‘New and wrong shoes,’ Henley replied, watching a fire engine enter the cordoned area and stop. Wild purple flowering bushes and barbed wire bordered a crumbling concrete staircase that had been reinforced with sheaves of rusting black metal. Security hoarding – the black paint peeling off the rotting wood – had been erected along the perimeter at the top of the staircase. A bright yellow warning sign had clearly been ignored. The door in the middle of the hoarding swung back and forth, exposing the metal gangway that had taken on a green hue after decades of neglect and exposure.
Ramouter stepped around Henley and moved closer to the black safety railings. ‘Is that her?’ he asked.
Henley craned her neck to get a better view of the body thatwas hanging over the river, ‘It’s impossible to tell. She’s facing the wrong way, but there’s a tag on her ankle.’
‘How the hell did someone manage to get her up there? Look at the pier, it’s on the verge of collapse.’
‘Someone with a lot of determination and hatred,’ she answered.
‘So, what now?’ Ramouter asked.
Henley turned around and spotted a police sergeant that she recognised from Plumstead police station. ‘Miller,’ she called.
The officer smiled thinly. ‘I would say it’s nice to see you but, you know, I would have preferred better circumstances.’
‘Yeah, me too. This is my partner, DC Ramouter. This is PS Ted Miller.’
‘Pleasure,’ said Miller.
‘How fucked up is this?’ Miller said, pushing his hands behind his stab vest and turning his gaze towards the body twisting in the breeze. ‘I don’t know how they even got her up there without falling headfirst into the river.’
‘Whoever did this is obviously looking for attention,’ said Ramouter. He pointed behind him at the eight-storey apartment blocks that overlooked the riverside. Most balconies were filled with people watching the activity below.
‘I counted,’ said Miller. ‘Twenty-four balconies that have a prime river view and unfortunately, there’s no way to stop them from looking and taking pictures. I made myself hoarse screaming at them to go back inside. Not that that would stop them. Do you see that thing flying around up there?’
Henley and Ramouter looked up to where Miller was pointing. The sun’s rays bounced off the propellers and the slim body of the drone.
‘Our boys in the helicopter are doing their best to obstruct it but it’s like trying to catch a fly. We’ve scanned the crowds looking for anyone with the bloody remote but no luck. Who knows how long it will be before this is all over the internet.’
‘This is not good. Not good at all,’ said Henley.
‘No, it’s not,’ agreed Miller as a second forensic service van entered the scene. ‘So, I suppose you want the usual?’
Henley nodded.
Anthony, the senior crime scene investigator, exited his van and made his way towards a firefighter.
‘Call came in at 6.47 a.m.. Me and my partner, PC Eldridge, had the stupid luck of just leaving the scene of a domestic on Maze Hill and were diverted down here.’
‘Who made the call?’
‘A dog walker, Eric Hall. Lives in one of the townhouses just through the courtyard behind you. While the dog’s taking a piss, owner looks up and sees her.’
‘Where’s Eric now?’ asked Ramouter.
‘Home. I’ve got a couple of police community support officers sitting with him. As you can imagine, he’s not in the best shape.’
‘Did he see anything suspicious, other than her?’ Henley asked.
‘Simple answer: no,’ Miller answered as Anthony approached but sat down on the nearby bench that faced the river and opened his notebook. ‘You’re probably wondering how we’re going to get her down and search for any evidence,’ he said.
‘It had crossed my mind,’ Henley replied. ‘Are you going up there?’
‘You’re having a laugh, aren’t you?’
‘I take it that’s where our fire crew come in?’
‘That’s the reason for the delay. These lot are the water rescue specialists. The plan is that once the fire crew are satisfied that no one is going to plunge to their watery deaths, they’re going to escort two of my guys up there to do their jobs,’ explained Anthony.
