The battered prefabricated building and derelict remains of stone walls were set close by the river. There was a loading area with a sheer drop into the water and it was along here that they could see the deep blue colour that had tainted both Rosa and Gleason. Originally it would have been a site for filling and unloading barges, the barrels of dye taken along the river to the canal network and then to places like Bolton and Bradford where it would be used to dye cotton and wool.
The river was a muddy brown; across the other side wire netting framed what looked like a storage depot. Orange and blue containers stacked up. A clutch of misshapen saplings sprouted at the base of the bank, bent by the force of the current. Shredded plastic bags fluttered from the branches. An urban installation.
Janine knelt beside Richard at the very edge of the stone platform. It was discoloured a rich indigo shade. Little flag markers surrounded them; scene of crime officers had already picked over this area, removing samples for testing.
‘He kneels here to shove her in,’ Richard was talking about Gleason. ‘He gets dye on his jeans.’
‘On Rosa the staining was on one side, her ankle, knee and hip. Abrasions.’ Janine imagined the scene. ‘If she was wrapped in bin liners and they’d torn on this edge that would account for it. The dye would get into the grazes, mark her skin.’
The wind was whipping over the water, rustling the stalks of weeds along the banks and toying with the litter here and there. Overhead, clouds with bruised edges were buffeted along. The temperature was dropping.
She looked around. ‘But no sign of a struggle, nothing that fits with the state of her face. It looks like she was brought here, not killed here.’
Richard gestured behind them to the old building. ‘Let’s have a look in the shed.’
‘Tyre prints,’ one of the technicians told them. She was photographing the marks. ‘One set’s clearly recent. We should be able to get you a make, maybe a match.’
‘I know what my money’s on.’ Janine hunched her shoulders up. It was cold by the riverside and even colder in the dingy warehouse. ‘The Merc.’
As they walked back to his car Richard spoke. ‘So supposing Stone kills her. What’s his motive?’
‘Maybe she won’t have sex with him?’
‘Bit of an overreaction.’
‘Andrea said she could stand up for herself. Maybe he tries it on, rapes her even, but Rosa threatens to report him. We’ve no way of knowing if the sex was consensual. He realises she is serious. He has to stop her so he strangles her,’ Janine suggested.
