The Rise

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Gish arrived at The Rise on her mountain bike, so had no trouble parking. The drop-off area in front of the building was filled with marked and unmarked police cars plus two vans, one grey and one black — the first belonged to the mortuary, the second to the Scene of Crime team. Gish’s first view of The Rise had been as she turned off Park Lane. Twelve storeys high and facing Hyde Park.

London at 2 a.m. was as quiet as it ever got but there was still traffic. No media as yet but they would come. She noted that few of the darkened windows felt the need for blinds or curtains, reckoned those who could afford to live in the building would want the rest of the world to know what they were missing. Gish locked her bike and stripped off her waterproofs, stuffing them into her saddlebag as she approached the Scene of Crime van, whose rear doors stood wide open, the interior illuminated.

‘Hello, George,’ she said to the man who emerged from within. ‘Look after my stuff?’

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