As the dream faded, I fought to stay asleep, but consciousness roused. Reluctantly, I conceded she hadn’t been real. I took great comfort in the fact that such a realistic memory of her was enough to satiate me. She was my drug. If dreams were all I had left, that would be enough. Something was better than nothing, but why did they have to end? If death meant I could be reunited with her, back with the other half of me, I would happily take it. I found myself choking back tears as I lay awake. The memory of her perfume still lingered in my bed. The pain of the emptiness she had left behind was unbearable. There was only one thing I could do to ease it. There was one other person I needed to kill. And this one was going to feel the same pain I was in. I would make them suffer just as much. If not more…
57
Maya and DI Redford arrived at Bridge Street at the same time as the Underwater Search Team. The railway bridge, which hung over the section of the canal like a frown, gave the area its insalubrious appeal. Here, everything scowled in the shadows, even on the brightest day. Overgrown shrubbery and shallow alcoves provided a level of murky privacy craved by the local smack rats. Discarded needles, used condoms and stolen wallets (long-since emptied) littered the grubby pathway.
The bridge provided a natural shelter for the investigators, so a scene tent wasn’t required. The sheer presence of the police kept those who would normally frequent the location well away. As a result, the deceased would have the privacy he deserved. Maya photographed the towpath and took a series of pictures of the floating corpse. He was face down in the water, the top of his head visible. The lightweight waterproof jacket he wore had gathered some air since the body had submerged and puffed out like an ironic sail.
Maya watched as the divers secured the body to the orange plastic scoop and hauled him onto the towpath. The smell of stagnant water made her want to gag. She could hardly even bring herself to look at the sopping body. The shock of the previous evening was still proving too much to handle. The panic attack which had threatened to consume her earlier, was burgeoning again. She took a couple of calming breaths before focusing on the body. If she could just concentrate on the scene and block everything else out, she would be fine.
DI Redford knelt towards the body, scrutinising him carefully. ‘Curly, come over here will you, mate?’ He called to the bald police officer who was minding the cordon. Curly had worked on section for years and knew all the local criminals and regular missing persons. He was renowned for never forgetting a face. ‘D’ya recognise him, pal?’ Redford asked as he straightened up, allowing Curly to peruse the corpse. He paused momentarily, studying the face carefully, a slight frown puckering his brow.
‘Could be Mark Posner, boss. He looks nothing like he used to when he was dealing. He went into prison looking like the lead from a boy band and came out looking like that.’ Curly straightened up. He nodded confirmation of his identification.
Maya frowned. ‘What was he inside for?’
‘Drug dealing. He was one of the main players years ago, although you wouldn’t know it to look at him now. Wanker.’ He muttered more disparaging comments towards the corpse as he returned to the cordon, ignoring Redford’s tut.
Maya took several more photographs before crouching next to the body. Wordlessly, she and Redford scrutinised the corpse carefully, checking the head and hands before inching items of clothing away so they could examine unexposed areas of skin. As they tugged at his jeans, Redford patted down the pockets before gingerly reaching in and removing a letter. He carefully unfolded it so as not to damage the fragility of the wet paper.
‘Bingo!’ He held it up towards Maya so she could photograph it. ‘Bail notice in the name of Mark Posner.’ He turned to the cordon giving a thumbs up. ‘Nice one, Curly,’ he shouted, ‘I owe you a pint.’
The police officer returned an energetic thumbs up accompanied with his best fake smile.
Identity confirmed, Maya and Reynolds continued their careful search of the body.
‘Thoughts?’ Redford said as he arched an eyebrow towards Maya.
She shook her head. ‘Nothing concerning. He’s obviously using, judging by his teeth and general physique.’ She nodded towards a pile of belongings stuffed in an alcove which nestled into the wall of the bridge. An array of spice packets littered the floor next to a rolled-up blanket and stuffed duffel bag. Redford searched the bag whilst Maya photographed the contents.
‘Well, I think it’s going to come down to toxicology,’ Redford said. ‘It doesn’t look like he’s been in there long judging by his condition. I’d wager possibly overnight. There’s enough foot traffic around here, someone would have noticed him if he’d been in any longer.’
Maya nodded. ‘There’s no obvious signs of injury. I wonder if he fell in accidentally or was it a suicide?’
‘We might never know without witnesses or CCTV. Let’s just see what the post-mortem tells us.’
‘It’s a worry though, isn’t it?’
‘What is?’
‘Well, what if it was neither. What if someone pushed him in?’
‘There’s no signs of a struggle.’
‘But if he was intoxicated, there wouldn’t necessarily have been a struggle.’
Redford stared at her long enough to make her feel uncomfortable. ‘Another conspiracy theory?’
She felt a prickle of annoyance. ‘No. I’m just saying, someone could have pushed him in whilst he was intoxicated. Or they could have even killed him first then pushed him in.’
‘And,’ Redford said pointedly, ‘he could have fallen in whilst intoxicated. In a situation like this there could be several hypotheses. Not every death is suspicious, Maya.’
‘And not every death is accidental. Sir.’
There was an awkward stand-off with both of them staring at Posner’s
