Ritual Read Free Page A

could see right away he was holding something in under his expression. She thought she knew what. Men didn't like working alongside a girl who just squeaked in at under five five in her diving boots. Either that or she had crumbs on her T-shirt.

'Flea?' he said. ' Flea? '

'It's a nickname.' She got to her feet, holding out her hand to shake. 'The name's Phoebe Marley. Unit Sergeant Phoebe Marley.'

He looked down at her hand, as if it was something alien. Then, as if he'd remembered where he was, he shook it firmly. He released it quickly, and the moment he did Flea stepped away, out of his space. She sat down and self-consciously brushed the front of her T-shirt, off balance again. That was something else that pissed her off. She wasn't very good around men.

 

At least, not this sort of man. They made her think about things she'd put behind her.

'So?' he said. ' Flea . Where's this hand you pulled out of the water?'

'Coroner's let it go,' said Dundas. 'Didn't anyone say?'

'No.'

'Well, he did. The CSM sent someone to Southmeads with it. But it won't be done till tomorrow.'

'Pull a lot of hands out of the water round here, then?'

'Yup,' said Dundas. 'Got a collection up at Southmeads. Feet, hands, a leg or two.'

'And where are they coming from?'

'Suicides, mostly. Down in the Avon nine times out of ten. She's got a tidal race on her like you've never seen – things get bashed around a bit, hit with trees, debris. Get pieces turning up round here, right, left and arsenal.'

Caffery shot his hand out from his suit sleeve and checked his watch. 'OK, then. I'm done here.'

He had the door open and was halfway out when he went a little still, his back to them, his hand on the door, facing out into the kitchen corridor, maybe feeling the two of them watching him silently.

He took a few beats, then turned back.

'What?' he said, looking from Dundas to Flea and back again. 'It's a suicide. What do you usually do with a suicide?'

'If we haven't got a hotspot? If we haven't got a witness?'

'Yeah?'

'We, uh, wait for it to float.' Flea went softly on the word 'float': in the team they used it so often they'd got easy with it, forgot sometimes what it meant: that a corpse had to get so full of decomposition gases it rose to the surface. 'We let it float, then do a surface snatch. In this weather that'd be in a couple of weeks' time.'

'That's what I thought. It's what they do in London.' He started to go again, but this time he must have seen Dundas throw a glance across at Flea, because he paused. He closed the door and came back into the room. 'OK,' he said slowly. 'You're trying to explain something to me. Only problem is, I haven't a clue what.'

Flea took a breath. She turned her chair, put her elbows on her knees and sat canted forward, meeting his eye. 'Didn't the CSM tell you? Didn't he say we don't think it's a suicide?'

'You just said you get a million suicides out here.'

'Yes – in the Avon. If it was in the Avon we'd understand it. But it's not. This was in the harbour.'

She got up and stood, half holding the chair as if it would protect her. She didn't show it, but she was conscious of the way he was tall and sort of lean under his suit. She knew if she got closer she'd stare or something, because she'd already noticed a few things about him – like the point above his collar where his five o'clock shadow started. 'We're not the pathologists,' she said. 'We shouldn't be telling you anything. But something's not right.' She licked her lips and glanced sideways at Dundas. 'I mean, first off it's been in the water less than a day. A body's not ready to come to bits in rough water until a long, long time after it's floated. This one's way too fresh for that.'

Caffery put his head on one side, raised his eyebrows.

'Yes. And if it was wildlife chewed it off – fish, the harbour rats, maybe – there'd be bites all over it. There aren't any. The only injury is . . .' she held up her hand and circled a thumb