Free River of Souls by Kate Rhodes

husband thinks Jude can’t handle the stress.’
    ‘But you don’t agree?’
    ‘To survive this long, Jude’s tough enough to deal with a few intrusive questions. She’s cagey at the moment, it’ll take time to win her trust. I think you should run a background check on the man she saw before Jamal Khan; his name’s Paul Ramirez. I’ve arranged to visit him. He’s a law lecturer at King’s College.’
    Burns scribbled the name down, then met my gaze again. ‘All we’ve got so far is that Father Owen visited Jude regularly and he was killed by the same method; Lindstrop confirmed that today. He was alive when he went into the river, just like Jude. I’m not convinced the link to the family’s as direct as you say. It could be any freak who’s got it in for the cabinet minister, targeting his daughter, then his priest. The date of the second attack could be a coincidence. Security’s been stepped up round Shelley and his wife and son, in case they’re next on his list.’ He rubbed his hand across his jaw. ‘You realise we’ll face a lot of intervention, don’t you? Whitehall don’t want the press knowing the two investigations are linked. They’re paranoid about a media storm.’
    ‘That could slow things down.’
    Burns checked the clock on the wall. ‘Do you want to get something to eat and go through the details?’
    I took a moment to gather myself. ‘Maybe I should explain how I intend to work on the case. I’ll attend meetings, answer emails and phone calls, and perform my professional role to the best of my ability. Anything else is off limits.’
    For once Burns’s cockiness had disappeared. He opened his mouth to speak but swiftly closed it again. His skin was paler than it had been during the autopsy, and his silence continued when I said goodbye.
     

11
     
    The man drives back through the darkness to the woman’s house. He pulls on sterile gloves then unlocks the door with keys stolen from her bag. She’s conscious now, lying exactly where he left her, gagged and bound on the living-room floor, terror visible in her eyes. He loosens her gag to let her breathe more easily.
    ‘Why are you doing this?’ she splutters. ‘Is it money? Take my bank card. I’ll tell you the code.’
    ‘That’s not the reason. You know too much, Amala.’
    ‘What do you mean?’ She tries to scream, but he wads her mouth more thickly this time, so no words can escape.
    ‘You should have kept yourself clean.’
    He takes off his coat, then pulls the knife from his briefcase. For a second the room spins. This is the part he hates most, but the river’s voice can’t be ignored. He gazes around the room to steady himself. There’s a wooden dining table, clothes drying on the radiator, a brass crucifix on the wall. The room smells of washing powder and furniture polish. He raises the knife and steels himself for the first incision. The woman stares back, refusing to pardon him. He’s praying it will get easier after he makes the first cut, but his body refuses to comply. Her face is too perfect to destroy. He drops the knife, then staggers to the kitchen and vomits into the sink, tears spilling from his eyes. He shivers as he swabs away the mess with bleach. It shakes him to the core that he can’t bring himself to follow the river’s instructions.
    The man runs upstairs and rummages through the cupboards. When he returns to the living room he forces himself to kick the girl’s skull hard, rendering her unconscious again. He lays a suitcase on the floor and lifts her inert body inside. It sheathes her form like a chrysalis, her knees tight against her chest. He waits until the street is silent, lights out in every house, before heaving the case into his arms and carrying it to the boot of his car.
    His sense of failure haunts him as he drives south. The river whispers a string of complaints, but he feels stronger by the time he reaches Wapping. He parks his car on the wharf, the suitcase twitching as