Woman in the Water. Katerina Diamond
inside, though. You had to stay strong, not just for yourself, but also for the people around you. One chink in the armour and all of your defences were compromised.
A nurse came in with a small basin and a cloth. She smiled uncomfortably at Adrian then gently wiped the woman’s face and hair, trying to soften the mud that had now dried on her skin and clumped together at her roots. They had already scraped under her fingernails and taken photographs of any abrasions or bruises. But legally they couldn’t take blood samples or test her DNA without consent and she would need to be awake for that. The nurse rinsed the cloth and dabbed at a cut across the woman’s eyebrow.
As he watched the nurse, Adrian remembered his mother, a fragment of time that they shared together. In a conscious effort to block out his father, Adrian’s mother had also disappeared into the back regions of Adrian’s memory, but it hadn’t worked and his father now became more prominent than ever.
The moment he thought of now was of his mother sitting with him at the kitchen table, remnants of a shattered plate on the floor as they played Connect 4. Adrian’s father had thrown the plate across the room and it had glanced off his mother’s temple before smashing against the terracotta floor tiles. She steadied herself against the counter and, in order to distract Adrian from the argument, she smoothed her skirt and suggested he run upstairs and get a game for them to play.
When he returned, she had a plaster over her eyebrow and it was as if nothing had happened. They played the game over and over until bedtime, presumably just to avoid any kind of conversation or acknowledgment of what had transpired. Until weeks later, that is, when there was a fragment of blue-and-white willow china lodged under the corner of the washing machine that his mother had missed. The rest of the memories of his mother then faded and reappeared with little clarity; she was an extra in his childhood with barely a speaking role.
Outside, the light faded as the machines bleeped and blinked at regular intervals. Who was this woman? Why had no one reported her missing? Was no one missing a daughter? A sister? Wife? No one even remotely matching her description was in the recent additions to the missing persons database. This was highly unusual and Adrian considered all the questions he didn’t even know to ask yet. Already unnerved, Adrian folded his arms and settled in for the night.
Troubling dreams woke him – bruised faces of women he had questioned over his years in the police. Whether it was a husband, a father or a stranger, the assailants were almost always men and more often than not they were known to the victim. He knew that domestic violence wasn’t purely men against women, but in his experience that was much more common, or at least women coming forward and reporting it was. People warn you about strangers, but no one warns you about the people you love, the people who say they love you.
He looked over at the woman and saw something different about the way she was breathing. It was shorter, shallower – more controlled than before. His eyes adjusted to the dim lighting and he stood slowly so as not to startle the woman who was almost certainly now awake. Her one good eye opened and she looked across to him; the swelling in the other had reduced significantly since he had found her. She started to breathe faster.
‘Hey, I’m a police officer. My name is DS Adrian Miles. I found you by the river. Do you remember?’
She blinked away a tear and he felt her fingers brush against his hand.
‘Water,’ she mouthed.
He couldn’t hear her, but he could see the formation of the word on her lips.
‘I’ll get a nurse.’
‘Wait,’ she whispered again, the faint noise coming from her. Then she wrapped her fingers around his. ‘Thank you.’
Out of nowhere, Adrian felt a weight in his throat. What if he hadn’t found her when he did? Adrian leaned in and spoke softly to her.
‘Can you tell me your name?’
She closed her eye again, although this time it stayed closed tight as a tear rolled down her face.
‘I don’t remember,’ she said weakly.
The police officer is sitting by my bed. I have the smallest memory of him pulling me out of the water. I open my eyes and he rushes over. He asks my name again but I tell him I don’t remember.
Maybe I could get away this time. Couldn’t I? He has that look in his eyes; I have seen it a million times before. He tells me I am safe now. He thinks he saved me. I can’t be saved.
Imogen stood by the wall and looked over the crime scene. She hadn’t been able to relax, so she took Adrian to the hospital last night and got down to Glasshouse Lane as soon as the sun came up the next morning. They needed to figure out what had happened to their Jane Doe. Best-case scenario, they would find some kind of identification that the woman dropped. Imogen knew the scene hadn’t been fully processed yet and so there would be people there.
It was a huge area to cover. The woman could have got to the river from several access points and they would need to check all of those as well as the routes from the access points to where she was now. Not to mention the fact that the river itself posed a massive problem in terms of processing evidence. Even just getting hold of the correct equipment took time, as it had to be shared with the whole constabulary. Water and forensics didn’t mix.
Imogen climbed the makeshift step that put her on the other side of the wall. She saw the techs working meticulously beside the riverbank, pulling snagged hair and fabric from the branches that overhung the water. The inhabitants of the houses surrounding the area gathered back by the road to try to catch a glimpse of the crime scene technicians at work. DI Matt Walsh was already there when she arrived and he surveyed the river, trying to work out where the woman could have come from.
The forensics team were spaced out along the riverbank looking for any evidence that pertained to the woman Adrian found. Imogen looked on at the chaotic hedgerows that enclosed the water and was glad at least that this part wasn’t her job. She didn’t have the patience for something as meticulous as forensics.
‘They’ve got another one!’ someone called.
It took a few moments to realise what that meant. No one moved and then suddenly everyone sprang into action. There was someone else in the water.
Imogen walked as quickly as she could to the technician who had called out, careful not to step on anything that could later be determined as evidence.
‘Got another what? A person?’ Imogen asked.
‘Yep, about a mile upriver.’
‘Alive?’ Imogen said.
The technician shook his head as Matt Walsh got to him.
‘What’s going on?’ Walsh asked.
‘There’s another body, but according to the technician at the scene it’s difficult to discern anything. Male this time. He’s in a pretty bad way, apparently. He’s been beaten, by the sounds of it. They are just securing it now. There’s no real riverbank up that end and so they will transport it straight to the morgue.’
‘They can’t tell anything else?’ DI Walsh asked the tech.
‘Late twenties at a guess, but we will know more when we get him back to the pathologist.’
‘We’ll need to set up a tent before the news cameras get wind of this. Dead body adds to the news appeal of this case and we need to find out who it is, first. Did you speak to DS Miles? Is the woman awake yet?’
‘Yes, DS Miles called to say she’s awake but she hasn’t said