Chapter 13
A police helicopter hovered overhead while boats from the marine policing unit bobbed on the low tide of the river.
A crowd had gathered at the edges of the large, cordoned area which stretched from the riverside entrance of the Ahoy sailing club and fifty metres past the entrance to the underground car park that faced the rotting pier.
‘Brings me back to the day we first met, and you made me walk along the riverbank in my new shoes,’ said Ramouter as he and Henley ducked under the police tape.
The CSI team and uniformed officers were staggered around the periphery of the staircase that led to the pier unsure of what their next move should be.
‘New and wrong shoes,’ Henley replied, watching a fire engine enter the cordoned area and stop.
Wild purple flowering bushes and barbed wire bordered a crumbling concrete staircase that had been reinforced with sheaves of rusting black metal.
Security hoarding – the black paint peeling off the rotting wood – had been erected along the perimeter at the top of the staircase.
A bright yellow warning sign had clearly been ignored.
The door in the middle of the hoarding swung back and forth, exposing the metal gangway that had taken on a green hue after decades of neglect and exposure.
Ramouter stepped around Henley and moved closer to the black safety railings. ‘Is that her?’ he asked.
Henley craned her neck to get a better view of the body that was hanging over the river, ‘It’s impossible to tell. She’s facing the wrong way, but there’s a tag on her ankle.’
‘How the hell did someone manage to get her up there? Look at the pier, it’s on the verge of collapse.’
‘Someone with a lot of determination and hatred,’ she answered.
‘So, what now?’ Ramouter asked.
Henley turned around and spotted a police sergeant that she recognised from Plumstead police station. ‘Miller,’ she called.
The officer smiled thinly. ‘I would say it’s nice to see you but, you know, I would have preferred better circumstances.’
‘Yeah, me too. This is my partner, DC Ramouter. This is PS Ted Miller.’
‘Pleasure,’ said Miller.
‘How fucked up is this?’ Miller said, pushing his hands behind his stab vest and turning his gaze towards the body twisting in the breeze. ‘I don’t know how they even got her up there without falling headfirst into the river.’
‘Whoever did this is obviously looking for attention,’ said Ramouter. He pointed behind him at the eight-storey apartment blocks that overlooked the riverside. Most balconies were filled with people watching the activity below.
‘I counted,’ said Miller. ‘Twenty-four balconies that have a prime river view and unfortunately, there’s no way to stop them from looking and taking pictures. I made myself hoarse screaming at them to go back inside. Not that that would stop them. Do you see that thing flying around up there?’
Henley and Ramouter looked up to where Miller was pointing. The sun’s rays bounced off the propellers and the slim body of the drone.
‘Our boys in the helicopter are doing their best to obstruct it but it’s like trying to catch a fly. We’ve scanned the crowds looking for anyone with the bloody remote but no luck. Who knows how long it will be before this is all over the internet.’
‘This is not good. Not good at all,’ said Henley.
‘No, it’s not,’ agreed Miller as a second forensic service van entered the scene. ‘So, I suppose you want the usual?’
Henley nodded.
Anthony, the senior crime scene investigator, exited his van and made his way towards a firefighter.
‘Call came in at 6.47 a.m.. Me and my partner, PC Eldridge, had the stupid luck of just leaving the scene of a domestic on Maze Hill and were diverted down here.’
‘Who made the call?’
‘A dog walker, Eric Hall. Lives in one of the townhouses just through the courtyard behind you. While the dog’s taking a piss, owner looks up and sees her.’
‘Where’s Eric now?’ asked Ramouter.
‘Home. I’ve got a couple of police community support officers sitting with him. As you can imagine, he’s not in the best shape.’
‘Did he see anything suspicious, other than her?’ Henley asked.
‘Simple answer: no,’ Miller answered as Anthony approached but sat down on the nearby bench that faced the river and opened his notebook. ‘You’re probably wondering how we’re going to get her down and search for any evidence,’ he said.
‘It had crossed my mind,’ Henley replied. ‘Are you going up there?’
‘You’re having a laugh, aren’t you?’
‘I take it that’s where our fire crew come in?’
