Page 47 of In Too Deep

And families.

Families hearing it on the radio. On Facebook. From a neighbour who’d heard it from someone who’d heard it from—

He cut the thought off.

“Better they hear it from us.” He opened his laptop, preparing himself for what was coming next. “Properly. Controlled. Not through a bloody breakfast bulletin.”

Noise built outside. The scrape of chairs, low voices, the team gathering properly. Harrison leaned back to watch through the glass, then angled his head towards Murray. “Which one of them talks to the press?”

Murray said nothing.

Of course she wouldn’t.

Her colleagues. Her team.

And Harrison didn’t push it, because the door opened and the room filled.

DS Calder came in first, shrugging out of his jacket, taking in Harrison’s dishevelled appearance, the untouched calm he was failing to project. He said nothing and took his seat. Behind him, the rest filtered in. Two DCs from CID—Patel and Irvine—quiet, already mid-conversation about timelines. A scene-of-crime officer in full kit, folder tucked under his arm. Then uniform followed—response sergeant, one of the PCs who’d been first on scene yesterday—faces drawn tighter than they had been the day before.

Harrison set his coffee down, tapping his fingers on the side of the cup as he worked through what he should say. What to start with. Then he looked up. All of them stared back. Waiting. He took a breath. Calm. Controlled. But there was no hiding the edge beneath it. Chris used to say this was the most dangerous version of him.

The one that didn’t shout.

“Give ‘em hell, baby.”

“Before we go anywhere near the facts, let’s deal with the problem.” He pushed aside his coffee to prod his finger into the table. “No one in this room speaks to the press. Not off the record. Not in passing. Not to a mate who ‘knows a journalist’. You don’t confirm, you don’t deny, and you don’t speculate.” He dragged his gaze across them, one by one. “If anyone is approached, you refer them to comms. If they persist, you log it. And if I find out that information is leaving this room without authorisation, you will be removed from this enquiry. Immediately.”

Silence.

Good.

“We are twenty-four hours in. We do not have an identification. We do not have a confirmed cause of death. Which means we do not have a story. No matter what’s already doing the rounds outside. What we do have is a deceased individual whose family may not know yet. And I am not having them hear it through a radio bulletin or a Facebook post because someone here couldn’t keep their mouth shut.” He straightened his laptop. “Understood?”

A low murmur of assent filtered through the room.

“Good.” Harrison tapped open the electronic file on this laptop. “Then we deal in facts. At present, we have an unidentified body recovered from the river adjacent to the industrial estate at approximately 08:40 yesterday morning. Scene preservation remained in place overnight, and dive support have completed secondary searches.” He looked up. “No identification at this stage. Missing persons cross-checks are ongoing with neighbouring forces. FLOs are to hold off on any direct family engagement until we have something concrete.”

He glanced at the few nods around the table.

“CSI are continuing with trace recovery from clothing and personal effects. CCTV enquiries are already underway covering access roads, estate entrances, and surrounding routes within a ten-mile radius. I want ANPR pulled from every possible approach road between Hartswick and the motorway network by this afternoon.”

Pens moved fast across notepads, and fingers raced across keyboards.

“Hollis—you coordinate CCTV. Patel, Irvine—you’re on timeline and witness strategy. I want every person who walked that river trail in the last week identified and spoken to. Uniforms already completed initial containment yesterday. But we widen now. House-to-house expands beyond the immediate recovery point.”

He then glanced up to fix them all with a hard stare.

“And until I say otherwise, this remains an unexplained death enquiry. We do not speculate. We do not discuss theories. We work evidence.” He took a breath, then quieter, as he ruffled his papers together and grabbed his phone to dump it on top. “And we identify her before this goes anywhere.”

The room quietened. Then Murray shifted beside him. “Sir… given the location and the speculation already circulating, shouldn’t FLO contact made with the Whittons? Just in case.”

Harrison’s response was as immediate as his thrashing heart. “No.”

He felt Calder’s eyes flick towards him. Eyebrows twitching.

Harrison steadied his tone before continuing. “Not yet.” He folded his arms tightly, forcing himself back into the procedural rhythm of it. “We do not approach a family based on rumour and coincidence. We have no identification, no forensic confirmation, and no evidential basis linking this body to the Whitton enquiry at this stage. Only when we can give them something concrete do we involve them at all. And only if needed.”

Murray nodded. “Understood, sir.”