Once the two crime scene men were kitted up, they walked down the gangway and over to where the body was.
‘Why don’t you think it’s Pinto?’ Windsor asked as he peered at the body.
‘It looks like it’s been in the water for a long time,’ Isaac replied.
‘I don’t know how you could tell that from what remains.’
Windsor moved closer to the body, carefully removing the rubbish and silt that surrounded it. Grant Meston took photos of the scene. ‘Not very pleasant, is it?’ Windsor said. His voice gave no indication of emotion about what lay in front of him.
‘What are your thoughts?’ Isaac asked.
‘You’re a bit premature.’
‘I just need to know who it may be.’
‘I’ll not be able to tell you that here.’
‘There are two possibilities: Rodrigo Fuentes or Vicenzo Pinto.’
‘It could be either,’ Windsor said as he carefully continued to expose the body.
‘Is the head there?’ Larry asked.
‘What remains of it.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The fish and the crabs have been at it, and I’m sure this dredger is none too fussy in bringing up everything pristine.’
‘Arms, legs?’ Isaac asked.
‘It’s a complete body, but unrecognisable. Have you noticed the legs?’
‘What about them?’
‘What’s left of one still has a chain around its ankle. This person was murdered, and they intended the body to remain undiscovered. If the dredger hadn’t found it, it would have not existed in a few months’ time. Even now, there is precious little to go on. Have you noticed the maceration of the skin, the exposed bone?’
Isaac moved closer to the body. He felt bile in his throat, the need to vomit. He backed away and cleared his throat. ‘How will you identify it?’
‘DNA. There’s no other way.’
‘Are you able to give a cause of death?’
‘With the body in this condition, it’s almost impossible, although a chain around one ankle is fairly conclusive that it was weighted and thrown in.’
‘Are you certain it’s male?’ Isaac asked.
‘Pathology will confirm, but I’d say so.’
***
Alex Hughenden had prepared well for his visit to Challis Street Police Station. Outwardly he portrayed a prosperous and pious man. It was those aspects of his character that he intended to show when he met DCI Cook.
He had prepared carefully for the interview, although he knew they had no proof against him.
What had he done? he thought. He had been friendly with O’Shaughnessy, even rented a house to him, and the man had turned out to be a murderer involved in the drug trade. How could that be related to him?
He was supremely confident that the police would be swayed by his elegant manners and his respectability. There was nothing to connect him with the death of Dougal Stewart, although he had to admit he had enjoyed the sight of the man hanging from the ceiling, and Pinto pleading for his life in the corner of a dirty warehouse.
He had expected Devlin and Steve to kill the two men, not to kill one as they did and then cut him up. Devlin had admitted to a phone call and to be acting on instructions, which surprised him as in the past he had been their only contact.
He had thought at the time that someone was usurping his position, but the man had phoned and told him that he had made the phone call.
Alex had said that he understood, as earlier in the day he had been out of contact meeting up with some friends, close friends, and his phone was off, but phoning Devlin direct…
Hughenden wasn’t totally sure but had discounted his misgivings. Hadn’t the man phoned him up to wish him well for his visit with the police?
He did not know the man’s real name, although he suspected who he was. He was certainly well connected and had plenty of money, but Hughenden had never checked further, knew he would not unless the man aimed to cut him out of the picture. Then he would find out who he was, who his contacts were, possibly take the man’s position in the organisation. Hughenden realised that he was visible, yet the man was hidden from view and taking all the profits.
What did he receive? he thought as he waited for his appointment at Challis Street. A lousy three hundred thousand pounds each month. What did the man receive? It must be a lot more judging by the car the man drove, and the suit he wore.
He decided to find out more about him, just in case.
***
Isaac had to admit the woman was a knockout, dark but not as dark as him. She wore a blue top with a short skirt, even though the weather outside was chilly. She was the sort of woman who men were drawn to like bees to a honey pot.
‘My Rodrigo, have you found him?’ she asked.
Isaac recognised the accent as Brazilian. ‘Are you a friend of his?’ Isaac asked.
‘We were lovers.’
Isaac realised that friend and lover were not always mutually compatible, but in this case, they probably were. ‘And your name?’
‘Maria Cidade.’
Isaac moved with her from the entrance to the police station to his office. The woman was nervous. He assumed she had probably overstayed her visa and was working somewhere for cash in hand. He discounted the possibilities of what she did to make money.
Maria Cidade did not look poor, and if she were indeed the lover of Rodrigo Fuentes, then she would have had money, drug money.
‘We are conducting investigations,’ Isaac said.
‘He was with me four weeks ago, and then he disappears without saying anything.’
‘What did