‘That’s the reason for the delay. These lot are the water rescue specialists. The plan is that once the fire crew are satisfied that no one is going to plunge to their watery deaths, they’re going to escort two of my guys up there to do their jobs,’ explained Anthony.
‘I don’t envy them,’ said Henley.
An officer from the marine unit made his way towards them.
‘Believe it or not I’ve got a couple of daredevils in my team who are looking for a story to tell when they’re down at the pub tonight.’
‘And it looks like they’ll be adding me to their story too.’
‘You’re going up there?’ Ramouter asked with surprise.
‘We’re both going up there,’ said Henley. ‘Don’t you want to see the body in-situ for yourself?’
Drew, a firefighter, double checked Henley’s life jacket and safety harness. ‘I’m right in front of you,’ he said. ‘Despite how the pier looks, it’s not about to collapse under your feet. It’s been standing there since the seventeenth century.’
‘Unfortunately, I don’t share your confidence,’ Henley answered, watching Ramouter, secured to his own firefighter escort, make his way up the stairs and step carefully onto the unstable-looking gantry.
‘Ready?’
Henley nodded and Drew turned his back and confidently walked up the concrete steps and waited for her and Ramouter at the top.
‘You’re going to hear a lot of creaking and other strange noises as you walk along the gantry.
Try to ignore it. Keep as far to the left as possible and whatever you do, don’t let go of me. ’
Henley tried to ignore the shakiness in her legs as she grabbed hold of the yellow safety belt that had been attached to Drew’s own life jacket.
Despite his advice, Henley couldn’t ignore the sound of the aged wood creaking under their weight.
The sound of the river grew louder as she walked, occasionally looking down through the gaps in the planks at the dark waters swirling.
Seagulls, pigeons and crows circled overhead, occasionally landing and perching on the green and blue rusting support beams. Henley kept her mind focused on what she could see and who would have been motivated to carry a dead body along a perilous path beyond the river’s edge.
‘You made it then?’ Ramouter said with a grin on his face and his hands clasped firmly behind his back.
Henley stopped a foot away from the body. ‘This is absolutely terrifying.’
‘It’s not that bad, as the firefighters said, it’s more stable than it looks.’
‘The plan is to give you guys as long as you need to do whatever it is you do,’ said Drew, keeping his distance from the body. ‘We’ll then escort you back, forensics will come and do what they need to do and then we’ll bring the body down. And it’s ok to let go of me now,’ he said with a grin.
Henley reluctantly released the safety belt. She carefully stepped closer to Ramouter and around the body. She looked up. ‘It’s her,’ she confirmed.
Sian Fox-Carnell’s dark blonde hair blew lazily in the wind that swept along the river, fresh bird droppings were visible on her skin.
The left side of her face was covered with bruises and there was visible swelling along her jaw and cut lips.
She’d been stripped almost naked, with only a pair of sky-blue knickers keeping her modesty.
Henley grimaced at the succession of red, harsh scratches and dried blood on her dead alabaster skin and the noose around her neck.
There was more bruising on her torso, back, her right thigh and a large gash on her shin.
The thick black cable ties, that held her hands together in front of her, were almost lost in the folds of her swollen wrists.
The red light on the electronic monitoring tag on her ankle flashed furiously, signalling that the battery was low.
Ramouter took a step around Sian. ‘I’m thinking that she was already dead when she got here?’
‘What makes you say that?’ Henley asked.
‘I can see chafing but I can’t see any fresh bruising on her neck.
I don’t know how long she’s been hanging here, but the rope looks quite slack.
’ Ramouter walked slowly around the body, the wood creaking.
‘And, let’s be honest, it would be easier to carry a dead person up here instead of someone fighting for her life. ’
‘What are we thinking, that she’s taken off the street …’
‘Held somewhere for what, forty-eight hours or so, killed wherever she’s being held, brought here and hanged.’
‘By someone who has knowledge of the area,’ said Henley as she remained rooted to the spot.
‘Why here though? Why take the crazy risk of coming up here when they could have just dumped her anywhere.’
Henley did her best to ground herself feeling the wind swirl around them.
The bridge shuddered and she tried not to grab hold of the railings.
