The Girl In The Ice (Detective Erika Foster, #1)(61)

‘That’s the difference between life and death,’ said Mike, tapping a biro against the screen. ‘The sewers below combine storm water and waste water. A sudden downpour of rain can flood the sewers, and very quickly you have a tidal wave of water making its way towards the Thames.’

‘What did you do before all this technology?’ asked Peterson, pointing at the television screens and satellite weather maps.

‘Good old fashioned noise,’ said Mike. ‘If a storm came, we’d lift one of the nearest man hole covers six inches and let it crash back down. The clanking sound would echo down the tunnels and hopefully give the blokes down there enough of a warning to get the fuck out.’

‘Is it just blokes who work down there?’ asked Moss.

‘Why? You want to apply for a job?’ quipped Mike.

‘Very funny,’ said Moss.

They came back out of the van and looked at the sky. The cloud above seemed to be clearing, but was growing darker on the horizon.

‘We’d best get on with it,’ said Mike, moving over to where the four men had set up a winch above the manhole, and were attaching themselves to safety harnesses. Erika went and peered down the shaft where iron rungs stretched away into blackness.

‘So what are we looking for, a phone?’ asked Mike.

‘It’s an iPhone 5S, we believe it’s white, but it could be black,’ said Moss. She handed them each a laminated photo.

‘We realise it’s been down there for almost two weeks, but if you find it, please can you avoid touching. We need to preserve any remaining forensic evidence. I’ll give you these evidence bags, which it will have to be placed into immediately,’ said Erika.

They each took a clear evidence bag. They looked skeptical.

‘So, what? We’re meant to levitate this phone out of the shit?’ said one of the lads.

‘We really appreciate your helping out here, lads,’ said Peterson. ‘You’ve joined us at a crucial stage in a very harrowing case involving young girls who have been murdered. Finding this phone is a large piece of our puzzle. Just try not to touch it with bare hands.’

The men’s attitude changed completely. They rapidly put on their helmets, and started checking their lights and radios. When they were ready, they all stood around the manhole as Mike lowered in a probe.

‘We’re checking for poisonous gases,’ he said. ‘It’s not just shit and piss we have to worry about down there. There’s carbonic acid, which miners used to call chokedamp; carburetted hydrogen, which explodes; and sulphurated hydrogen, the product of putrid decomposition . . . You’ve all got your chemical detectors in your suits, lads?’

They all nodded.

‘Jeez, wouldn’t you all rather work in a supermarket?’ asked Moss.

‘This pays much better,’ said the youngest of the lads as he went first and was slowly winched down into the manhole.

They watched as the remaining men were lowered down into the darkness, their lights illuminating the brown grimy interior of the storm drain. Erika looked across at Moss and Peterson as they leaned over. They exchanged tense glances.

‘Like looking for a needle in a haystack,’ said Peterson. Slowly, the torchlight below began to fade and they were left in silence. Mike went into the van to watch their progress.

An hour later there was nothing to report, and they were stamping their feet in the cold. Then a call came through on the police radio. There was an incident at a supermarket in Sydenham. A man had pulled a gun, and shots had been fired.

‘We’re on call today,’ said Moss, looking up at Peterson. ‘We’d better scoot. Marsh said this wasn’t high priority.’

‘You guys go; I can stay here and wait,’ said Erika. Moss and Peterson hurried off and she was left alone, realising again that she had no badge, no authority. She was just a woman hanging around an open sewer. She stepped into the van and asked Mike how they were getting on.

‘Nothing. We’re almost at the point where I don’t want them to go any further. The network branches off in several directions towards central London.’

‘Okay, where does it all end up?’ asked Erika.

‘Sewage treatments plants around London.’

‘So . . .’

‘So the chances of a tiny little phone showing up are slim,’ he said. ‘It’s not like a dog who’s swallowed a diamond ring and you . . .’

‘Yes, I get the message,’ said Erika. She came back out of the van, perched on a tree stump and smoked a cigarette. The church loomed above her in the cold, and a train clattered past in the distance. The men emerged an hour and a half later, caked in mud, exhausted and soaked in sweat. They shook their heads.

‘As I thought, it could be anywhere right now. Out to sea even. The storm drains have been opened twice since the 12th of January, and so much would have flowed through, nothing would stay down there under that amount of water pressure,’ said Mike.

‘Thank you,’ said Erika. ‘We tried.’

‘No. They tried,’ said Mike, pointing at the men. ‘I said to your boss, it was bloody hopeless, a wild goose chase.’

Erika wondered if that was the reason why Marsh had arranged it. As she walked home in the rain, she remained convinced that Andrea’s phone had to be found. She thought of the letter she’d received and the things left in her bed.