Richard sighed, slapped at the wall in frustration.
‘You’ll get it, you will.’
She recalled her own promotion to Chief Inspector. Not the most favourite day of her life. Oh, the promotion had been a triumph – it was what followed that had floored her. Going home to celebrate with her husband Pete, only to find him in bed – yes, their bed – with the home help. End of celebration, end of marriage. She’d given Pete a second chance, felt obliged to, seeing as she was six months pregnant with baby number four, but Pete had picked Tina the cleaner instead. Work had kept Janine sane then. A place apart from all the miserable pain of splitting up.
Richard sighed harshly again, shook his head, still annoyed.
Janine looked at him. ‘So, you going to stay here and have a paddy or shall we get on with it?’
He glowered at her for a moment, and then relented, knowing she was right. He jerked his head in assent.
‘I’m off to the post-mortem,’ she told him. ‘Pull everyone in for two. Incident room one.’
*****
When his mobile rang, Chris Chinley was flushing out a central heating radiator in the backyard of the house where he was working. The black sludge guttered out from one end as he poured water in the other. Not been cleared for maybe forty years, full of silt and grit.
He grunted at the ring tone and lowered the radiator, balancing it against the weathered brick wall. Only a small yard in spite of the size of the house: three storeys, four bedrooms, high ceilings, each with the original plaster rose and covings.
Chris pulled his phone from the back pocket of his jeans, already anticipating another customer. Business was booming. A shortage of plumbers had coincided with soaring demand. People wanted two or even three bathrooms in a property, ensuite to the master bedroom, showers and bidets, sometimes a jacuzzi. He’d actually done a hot tub the previous month, in Hale, Cheshire – richest area outside of London.
He didn’t recognise the caller number on display. ‘Chinley’s,’ he said.
Chris listened to the voice on the phone. He swallowed hard, ran his free hand over the coarse, close-cropped hair on his skull. Shaking his head, he stared down at the flagstones, watched the pitch-black water stutter from the radiator, thin to a trickle, then snake along the cracks between the flags and into the gutter that ran out to the alley at the back.
*****
Post-mortems were never pleasant but Janine attended them whenever she could. It helped her maintain a good working relationship with the pathologists but, more importantly, it was something she felt she owed the victim. To bear witness. The aroma of the river still clung in the air. The woman lay, still wrapped in the rubbish bags, on the dissecting table. Her face was a horrible mess; Janine took it in with a glance and cast her gaze elsewhere.
