Strange Tide by Christopher Fowler Read Free Book Online Page A

make a cast from.’ The sand had dried a little while the tide was out, but the high water table and the deep green shadows would ensure that it remained permanently damp, even in the height of summer. The same ancient mix of sand and clay had preserved the most unlikely items all along this part of the Thames, from the phallic silver brothel-brooches of Southwark’s whores to a single banana found in 1999, which had been discovered lying whole under the waterlogged beach and dated back to 1560, a full century before the fruit was ever known to be exported to Britain.
    Banbury heard nothing more and looked up. ‘Sorry, John, not with you.’
    May pointed down at a faint wavering line of crescent indentations in the sand, leading from the embankment wall to the concrete stanchion. ‘You don’t think they could still be the remains of footprints?’ He tried to see where they ended.
    â€˜Why would there be any prints at all?’ asked Banbury, checking his watch. ‘It’s past noon. The tide’s been in and gone out again.’
    May headed to the edge and bent down, placing his fingers in the water to feel its pressure against them. ‘Maybe there weren’t many waves last night. There’s no river traffic passing near here. The Tower’s restricted and boats can’t get in close because the pier’s in the way.’
    â€˜But there’s still the current, John. I would have thought it would wash out most of the markings.’
    â€˜The tidal flow must be less pronounced in this stretch. Look at the rise in the shoreline. There’s a hump left by the residue of the old Tower Beach.’ A row of seagulls regarded May insolently. One of them was pulling at something best left unexamined. ‘They didn’t take the sand away when they closed it, they just left it where it was, so the water washes around it. Those marks – OK, there are no details left but they’re definitely prints from a small shoe size.’
    â€˜If they’re the remains of hers, where are his?’ asked Banbury. ‘How did he get her down here? I mean, seriously? It would be impossible. If she was already dead he would have had to drag her right across the forecourt to the offices, get her through the building and out of the back. Either that or over that gate beside the stone house. Come to think of it, if she was alive he’d have had the same problem.’ He stood and stretched his back. The cold river air was getting to him as well.
    May felt a chill. ‘The water at the front, the wall at the back, one set of prints, it doesn’t make sense.’
    â€˜There’s something else about these prints,’ said Banbury. ‘The heavy indentation is the heel. They’re facing towards the waterline, as if she went down there alone.’
    May traced the route with his raised hand. ‘If she was alive he could have rendered her unconscious on the staircase and carried her out on to the strand.’
    â€˜What, you think they had a fight on the embankment and he knocked her out by reaching around to the back of her head with something long and heavy? Without anyone seeing or hearing a thing? Even though it’s empty, this section of the river walk is still pretty exposed. There’s usually a bit of foot traffic nearby.’ Banbury turned and stared back at the green staves supporting the embankment like animal ribs. ‘You might be able to see it from the next reach.’
    â€˜But not at night.’
    â€˜Even so, you’d think
someone
would have noticed them.’ He took out a fresh packet of gloves and tore it open. ‘The last time I walked down this new stretch was after a mate’s birthday. I thought I’d take a look at the commemorative poppies in the Tower of London moat. It must have been around midnight. I don’t really remember, I wasn’t exactly sober.’
    â€˜Why would you have come down this