Parker got his hand up. 'What is it? What's your problem?' 'I need the police!'

'You've found them. What's the problem?'

'My name's Richardson. I'm a night watchman at the old Darmer warehouse there. I was coming off shift and I went to the edge of the pier to toss my butt in the water, and… and there's a woman in the water!'

'Okay, show me,' said Parker and pushed him forward. Katherine Johnson was a couple of feet under dark green ter. Her arms floated to each side, her legs were open, eyes stared into eternity. There was a look of surprise on her face and she was achingly beautiful in death.

Harry Parker took out his mobile and called the precinct. 'This is Captain Parker. I've got a Jane Doe in the water only three hundred yards from you. Let's get an ambulance and back-up out here.' He stood there, holding his mobile phone, then handed it to Richardson and took off his raincoat. 'Hang on to those.'

He went down a flight of stone steps, waist deep in water, and reached for her. It was stupid, because that was the recovery team's job, but he couldn't leave her there. In a strange way, it was personal.

She was covered for a moment by flotsam, and he went chest deep and pulled her in and above his head. Above him, he heard the sound of vehicles grinding to a halt as the recovery team arrived.

Parker went home, changed, had breakfast at his corner coffee shop — eggs, bacon, English breakfast tea — and returned to his office. But the dead woman's face, the open eyes, wouldn't go away as he phoned Abruzzi.

'What's happening with the Jane Doe I found?'

'She's at the morgue. They've brought in the chief medical examiner. I believe he's doing the post-mortem himself later this morning.'