The last thing she wanted to do was to accidentally remove any trace of forensic evidence.
‘She must have a head wound but I can’t see the top of her head.
There’s a lot of blood on the back of her neck but I can’t see any other visible wounds other than her leg, which isn’t fatal,’ said Henley once the wind settled down.
Henley looked down at her feet. She couldn’t see any blood on the wooden planks – another indication that there were two crime scenes.
‘Let’s go,’ Henley said quickly, turning to Drew who’d been patiently observing the pair. ‘I really don’t like bridges, and I want CSI to get on with their job.’
‘I’m thinking that it won’t be too hard to find people who would want her dead.’ Ramouter followed Henley back along the bridge, supported by his own firefighter escort.
‘Wanting someone dead and doing it are two different things,’ Henley replied. She placed her feet on solid ground and felt the rhythm of her breath start to return to normal.
‘I agree. This is all performative,’ answered Ramouter. ‘Putting her up there on a platform for the world to see.’
‘Whoever it was has a personal vendetta against her.’ Henley was tearing off her gloves and removing her oversuit.
‘The crowd looks as though it’s thinned out a bit.’
Henley scanned the area. All of the activity was now at the riverside as the CSI team gathered evidence and police vans reversed closer to the railings in an effort to block the view of Sian Fox-Carnell’s body from members of the public. ‘People have to go to work,’ she said.
‘Who’s that?’ Ramouter pointed in the direction of the fire engine in the cordoned off area. ‘Boss, can you see him?’
Henley nodded, and they both began to walk towards the white man who was dressed in jeans, a black bomber jacket and wearing a baseball cap who was moving casually towards the riverfront.
As Henley and Ramouter got closer they could see that he was holding a smartphone stabiliser with a microphone on top which was pointed towards the river.
‘Hey,’ Ramouter shouted, sprinting towards the man with Henley close behind ‘Stop right now and put down the phone.’
The man stopped but turned the phone towards Ramouter.
‘For God’s sake,’ Henley muttered when she saw a yellow press lanyard hanging around the man’s neck.
‘Can I have your name please, officer,’ the man asked, turning the camera towards Henley.
‘No, you cannot have our bloody names,’ Henley said, taking hold of his arm and marching him away.
‘You have no right to remove a member of the free and independent press,’ the man said.
‘Name,’ Henley demanded as she placed him against the side of a police van.
The man smiled, reached into his pocket and held out his business card to Ramouter.
‘Ben Trezeguet. Reporter. Freedom News,’ said Ramouter. ‘This looks like you made it yourself. If you’re legit, where’s your National Union of Journalists ID card?’
‘I am a free man and do not wish to be constrained by the bias and lies of the mainstream media,’ answered Ben.
‘Jesus Christ,’ Henley muttered but released his arm.
‘I’m part of the independent press,’ Ben continued.
‘You’re a nuisance with a phone and a YouTube channel,’ corrected Ramouter, placing the card in his pocket.
Ben pointed his phone at Henley and said, ‘I report the news. And a body hanging over the Thames first thing in the morning is news. So, officers, can you give me your names and your initial views on the case?’
Henley reached for her police radio. ‘What I’m going to do is have an officer escort you away from here. If you come back, I’ll have you arrested for obstructing the course of justice and trespassing. Do you understand me?’
‘I have a right to free speech and there’s freedom of the press. You’re breaching my human rights and my first amendment right.’
‘First amendment,’ Ramouter said with a laugh as a police officer approached them. ‘Lad, this isn’t America.’
‘I have a right to—’
‘Is that anything to do with you?’ Henley asked, pointing at the drone which was still hovering in the sky but now closer to where they were positioned.
‘Am I under arrest?’ Ben demanded. ‘I’m not obligated to answer your questions unless—’
‘Please get him away from here and if you see him again, arrest him,’ Henley said to the officer.
They watched him get led away.
‘Do you think he’ll be back?’ Ramouter asked Henley.
‘Probably not, but I’m more concerned about the bloody drone and what it’s already seen,’ she replied, her gaze fixed on the firemen who were untangling the rope from which Sian Fox-Carnell hung.