‘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 anything meaningful yet. She claims she doesn’t remember anything. Including her name.’

‘Get over there and see if you can find out anything about this man. The DCI is going to want a briefing ASAP with both you and Adrian. See if you can drag him away from the hospital. He seems to be taking this case rather personally.’

‘He did pull her out of the river. He feels responsible for her. That’s all. I’ll do my best to get her to talk.’

‘They must be connected and so she must know something. Tread lightly, but see if you can push for information on who did this to them and who the other victim is.’

Imogen trudged back to the car. As awful as it was, a body would at least tell them something – it was a break in the case. But then, what could the motive be? Revenge? Hatred? Punishment? A message? Over her time in the police, Imogen had realised that when it came to murder, there weren’t that many possible motives; figuring out who these people were was key to finding out why this had happened to them.

Chapter Eight

Imogen handed Adrian a coffee she had picked up on the way over. He hadn’t left the hospital all night; he had barely slept since she had been discovered yesterday. He was a mess.

She looked at the woman. She could see instantly why Adrian was so affected by this case. Who wouldn’t be? The cuts and bruises across the woman’s face looked angry against her pale, shiny porcelain skin. Imogen could see the weave line of the woman’s hair extensions – not cheap ones, either. The nails she had left were acrylics, a French manicure. Her clothes were folded on the chair by the bed – Stella McCartney jeans that run at three hundred quid a go. Imogen wondered how much they would be worth now they had been cut into several pieces. There was also a gold ring, a wedding band, sitting on the bedside table. Presumably, it was hers. Whoever this lady was, she wasn’t destitute and yet still no one had reported her missing.

‘Hey,’ Adrian said, standing and stretching out of his hunched seated slumber.

Imogen waved Adrian over to the corner of the room, as far away from the woman as they could get without actually leaving the room.