Shore?’
‘No.’
Jessie smiled. ‘And the medical records?’
‘They’re on their way. DC Burrows organised it.’
‘Good. Get their bank details too.’ Niaz nodded. ‘Now, follow me.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
She opened the door of the CID room. It suddenly went very quiet. DC Fry had clearly been enjoying centre stage. Some of them had the decency to look embarrassed. Not Ward, he just threw himself straight in.
‘What the bloody hell have you been doing? Helicopters, divers, the River Police – do you know how many suspicious deaths we deal with here? We haven’t got the resources to play Sherlock Holmes with every sad fucker who washes up on the banks of the Thames. Jesus, we probably pull out two a month. It could have come from anywhere. I hear you even got the SOCOs down there. A body can wash up fifty miles from the crime scene, if that is what it is.’
Jessie looked at her watch.
‘And what the fuck is he still doing here?’ Ward jabbed a finger in Niaz’s direction.
She had planned to do this privately. But to hell with him.
‘Initial tests on the bones reveal that they have been soaked in a sulphuric acid. Two silicone implants that survived the acid bath were found in the vicinity of the body. They belonged to Verity Shore.’
‘Shit! The jellyfish.’
‘Yes, Fry, the jellyfish.’ Jessie turned back to Mark. ‘This morning DCI Jones and myself went to P. J. Dean’s house, where we were told by Mr Dean that his wife has been missing for five days. There is to be a full postmortem in an hour at Charing Cross Hospital, which I, as acting Senior Investigating Officer will be attending –’
‘Hang on, you’re the SIO? What about the guv’nor?’
Jessie continued talking over him. She’d stuff his insubordination right down his fat throat. ‘DCI Jones has been admitted to hospital with a burst stomach ulcer. He has put me in charge. I’ve written my team down here. Please have an incident, evidence and briefing room set up for when I return from the postmortem, which I am hoping will give us absolute confirmation that the remains are indeed Verity Shore.’
Silence.
‘PC Ahmet will shadow me and DC Burrows will be my second-in-command. Both will be accompanying me to the hospital now. Thank you.’
‘What about me?’ asked Fry. This was a big one, he wanted to be there.
‘Oh yes, DC Fry, thanks for reminding me. Niaz, give those tapes to DC Fry so he can start watching. These are the security tapes from the Dean residence. You see someone leaving, clock it; arriving, clock it; any deliveries clock it, number it, and show me when I get back.’
‘But –’
‘Okay, Niaz, Burrows, you’re with me.’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ they said in unison.
Jessie returned to the corridor. It was the first time she could ever remember shaking on the job.
‘Where are those medical records, Burrows?’
‘On their way by bike.’
‘Is that safe?’ asked Jessie as she marched down the corridor.
‘They’re experienced drivers.’
‘Yes, but how are they with large offers of cash?’ Her breathing was returning to normal with every step she took away from Mark Ward. She glanced quickly behind her, didn’t see the press officer spring from a side office, and accidentally sent her flying. Kay Akosa fell back and skidded a few yards on her well-rounded rump before coming to a stop.
‘God, I’m so sorry.’ Jessie helped her up.
‘Don’t you look where you’re going? Didn’t anyone tell you not to run in the corridors?’
‘Yes, at school, when I was twelve.’
Kay Akosa withdrew her hand and brushed it against her other one. Kay had a reputation for being a tyrant, reducing nervous new recruits to tears over their expressions when caught on camera policing a picket line. She’d call them in over their hairstyle, acne, facial hair, weight. Verity Shore wasn’t the only one expected to be image-conscious. These coppers barely had enough money for a beer and a packet of pork scratchings, let alone trendy hairdressers, beauty salons, facials. When Jessie had first appeared at West End Central they needed someone to do a piece to camera outside the building. She could recall Kay Akosa’s fateful words: ‘You’re pretty, you’ll do.’ It wasn’t even a matter for the murder squad. Jessie had refused. She and Mrs Akosa had not shared a canteen experience since.
‘We’ve had every major paper in the country calling about unconfirmed reports that Verity Shore has drowned. What do I tell them?’
‘Nothing.’
‘And one paper knows you were at P. J. Dean’s house this morning.’
‘Shit!’
‘So?’
‘I have nothing to tell you.’
‘I can’t tell them nothing. Nothing won’t do.’
‘We don’t know who we have in the morgue. So no comment.’
‘They already know a body was found.’
‘Fine. So they know as much as we do.’
‘But –’
‘I’ll come to the press office as soon as I know more.’
The woman leant back on her heels and crossed her arms. ‘Where’s Jones?’
Jessie ignored her. She, Niaz and Burrows walked away.
‘Don’t think I’ve forgotten about the debacle with Jami Talbot,’ Kay called out after them. No one turned around.
‘Have you ever been to a postmortem, Niaz?’ asked Jessie when they reached the car park.
‘No.’
‘Well, you’re in luck. My first was a woman who’d been raped and then strangled and left in a ditch for two weeks. This will be a breeze. Sally said they’d been busy, so there will probably be bodies piled on top of each other on the surrounding tables. It’s cold in there, but I don’t think we’ll be long, so you should be okay. They’ll give you a mask, shoe covers and a green surgical coat.’ She turned to him. ‘You all right with this?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘Right. Let’s go.’
The bones lay on the convex stainless steel table, tilted slightly
