She walks along the road, between the baggy blue plastic suits of the crime scene technicians and the pools of blood and piles of other things, until she reaches the spot. Then she kneels down in the scum of the road, and reaches though a grating with her gloved left hand. Almost, she recoils as she imagines that hand dangling in black water like a lure. Then her fingers touch a thin length of metal chain. She tugs, gently, with her fingers, and feels it come away. She draws it up.