ISBN: 9781335146564
Publication Date: March 16, 2021
Publisher: Hanover Square Press
Along the Thames, a fan of the Jigsaw Man and copycat killer has scattered two dismembered bodies along the shores like a jigsaw puzzle. When DI Henley sees one of the victims, a young black woman, is already being written off by her colleagues, she makes it her mission to solve the case, driving her to seek help from the original Jigsaw Man himself, Peter Oliver. Oliver, however, is determined to get to his copycat before Henley can, and sets into motion a series of events that puts Henley and her family in the crosshairs of two monstrous serial killers.
Chapter Two
‘How long have we got until the tide comes in?’ Henley was
facing the river watching the small waves crashing against the derelict pier.
She checked her watch. Nearly two hours had passed since the first 999
call.
‘I checked online, and high tide is at 9.55 a.m.’ Ramouter
replied as he stepped around a half-submerged car tire, his eyes glazed with
anxiety. ‘Low tide was at 3.15. Sunrise was at 6.32. A three-hour window for
someone to dump whoever this is and hope that someone would find it before the
tide comes in?’
‘Maybe,’ Henley acknowledged. ‘But for all we know it could
have been dumped after sunrise or was dumped earlier upstream before being
washed up here.’ She inspected the glass façade of the Borthwick Wharf, empty
commercial spaces and work units that opened to the terrace and lacked security
cameras. Henley doubted that the local council would have extended their own
CCTV cameras to this part of the street. They had been neglecting this part of
Deptford for as long as she could remember.
‘Has it been touched?’ Henley asked Anthony who had appeared
at her side.
‘As far as I’m aware, it’s in situ. It wasn’t touched by the
woman who found it. Matei, your builder, said that he hadn’t touched the legs
but unhelpfully, it’s covered in his vomit. I had a quick look at the arms that
were found downstream before I came here. From the looks of things, the
treasure hunters may have prodded around a bit.’
‘There’s always one.’
The wind dropped and the air softly crackled with the
electricity generated from the substation nearby.
‘We’re isolating the recovery of evidence to the direct path
from the alleyway to the torso,’ said Anthony. ‘I doubt very much that whoever
it was sat here and had a coffee afterwards.’
‘They may not have had a coffee, but if we go with
Ramouter’s theory and the body parts have been dumped then whoever it was
certainly knows the river,’ Henley replied. ‘We’ll let you get on. Ramouter and
I are going to take a walk.’
‘Where are we going?’ asked Ramouter.
‘To meet Eastwood.’
‘And you want to walk it?’
Henley did her best to push aside her frustration when
Ramouter pulled out his phone. ‘Google maps says that Greenwich pier is almost
a mile away,’ he said.
‘Your body-part dumper isn’t the only one who knows the
river,’ Anthony shouted out as Henley began to walk determinedly along the
riverbank.
The gold scepters on the twin domed roofs of the Old Royal
Naval College pierced the cloudless sky. The bare masts of the restored Cutty
Sark completed the historical panoramic view that Greenwich was known for.
It was a resplendent, whitewashed version of history that contrasted with the
sewage that washed ashore. Henley stopped walking when she realized that she
could no longer hear the sounds of Ramouter’s leather soles slipping on wet
pebbles.
‘Where are you from?’ Henley asked, waiting for Ramouter to
take off his jacket and loosen his tie. She moved closer towards the
moss-covered river wall as the tide began to encroach.
‘Born in West Bromwich. Moved to Bradford when I was
twelve.’ Ramouter tried to brush off the bits of mud that had stuck to his
trousers, but they only smeared more. ‘Lots of moors, no rivers. Surely it
would have been quicker in the car.’
‘This is quicker. Unless you fancy sitting in traffic for
the next half hour while they raise the Creek Road Bridge.’
‘You know this area well?’
Henley ignored the question. She didn’t see the point in
telling him that she could have walked this path with her eyes closed. That
this small part of South-East London was ingrained in her. ‘Whoever dumped the
torso would have taken this route. It doesn’t make any sense to come down here,
go back up to the street level and then drive up to Watergate Street. Out of
sight, below street level. Lighting would have been minimal.’
‘Body parts are heavy though,’ Ramouter tried to quicken his
step to catch up with Henley. ‘The human head weighs at least eight pounds.’
‘I know.’ Henley pulled out her mobile phone, which had
started to ring. She saw who it was and ignored the call.
‘Head, torso, arms, legs. That’s at least six individual
body parts.’
