‘Where is he?’
‘Let’s get your sister first.’
Isaac found one of the lecturers who directed them to the correct room. Isaac stuck his head in the door, introduced himself to the lecturer and scanned for Charisa. She was head down, studying. ‘Charisa,’ Isaac called.
The young woman lifted her head, took one look and burst into tears. ‘It’s Samuel, isn’t it?’
‘I’ve got Billy with me. It would be best if you are both at Challis Street.’
‘I want to see him,’ Charisa said. Her classmates were hovering close to her, some were in tears, some were placing their hands on her, one had her arm around her.
The three left the college and walked briskly to Isaac’s car. Inside the car, Billy and Charisa sat in the back seat. ‘Where is he?’ she asked.
‘The River Thames at Hammersmith.’
‘We’re going there?’
‘It’s a crime scene. You won’t be able to get close.’
‘I want to be there. You can do that at least for us.’
Isaac relented and made the short drive to the river. Out on the mud flats at the side of the river was a team of men. ‘Wait here. I’ll go and see what the situation is.’
‘We want to see him, regardless.’
Isaac kitted up, realised that whatever happened he was going to be covered in mud. At the scene, Grant Meston, Gordon Windsor’s colleague, was taking charge.
‘Gordon?’ Isaac asked.
‘Fell down, twisted his ankle. I’m taking charge of this today.’
‘What do you have?’
‘Male, black, age between twelve and nineteen.’
‘What’s the cause of death?’
‘There’s evidence of violence.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘There’s a knife wound in the body.’
‘Fatal?’
‘Probably not, but he would have been unconscious when he was thrown into the Thames.’
‘He’s just reappeared?’
‘Nothing to do with those who killed him. He’s been weighted down, but the low water level revealed the chain above the water. Some local lads out for a lark pulled on it and up came the body.’
‘Is he identifiable?’
‘It’s not a pretty sight but if someone knew him when he was alive, then maybe. Anyone in mind?’
‘His brother and sister, nineteen and eighteen.’
‘Don’t let the sister see the body.’
‘I’ll not be able to keep her away. How long before you take it from here?’
‘Twenty minutes. I’ll try and clean it up first.’
‘Thanks.’
Isaac returned to Billy and Charisa. ‘Twenty minutes and they’ll bring the body up here.’
‘Is it?’
‘Billy, are you up to identifying the body?’
‘I’ll do it.’
‘So will I,’ Charisa said.
‘The body’s been in the water for some time. It would be best if you don’t.’
‘He’s my brother. I want to see him.’
***
The crime scene team brought the body up from the river bank. An attempt had been made by them to improve its appearance, especially the face. A vehicle was there to take it to Pathology, for the autopsy. Isaac stood with Billy and Charisa Devon, holding the young woman back. ‘I want to see him,’ she said.
Isaac could understand the sentiment, but knew full well that most people’s reaction, if they were not used to it, would be to stare at the body before vomiting. It had happened to him a few times, but now he was impervious to it, although he could emote with the two who were to be confronted with the reality of a dead sibling, and only just after their mother had died.
‘Are you sure about this?’ Isaac said.
‘Yes,’ came the reply in unison.
Grant Meston positioned himself close to the head of the body, the two teenagers nearer to its waist. Meston unzipped the body bag at the top and peeled it open enough for the face to be visible. Billy stared, transfixed by the scene; Charisa grabbed hold of Isaac’s hand and held it hard. ‘It’s Samuel,’ she said. Billy, the colour in his face drained, ran from the site and vomited in the gutter beside the road. Charisa stayed where she was as Meston rezipped the bag. Isaac made a phone call to Challis Street.
Isaac had to admit that he had been surprised by the reaction of the dead man’s sister, although he had noticed that she was the stronger of the remaining children of the murdered woman. One hour later, and after drinking some tea, both of them were better. ‘It was going to happen one day,’ Charisa said.
‘It’s all too common,’ Isaac said, by way of consolation. The young man had run with a gang. He’d apparently cheated on one of them, either out of sheer stupidity or because he thought he was smarter than them, and they had dealt with him. It wasn’t the first gang-related death in London, and sometimes a person would disappear, never to be seen again.
‘At least you know. You’ll have closure,’ Isaac said when Billy Devon commented on what he had seen.
‘Do you get used to it?’
‘You become immune to the sight of death. You can never get used to the reaction of loved ones of the deceased, of telling them that there’s been an accident, or that someone’s been murdered.’
‘But you were emotionless back there.’
‘I’m trained to deal with it, and I’ve seen much worse. In time, you’ll be able to deal with what has happened in your lives.’
‘Our mother?’ Billy said. The colour had returned to his face.
‘We’re still working on that. Is there any more that you can tell me?’
‘Our mother always taught us right from wrong, and she was at church every Sunday.’
‘We know that she cleaned Amelia Brice’s house.’
‘First she was murdered, and now Samuel,’ Charisa said.
Isaac, sadder than he should be, left Billy and Charisa at the house of an aunt. ‘We’ll be fine,’ they said. He knew they would be. They had
