Simon Beckett - The Restless Dead

‘What makes you think this is Villiers rather than Emma Derby?’ I asked. I doubted the yachtsmen who’d seen the drifting body would have been able to tell its gender.

‘Because she went missing seven months ago,’ Lundy said. ‘Can’t see her body just turning up after all this time.’

He was right. Although a body would initially sink once any air trapped in its lungs had escaped, it would float back to the surface if the build-up of gases from decomposition made it buoyant again. When that happened it could drift for weeks, depending on the temperature and conditions. But seven months was too long, especially in the relatively shallow waters of an estuary. The combination of tides, marine scavengers and hungry seabirds would have taken its toll long before then.

Even so, there was still something about this I wasn’t getting. I ran through what Lundy had said, trying to put it together. ‘So Leo Villiers didn’t go missing until six months after Emma Derby disappeared?’

‘Around that, although we’re not sure exactly when. There’s a two-week gap between the last time anyone had any contact with him and when he was reported missing, but we’re fairly sure that—’

The DI broke off as a whistle came from the direction of the quayside. One of the marine unit had emerged from behind the oyster sheds. He held up a thumb before turning and heading back.

Lundy shook the last few drops of tea from his cup. ‘Hope you’re ready to get your feet wet, Dr Hunter,’ he said, screwing it back on to the thermos. ‘Looks like the helicopter’s found something.’

Salt spray stung my face as the RHIB heeled over to one side. I wiped it from my eyes, gripping the edge of my seat as we skimmed over the water. The estuary wasn’t particularly rough but we were heading against the tide and wind. The boat juddered as its bow smacked into successive waves, each one sending a curtain of cold spume into the open cockpit.

It was fully light now, although the sun was no more than a diffuse glow in the overcast sky. The smell of plastic from the boat’s hull mixed with diesel fumes and salt-soaked rope. The marine unit sergeant stood at the controls, riding the waves easily as he gripped the small wheel. I sat behind him with Lundy and three other life-jacketed officers from the marine unit. The boat was cramped. The six of us shared it with a stretcher and two piles of aluminium stepping plates, set either side of the boat so as not to unbalance it.

I was jerked in my seat as the boat hit a wave head on. Lundy gave me a smile, his glasses flecked with water. ‘You all right, there?’ he shouted above the noise of the wind and engine. ‘Shouldn’t be much longer!’

I nodded. I’d sailed when I was younger, and normally the choppy ride wouldn’t have bothered me. It wasn’t helping the vaguely washed-out feeling I’d woken with, but I tried to put it from my mind. I’d been given a lifejacket to wear as well, this one bright orange rather than the dark blue of the marine unit’s. My chest-high rubber waders were uncomfortable to sit in, as were the waterproof coveralls I wore underneath. Still, looking at the estuary’s muddy banks on either side, I knew I’d be glad of them later.

The tide had returned with surprising speed. By the time I’d changed and collected my flight case of equipment from the car, the marine unit were already manhandling the boat down the slipway and off the trailer. The channel in front of the quayside was almost completely flooded, water slopping around the concrete ramp as the estuary’s mud and shingle disappeared under the encroaching sea.

‘We’re not going to have much time,’ Lundy had warned me as we’d stood by the slipway. ‘The helicopter says the body’s grounded partway up a sandbank, but it won’t stay there long. The tide here comes in quicker than a man can run, so we’ll need to work fast.’

Very fast, by the sound of it. This was going to be a race to recover the body before the returning tide floated it off again, which made me question even more why I was there. Although I preferred to examine remains in situ given the chance, there wasn’t going to be much time to do that here. The priority would be to retrieve the body as quickly as possible, and Lundy and the marine unit were perfectly capable of doing that by themselves.

I stared over the RHIB’s blunt bow as we reached the deeper water in the middle of the estuary and then headed out towards the Barrows. The sandbanks lay dead ahead, a natural barrier stretching almost from shore to shore. They’d been isolated by the rising tide but they were still exposed, smooth brown humps emerging from the water like a pod of beached whales. Beyond them, where the estuary met the open sea, I could see three strange-looking structures rising from the water. They were too far away to make out any detail, but from the pitching boat they looked like square boxes perched on pyramidal stilts. Oil derricks, perhaps, although they seemed too close to the shore for that.

Lundy saw me looking. ‘It’s a sea fort.’

‘A what?’

We had to yell above the din of the engine. ‘A Maunsell sea fort. The army and Navy built them along the coast during the Second World War to keep German ships out of the estuaries. This is an army one. It used to have seven towers all linked by walkways, but these three are all that’s left.’

‘Is it still in use?’ I shouted. Lundy said something but it was lost in the wind and noise. I shook my head. He leaned closer.

‘I said only by seagulls. None of the army forts are. A few of them were used by pirate radio stations back in the sixties, like the one here and at Red Sands in the Thames estuary. But most were either dismantled or fell down years ago. There was talk about turning this one into a hotel a while back, but nothing came of it.’ Lundy shook his head at the thought of such folly. ‘Can’t say I’m surprised. I wouldn’t want to stay there.’

Neither would I, but we were almost at the Barrows so I gave up attempting any more conversation after that. It became blessedly quieter as the RHIB throttled down, slowing to make its approach. It was possible to hear the chop of the helicopter now. It hovered ahead of us, lights winking as it held station above the body.

The marine unit sergeant eased the RHIB between the sandbanks. They rose up like small islands all around, waves lapping at their smooth sides. It wouldn’t be much longer before the rising tide covered them, and I understood what Lundy had meant about the Barrows making the estuary all but impassable. It was hard enough negotiating them even when they could be seen above the surface. Hidden by the high tide they’d be treacherous.

We were almost directly under the helicopter now. The wash from its rotors was deafening, buffeting us and flattening the water’s surface.

‘There it is.’

Lundy pointed at something ahead of us, but I couldn’t see past his bulky figure. Then the RHIB slowed and came around, and I had my first sight of the body. The tide had deposited it partway up the muddy slope of a sandbank, a sodden mess of clothing slumped in the stillness only the inanimate and the dead can achieve. It lay face down with its head nearest the water and its legs and feet trailing up the sandbank, angled away from us. As I watched, a gull landed nearby, but after hopping closer to examine the body it lost interest.

I knew then this was no recent drowning.

Lundy spoke into his radio, raising a hand in acknowledgement as the helicopter rose up and banked away. Our momentum carried us forward as the boat’s engine was cut, and in the sudden silence there was a bump as we ran aground. Intent on the body, I began to climb out of the boat. The sandbank looked solid enough but it had the gelid, grainy consistency of wet mortar. I almost overbalanced as my leg sank in up to my knee.