‘I know that also. So, tell me, what point are you making?’
Henley waited for Ramouter to reach her before maneuvering him towards the
river wall as though she was chaperoning a child.
‘I’m just saying that that’s a lot of dead weight to be
carrying around at three in morning.’ Ramouter paused and placed his hand
against the wall, trying to catch his breath.
Henley didn’t openly express her agreement. She fished out a
black hair band from her jacket pocket and pulled her thick black curls into a
ponytail. She had forgotten how much energy it took to walk across the gradient
slope of the riverbank. Worse, she felt mentally unprepared for the job ahead,
with a trainee struggling behind her who had no idea this was her first time as
senior investigator in almost a year.
‘It’s a bit grim, isn’t it?’ DC Roxanne Eastwood shouted out
as Henley finally reached the first crime scene. ‘Morning, Ramouter. Not a bad
gig for your first day.’
Henley had always thought that Eastwood actually looked and
carried herself like a detective. Now, Eastwood was poised on the riverbank,
the sleeves of her jacket rolled up with her notebook in her hand. She had come
prepared for the river and was wearing a pair of jeans and trainers that had
seen better days.
‘Morning, Eastie. How does it feel to be out of the office?’
Henley asked, her eyes drifting to a crime scene investigator who was putting
an arm into a black bag.
‘I should be asking you that,’ said Eastwood, with a look of
concern.
Henley silently appreciated the empathy and placed her hand
on Eastwood’s shoulder.
‘But since you asked, it’s bloody terrible. I think I’ve got
sunburn.’ Eastwood rubbed a hand over her reddening forehead. ‘Forensics are
going to be wrapping up in a bit. Not that there’s much for them to do. Bag it
and tag it.’
‘Where’s Mr Thomas?’
‘Ah, our illustrious treasure hunter. Last time I saw him he
was heading towards the shops. Said that he needed to get some water for his
dog.’ Eastwood shook her head, obviously not believing a word of it. ‘I’ve got
an officer keeping an eye on him. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d already
uploaded pictures of his find onto Instagram.’
‘I want him taken back to the station. Ramouter can take
another statement from him.’ Henley said it purposely so that Ramouter would
sense she was in control. ‘If he’s like most mudlarkers, he would have been out
here first thing this morning waiting for the tide to go out. Where exactly
were the arms found?’
‘Just over there.’ Eastwood pulled down her sunglasses and
pointed towards the foamed waves created by a passing river bus. The tide had
already come in where X had once marked the spot. A sense of urgency filled the
air as the river regained its territory.
‘Did he say anything else?’
‘Only that he found the second arm about three feet away
from the first.’
‘It’s a sick trail of breadcrumbs,’ said Henley.
‘You’re telling me and before you ask about CCTV, there’re
loads of cameras—’
‘But none aimed at this part of the river.’
‘Exactly.’
Henley’s mobile phone began to ring. She pulled it out and
answered. After a quick chat, she ended the call.
‘That was Dr Linh Choi. You wouldn’t have met her yet but
she’s our go-to forensic pathologist. She’s just arrived,’ Henley explained to
Ramouter. She wiped away the sweat from the back of her neck.
‘So, we’ve got two arms, both legs and a torso,’ said
Ramouter. ‘Where’s the head?’
Good question. Henley thought of the places between the two
locations. A primary school, two nurseries and an adventure playground among
the flats and houses. The last thing she needed was to find a head in the kids’
sandpit.
‘Can I have a quick look?’ Henley asked the assistant from
Anthony’s CSI team, who had just bagged up the arm and was scribbling in her
notebook.
‘Sure.’ The assistant unzipped the bag and pushed the
plastic apart.
‘Fuck,’ Henley said under her breath. Her heartbeat
quickened, her stomach flipped.
‘Oh,’ said Ramouter as he peered over Henley’s shoulder. One
arm was covered with gravel. Slivers of seaweed criss-crossed old scars. The
second arm. Slender wrist, the ring finger slightly longer than the index,
broken fingernails. Black skin. Henley could hear Pellacia’s words from earlier
ringing in her ears.
‘Too early to say if it belongs to the same victim or if
it’s more than just one.’
‘Call DSI Pellacia,’ Henley told Ramouter. ‘Tell him that
we’ve got two possible murder victims.’
Excerpted from The Jigsaw Man by Nadine Matheson, Copyright ©
2021 by Nadine Matheson
Published by Hanover Square Press
Social Links:
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Twitter: @NadineMatheson
Facebook: @NadineMathesonWriter
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