” She gestured at the missing labels. “Manufacturer tags have been removed from all clothing items.”

Harrison narrowed his eyes. “Cut out?”

“Appears so.”

Interesting. Not enough to prove intent.

Enough to irritate him, though.

“Could belong to her,” the technician continued. “Could belong to someone else entirely. We’re being cautious.”

Frustratingly inconclusive.

Exactly where this investigation seemed determined to remain.

Harrison stared at the shoes. One heel was missing. “Anything useful from trace?”

“Nothing back yet. We’ve expedited fibres, biologicals, and water-content analysis. Soles are being checked for particulates against riverbank samples now.”

Harrison removed his gloves and dropped them into the clinical waste bin beside the table before rubbing tiredly at the bridge of his nose. “Has the recovery point been sealed off?”

“Yes, sir. Uniforms are guarding it.”

Harrison nodded. “I’m heading out there.”

Because standing in rooms full of dead things and damp clothing wasn’t getting him any closer to giving Jake Whitton an answer.

So he left the station and drove straight back out to the river.

The landscape looked even bleaker in daylight. Low cloud pressed heavily over the moors, while yesterday’s rain had churned the narrow access track into thick brown mud beneath tyres and boots alike. Blue-and-white tape fluttered beside the riverbank, and further downstream search officers in high-vis jackets moved methodically through reeds and long, wet grass, probing at the edges of the waterline.

Harrison climbed out of the car and caught the sharp scent of river silt and damp earth riding the wind. Calder stood near the rear of a police van, nursing a takeaway coffee while balancing a map folder against the bonnet.

“You look oddly rested,” Calder remarked as Harrison approached.