Miller nodded, unable to speak. That strange aching dryness clutched at his throat again and he turned away quickly. As he reached the door, Murray called softly, ‘Nick!’ Miller turned. ‘Keep me posted.’

‘I’ll do that,’ Miller said and the rubber doors swung together behind him.

As he went out into the pale morning sunshine, Jack Brady crossed the car park to meet him.

‘Grant thought you might need some help on this one. Have they finished the autopsy?’

Miller nodded. ‘Murray says she went into the river somewhere around one a.m. She was pregnant, by the way.’

Brady nodded calmly. ‘Anything else?’

‘She was a junkie. Heroin and cocaine.’

‘That should give us a lead.’ Brady took a buff envelope from his overcoat pocket. ‘I’ve checked with Forensic. They’ll have a report ready by noon. These are from Photography.’

Miller opened the envelope and examined the prints it contained. Those photography boys certainly knew their job. She might almost have been alive, an illusion helped by the fact that the photos had been taken before Murray had closed her eyes.

Brady took one and frowned. ‘A damned shame. She looks like a nice kid.’

‘Don’t they always?’ Miller slipped the other prints into his pocket. ‘I think I’ll go and see Dr Das. He knows just about every junkie in town.’

‘What about me?’

Miller took the gold St Christopher from his breast pocket and handed it over. ‘You’re a good Catholic, aren’t you, Jack?’

‘I go to Mass now and then.’

‘Maybe the girl did. There’s an inscription on the other side. Work your way round the parish priests. Someone may recognize her photo or even the medal.’

‘More shoe leather,’ Brady groaned.

‘Good for your soul this one. I’ll drop you off at the Cathedral if you like.’

They got into the car and Brady glanced at his copy of the girl’s photograph again before putting it away in his wallet. He shook his head. ‘It doesn’t make sense, does it? Have you any idea what it’s like down there on the docks at that time in the morning?’

‘Just about the darkest and loneliest place in the world,’ Miller said.

Brady nodded. ‘One thing’s certain. She must have been pretty desperate. I’d like to know what got her into that state.’

‘So would I, Jack,’ Miller said. ‘So would I,’ and he released the handbrake and drove rapidly away.

Drug addicts are possibly the most difficult of all patients to handle and yet Dr Lal Das specialized in them. He was a tall cadaverous Indian, with an international reputation in the field, who persisted in running a general practice in one of the less salubrious parts of the city, a twilight area of tall, decaying Victorian houses.