‘Sorry, ma’am, I just wanted to—’

Archer changes the subject. ‘Is there anything more to tell me about these complaints?’

‘Nothing more than what I told you already. Derek Manly is the festival director. He’s there now.’

*

A swell of people has gathered outside St Martin’s Place and The Connection with hands raised above their heads recording and snapping pictures with their devices. Standing on her toes Archer can see the top of three glass cabinets, but the crowd is dense and the view obscured.

‘What does he look like?’ asks Archer.

‘No idea. He shouts a lot down the phone, though. Look out for a shouty type.’

They begin to push their way through the throng, but the crowd closes in on them. Archer feels her head swim and begins to breathe rapidly. She wants to push her way back out, but holds her nerve.

‘Police!’ she calls. ‘Move out of the way, please.’

‘Oi, watch it!’ someone calls, as she forces her way through.

‘I think I hear him,’ says Quinn, pointing. ‘There, with the clipboard.’

She sees a slender man wearing heavy black-framed glasses and a bright white puffer coat that drops all the way down to his ankles. He is speaking angrily to someone on his phone.

‘Yes, this is Derek Manly. I have already told that to the person who transferred me! Yes, I understand that . . . But I have been waiting here in the freezing cold for almost twenty minutes and there is no sign of a police officer. It’s just not good enough. I want to speak to whoever is in charge.’

Archer focuses and surges forward. ‘Mr Manly . . .’

Manly glares at her. ‘I’m on the phone, if you don’t mind!’ he snaps.

‘Mr Manly. I’m Detective Inspector Archer and this is Detective Sergeant Quinn.’

Manly frowns, his head sinks into his neck as he looks them up and down. ‘You took your time.’

Quinn speaks. ‘Mr Manly, could you please be a little more specific about your complaint?’

The crowd behind Manly begins to thin and Archer catches a fleeting glance of three glass cabinets almost six feet tall. Each is filled with liquid and seems to contain a life-like effigy of a naked man wearing a long scruffy coat, calmly floating in the water. The hands of the men are extended and cupped as if they are begging.

‘Look at them! I can’t have them here. They’re obscene!’ cries Manly.

Archer inches forward as the crowd parts, and narrows her gaze at the tattooed torso of the figure in the middle cabinet. Faded blue skulls are inked onto the chest.

They look familiar.

Her eyes rise to the neck, which is ringed with thick purple bruises. The face is long with a high forehead and a wispy beard. Lifeless grey eyes stare over the heads of the crowd. Archer takes a sharp breath.

She knows him.