Pauline Rowson - Tide of Death

Wednesday morning: 7AM

Andy Horton stared at the body. The face was almost obliterated. Blood had seeped on to the pebbled beach, dark red, staining the stones around the man's head. Bottle-green seaweed was wrapped around his ankles and he was naked; his arms were outstretched, the palms facing upward, fingers curled.

Horton averted his eyes and lowered his head over his torso, trying to catch his breath from his run. His stomach churned at the shock of such a gruesome discovery. It wasn't that he had never seen a dead body before, or a violent death; on the contrary in his job they were all too plentiful. No, it was the unexpectedness of running into one that temporarily unnerved him. He usually arrived after some other poor sod had found it. And he'd got out of practice; eight months away from the sharp end had softened him.

He straightened up, wiping the sweat from his face, and stared around but all he could see was fog and all he could hear was the mournful boom of the foghorns in the Solent calling to one another like long lost giants.

He punched a number into his mobile. Why did this have to happen today of all days, only his second day back on duty after his suspension? But sod's law always prevailed; either that or God had a wicked sense of humour, and if He did then He couldn't be God, could He? But maybe he should be grateful to the corpse. This would give him a chance to show his colleagues that he hadn't lost his touch.

'DI Horton, is the DCI in?'

'No sir, he's at the hospital?'

'He's ill?' Horton asked surprised.

'No, sir, it's PC Evans. He was stabbed last night.'

'Christ! Is he all right?' Poor Evans, the station joker, only two months away from retirement and counting the days.

'He's in intensive care. But they think he'll pull through.'

'Well thank God for that,' Horton replied with feeling, picturing poor Maureen Evans' face.

He quickly relayed the news of his discovery on Portsmouth's beach and settled down to wait. He knew it wouldn't be long. He took another look at the body. Who was he? What had he done to warrant such a violent death? Over the next couple of days they'd begin to find out. The team would be assembled, people questioned, statements taken and, hopefully, the victim identified. The investigative machine would swiftly gear itself into action and he was determined to play a central role in it. He was still a good cop despite the Lucy Richardson episode, which had cost him his position in the Special Investigations Department and earned him an eight-month suspension.

Impatiently he glanced at his watch and as he did four uniformed officers emerged from the fog armed with tape and bollards. He instructed two of them to seal off the beach to the east by the cruising association slipway and the other two to cordon off the area to the west below the old gunnery site. He looked up to see DCI Uckfield ploughing across the stones towards him. Horton pulled himself up. He couldn't afford to foul up on this one.

'You're out of condition, Steve.' He smiled at the man who had helped him get back into CID. 'Too much time sitting behind that desk.'

'Tell me about it. You look disgustingly fit.'

'Well I've had the time,' Horton replied caustically. They'd joined the force together eighteen years ago and had been good friends since but for the last three years, whilst on secondment to SID, Horton had seen little of Uckfield. They began walking towards the body.

Horton said, 'How's Evans?'

'Holding his own. Fortunately the knife just missed the main arteries. I was visiting the scene of crime, a house in Hemmings Road, just off the seafront, when I got the call saying you'd found a body.'

'What happened?'

'Evans and Kate Somerfield got called out by neighbours who were complaining about the noise. Somerfield went inside to tell the kids to turn the volume down and Evans went round the back of the house. She didn't know he'd been stabbed until a few minutes later.'

'Did they get him?'

'Who said it was a him?'

'Usually is.'

Uckfield sniffed and retrieved a wooden toothpick from the depths of his jacket pocket. 'The little scumbag got away but we'll get him. You can bet your pension on that.'

I don't think my pension's the safest thing to bet on, Horton thought, given his history.

Uckfield manipulated the toothpick in his mouth and stared down at the body just the other side of the blue and white tape. Horton had seen quite enough already but he looked again. The grey hairs on the slender frame and the slackness of the skin told him their victim was middle aged, probably late fifties. He was a tall man, about six foot two.

'The body is oddly…'

'Positioned?' offered Horton.

'Why like that as if he's on a crucifix? Can't have been washed up in that position.'

'No. And he's been placed, or was killed, just above the tide line, see?' Horton pointed to the line of seaweed that delineated the height of the last tide. 'He's not wet and there's no decomposition so he can't have been here long. This isn't a popular spot for sunbathers though it is sometimes used by nudists.'

'He's in good company then.' Uckfield stared down at the body. 'Could he be one of them?'

'A nudist sunbather, you mean?' Horton shrugged. 'No idea but if he was then where are his clothes? They should be beside him along with his other belongings like his wallet and watch.'

'Perhaps he left them in his car?'

'In the car park? A couple of hundred yards away? He'd have to be some kind of pervert to walk here in the nude.'

'It's been known,' Uckfield said cynically, replacing the toothpick in his pocket.

'Did you see a car parked?'

'OK, so the killer stripped him and took away the poor bugger's clothes after smashing his face to a pulp. It's obvious why.'

'To delay identification.'

'Then thank God he didn't hack off the hands.'

Yes, and for DNA, Horton thought. 'His face could have been beaten by the killer in an act of fury rather than deliberately to delay identification, and the clothes taken away as an afterthought.'

Uckfield lifted one shoulder in a semi shrug. 'Possible.'

'I can't see a weapon unless our killer used a large stone to batter him. It could be any one of those around his head.'

'We'll get a search going but my guess is it won't do much good. If our killer's got any sense then whatever he used it will be way out there somewhere.' Uckfield pointed in the direction of the sea. 'When was high tide?'

'Just before midnight.'

Uckfield rubbed his nose and looked thoughtful. 'Could he have been brought in by boat?'

'In last night's fog? If he was then whoever did it would have to be a good sailor.'

'But it's not impossible, is it, with GPS and a tender?'

Uckfield was a competent sailor like him but Horton wouldn't like to have done it. 'No, just bloody difficult.'

More officers had appeared and Uckfield stepped away from the body as a large polythene tent was erected over it. Horton fell into step beside him as they moved down to the water's edge. The fog obscured the shores of Hayling Island across the narrow entrance to Langstone harbour. Horton could hear the slow beat of the waves as they washed gently on to the shore. As the sun grew in strength it would burn off the fog to reveal another stifling hot August day. It would be difficult keeping the area sealed off; the sooner they could move the body and get SOCO in, the better. He felt his pulse quicken at the thought of the intense activity ahead. The clock had begun ticking and the race was on to find a killer before the trail grew cold. This was what he had missed.

Uckfield broke through his thoughts. 'Any idea who he is?'