Jess
I was fuming. The note of disbelief in the policeman’s voice was unmistakable.
‘Miss Bridges, if you would explain what happened one more time?’
The officer was a bear of a man with a face only a mother would love – a Tyson Fury gone to seed – and I was standing before him, clutching to my chest and nether parts double spreads from the Oxford Mail that I’d fished out of a bin. He’d been summoned by a passing jogger who had seen me on the other side of the river and given me the fright of my life when he pushed through the bushes to offer help. Together we’d brought the boat over to the bank of the river inside the park, as that was nearest the road. I think I had some muddled thought that paramedics might be able to do something, even though the man in the punt was clearly dead. You’ll have to forgive me for that impulse; I was in shock, I think. The runner, a man in his late thirties, somehow familiar but don’t ask me where from, was now sitting on a bench a few feet away, dripping wet but not seemingly bothered by his state. He also was looking at me incredulously. Or was it … lasciviously?
‘As I told you, Officer … er …?’
‘Sergeant Boston.’ The policeman was not even bothering to keep his eyes on my face.
‘I’d been in the river. Swimming. For fun. A Retriever stole my clothes, my friend went after it but didn’t come back, so I decided to swim over to the punt to see if I could find an alternative – cushions or something.’
He looked down at the newspaper. Unfortunately, my boobs were currently wrapped in a headline that claimed: ‘Oxford named “wokest” place in the country’. I think a few of its citizens might’ve missed the trend.
‘This is my alternative. The local rag. You couldn’t possibly call for something for me to wear, could you?’
‘The ambulance will be here momentarily.’ Did he get off on being pompous? I thought probably ‘yes’. ‘They’ll give you a blanket. You admit to swimming naked?’
He seemed to be missing the point. ‘You do realise there’s a dead body in that boat?’
‘Yes, I do. But swimming naked is a public order offence.’
‘So, under public order law, it’s OK to murder someone and dump their body but not to skinny dip? There seems to be something a little wrong with that line up of priorities.’ Shut up, Jess!
He lifted a brow. ‘Did you murder someone, Miss Bridges?’
‘No!’
‘So how do you know he was murdered?’ We both knew how I was aware it was a he. The victim was lying on his back. I could report that death was not kind to genitalia.
‘The head wound was a bit of a giveaway, don’t you think?’ Half of the man’s head had been knocked in by what on TV cop shows they call blunt force trauma.
‘Did you touch the body?’
I nodded. Stupidly, in my first shock, I’d felt for a pulse. ‘Just the wrist and neck. To see if I should try CPR.’
He rolled his eyes. ‘Did you move him at all?’
‘No, only the boat.’ We’d swum over, tied it up to a tree and then the jogger had called the police on the phone he’d thankfully remembered to leave with his shoes on the bank. What he had made of a naked woman gibbering about a dead man, I had no idea. His eyes had barely left me since.
The flashing lights heralded the arrival of the promised ambulance. Dusk had fallen. The few stars that you could see with the full moon were beginning to spray the sky like a body glitter. Had Cory given up on me? Or would she see the lights and make her way over to this side of the park if she was allowed in? I’d call her on a borrowed phone but realised I’d no idea of her number. The incompetence of the digital age.
The policeman closed his notebook. ‘Stay here, Miss Bridges. I’ll just show the ambulance where to go.’
Sergeant Boston strode off to welcome the cavalry. But would someone please get me some sodding clothes? I resolved I was not going to talk to anyone until they provided me with something better than newsprint.
I looked over at the jogger. He smiled and adjusted his shorts.
Oh great. Lascivious, it was.
I turned my eyes pointedly away.