Page 39 of The Unforgiven

“Half-brother. Please try to keep your cock away from him, although I don’t think he’d be interested.” The body was movedinto the tent, the front just visible from where we were standing. Laid on a waterproof forensic sheet, they were trying to keep as much in situ as possible.

“Well, from what I heard, your half-brother would definitely not be interested in me because his type’s Doctor Jenna Osei. Apparently they met at a conference, he got in her knickers and she asked him to stay there and keep diddling. Why weren’t you in possession of this detail, Detective?” Vinny was one of the station’s biggest gossips, but ironically, hated anyone gossiping about him.

“I’ve spoken to him twice in the last four years. We’re not what you call close.” They bagged the victim’s hands in sterile plastic cuffs to preserve any trace evidence, doing the same with her feet. She looked to be naked, a final humiliation for her.

“How can you not be close with someone you’ve grown up – shit, sorry, Mac.” Vinny looked away. “I’m sorry.”

I shrugged. “I’m used to you being a dick. To be honest, I’m surprised when you’re not.” It wasn’t the first time Vinny had forgotten I hadn’t grown up like most kids.

My brother beckoned us over from the tent. “Mia, you might want to see this now.”

I headed over, Vinny on my heels, and noticed straight away that things were different.

“She’s still in rigor – the cold water will have slowed down the process, but in short, she’s either died in the foetal position or been moved into it straight after death.” He looked up at me after taking a couple more photos. “And there have been a load of stones wrapped up with her. Saira didn’t mention they were found with any of the other victims - ”

He stopped, a call from one of the CSIs from near a disused culvert echoing towards us.

“You’re going to want to see this!”

Chapter Seventeen

Culverts were built at some points of the River Irwell in the nineteenth century to divert overflow water from the city infrastructure during heavy rain. They were essentially a drainage tunnel, long decommissioned, with a partially collapsed entrance, somewhere known only to local wildlife and intrepid urban explorers, and maybe the occasional rough sleeper. A thin layer of water covered the entrance, the ground in front puddled and saturated.

Soot black brick was visible between the ivy, rusted metal piping sticking out in one place, a health and safety hazard if anyone cared. Brambles, tree roots and discarded fencing helped to conceal the entrance. This was a quiet part of the river, few people walking down it, and far enough away that there was no real need to be here. There would also be very few cameras around; another site well-chosen.

In front of the culvert, one of the CSI team was crouching down, taking photographs, his colleague telling everyone to come no further. A police dog, Benji, who’d only been there for ten minutes as far as I was aware, was sitting proudly near the entrance.

“What’ve we got?” I asked, desperate to go inside; desperate not to contaminate evidence.

“This has been recently disturbed. Some of the old bricks at the entrance are too dry for where they are and Benji’s had a wonderful time in there – he’s definitely telling us there’s blood inside.” He stood up with a wince. “Bloody knees. Did you hear them crack? Anyway, we’re going to do a full search inside.”

“What’s in like inside?” Vinny was trying to stick his head closer, reminding me of an ostrich, one that smelt of women’s perfume.

The CSI shook his head. “Patience is a virtue, you know. Give us fifteen minutes and you can have a look.”

It ended up with Wrigley being the first to peer in, invited by Jenna. I hadn’t processed Vinny’s nugget yet, that my brother was here in Manchester because of Jenna Osei – a city he’d refused to live in before because of its ties to our father. I’d think about that later, much later.

I followed Wrigley inside five minutes later, following clear instructions where to stand and what not to touch. One side of the tunnel had caved in slightly, creating a half height crawlspace, damp underfoot. It was dark and damp, the smell of earth and wetness and stagnant run off lingering strongly. Echoes bounced around the space, of words and drips, the rustles of disturbed creatures.

“The dog’s picked up the scent of blood. We’re going to Luminol it; see what shows up.” Jenna pointed to a few areas. “My guess – your perp knew we’d find this. We’re not going to come across anything he didn’t plan for us to find.”

I watched, staying out of the way while they sprayed the culvert floor, the arched walls, roots of trees that’d walked into here and stayed, and a small stone ledge. The lights weredimmed, and a slight blue glow clung to the ground at the far back of the culvert, before the end that’d been blocked off for decades. Not a spray, not a pool, just a few drops.

I shivered. It was colder in here than I’d expected, a wet chill that was going to require a scalding hot bath later just to feel human again.

“This isn’t your murder scene,” Jenna said, hands on hips. “We have a bit to go on here, but this isn’t where she was killed. There’s not enough blood here. But she’s been here long enough to leave something behind.”

“Or someone else was.” Wrigley said, almost at the exit, having seen enough. “The only thing we have to connect it is that it’s close by.”

“We might have DNA. We’ll go ahead on the theory that the DNA we get from the blood residue here is the same as your vic’s. Fingers crossed, we can get you a lead, you can get your man, and I won’t need to worry about fishing bodies out of water for a few more months.” Jenna walked outside, a glimmer of light shining on her, lighting her up for a moment like she was some avenging angel.

“Let’s hope that’ll be the case.” Wrigley walked away, calmly, almost serenely, a man in full knowledge that he only had so many dawns left when he was called out to a dead body.

There was a different sort of trepidation when I walked into the Forensic Mortuary, and it wasn’t the prospect of losing my lunch.

That would’ve been impossible anyway, because I’d avoided lunch, not feeling especially hungry and the butterflies in my stomach were taking me back to the same levels of nervous anticipation I’d had before gymnastics tournaments when I was fourteen.

It wasn’t, surprisingly, because of the prospect of watching someone’s internal organs being weighed, although that wasn’t helping either. This was all about Nate, the one blood relative I actually quite liked, although I wasn’t sure he felt the same way about me.