Henley and Ramouter had been in the SCU for less than an hour on Thursday morning when Joanna received a call from an officer at Deptford police station. A body had been found, in pieces, in the churchyard of St Nicholas church. The actual church was partially obscured by a wall that separated it from the surrounding council estate and a gated private development.
‘Not very welcoming, is it? For a church, it’s kind of grim,’ said Ramouter as he stopped at the open gates. On either side of the gates, a skull and crossbones sat on top of the posts. The empty black eye bored into them as if daring them to enter. In Henley’s mind’s eye, the skulls were replaced with Zoe’s head. She shuddered.
‘When we were younger, they used to say that this was a pirate’s church.’ Henley almost smiled at the memory. ‘They told us that the skull and crossbones on the gates were the inspiration for the Jolly Roger.’
‘Seriously?’ Ramouter looked up before following Henley along the concrete path that headed towards the church building.
‘Yep, but really it was meant to remind parishioners of their own mortality and the fact that there’s an afterlife.’
‘You grew up around here? I remember that senior CSI guy, Anthony, said that you knew the river well.’
‘I did,’ said Henley. ‘On the other side of the park.’
‘Local girl made good.’
‘Depends on who you’re talking to. Right, let’s get—’
The sound of Ramouter’s mobile phone cut Henley off. She held her tongue as Ramouter looked at her apologetically before turning his back to answer the phone, then walked away. A few minutes later, Ramouter walked sheepishly around a white transit van and a police officer rolling out the blue-and-white police tape.
‘Finished, have you?’ Henley asked sarcastically when Ramouter came back.
‘Sorry about that. It was… Never mind. Sorry.’
Henley thought about asking him more about the phone call but changed her mind. The last thing she needed was to start getting close to him.
‘Come on,’ said Henley, checking her pockets for gloves. She stepped off the path and walked through the overgrown grass, gravestones and tombs where the names of the dead had long been eroded. All of the activity was at the back of the church where the medieval tower stood. Anthony and his team of forensic investigators were already at work, while a young man, with the familiar black-and-white dog collar, his shirt sleeves rolled up, stood talking to a couple of uniformed officers.
‘There are three entrances to the churchyard.’ Henley waved over a policewoman who was standing next to a petite white woman holding tightly to a dog lead. The Staffordshire Bull Terrier lay quietly on the ground. ‘We’ll have to speak to the reverend. The woman who was standing with you. I take it that’s the witness, Janine Mullins?’ Henley asked the policewoman who looked down at Henley’s warrant card.
‘Yes, ma’am. I’ve got her statement here.’ The officer reached into her back pocket and took out her notebook and handed it to Henley. ‘You will have to excuse my handwriting.’
‘That’s OK.’ Henley flicked through the pages before handing the blue book over to Ramouter.
Ramouter handed the book back with a grimace. ‘She saw the foxes eating an arm.’
The foxes had discarded the arm a few feet away from the memorial plaque for Christopher Marlowe. The rest of the body was a jumbled mess at the bottom of the stairs that led down to the door of the tower.
‘Jesus Christ,’ said Henley, making her descent. She stopped three steps from the bottom and gagged. Among the broken beer bottles, weathered crisp packets and greasy chicken boxes lay a man, broken, cut in pieces, and decomposing.
‘How long do you reckon he’s been down there?’ Ramouter peered into what looked like a shadowy exposed grave.
The flesh on the back of the man’s neck, where the head had been detached, was crawling with bloated white maggots. The limbs were wrapped in a clear plastic sheet that was shredded in the parts where the foxes had been clawing at it. The once white skin on the torso had taken on a mottled green tone and was taut like an overcooked sausage. Henley backed up the stairs.
‘If the foxes have only just found him then someone must have put him here in the early hours of this morning, but how long he’s been dead for?’ Henley said. ‘No idea. Where’s the reverend?’
‘He went back into the church,’ said Ramouter. ‘What I don’t understand is why here?’
‘I don’t know,’ Henley admitted. ‘But it’s someone who knows the area. It’s no coincidence that Kennedy and Zoe were found just up the road and—’
‘Do you think that it’s another one of his?’ Ramouter asked.
Henley nodded. She didn’t need to see the symbols cut into this man’s skin to know that this was the copycat’s third victim and that they were now looking for a serial killer.
‘This isn’t normal, is it? Three bodies in four days.’
‘No, it’s not.’ The shrill ringtone from Henley’s phone interrupted them. NO CALLER ID flashed across the screen.
‘Hello. Yes. This is DI Henley… Right. Where did you pick it up?… How long ago? Was it found in the water or on the riverbank? OK… Let me know as soon as it does. Thanks.’
‘Who was that?’ asked Ramouter.
‘Sergeant Caballero from the River Police. They found an arm in the water near the Woolwich Ferry.’
‘It could belong to Kennedy.’
‘Maybe, but this river has a habit of spewing up all sorts. Could belong to anyone. They’re waiting for CSI and then they’ll send it on to Greenwich mortuary. Come on, let’s go talk to Janine Mullins.’