The frogmen surfaced and moved to the bank. The stink they drew out of the waters wafted across to Minogue. Kilmartin and Malone stood next to the anchor of the railings where the nylon rope was tied. Malone signalled to the lock-keeper who pushed at the boom. Water began to spout, then to gush through the gap. The body stirred and drifted against the wood. Over the cascading water Minogue heard a low moan from the bystanders. It stopped abruptly when someone shouted. The shout had come from one of the frogmen. He donned his mask, chewed onto the mouthpiece and slid into the water with the pink safety rope trailing behind. The hair seemed to be sinking. Minogue stepped over to Kilmartin and looked at the rope tied to the body. It had grown slack.

“Bollicks,” said Malone. “Have we lost her?”

Kilmartin laid a hand on Malone’s arm and snorted.

Clearer as it ascended, the three policemen saw the blonde head appear, then the dark clothing Minogue took to be a blouse. A hand. A Guard hurriedly blessed himself. Malone began pulling on the rope. A blood vessel stood out on his neck. Then he relaxed.

“Close it up again!” Kilmartin called out. “She’s free.”

TWO

Dillon was sitting in the passenger seat of the van taping labels onto videocassettes. Minogue’s back ached now. He looked back at the white boiler suits by the water’s edge, the torch-beams wavering in the weeds.

“Anything yet?” Dillon asked.

“No, Paddy. We’ve sent the prints off.”

“Looks to me that she wasn’t long in it.”

“Do you think.”

“A few hours.”

“Is the side of her face clear on the tape you took?”

Dillon nodded.

“Hell of a belt and that’s no lie, Matt. She bruised. Died in the water too, I’ll bet you.”