Mark Pearson - The Killing Season

‘How long has he been there, do you think?’

I shrugged. ‘Again, hard to tell. These conditions.’ I gestured towards the lowering storm that was building a few miles out to sea and heading our way.

‘You think he was on the beach when the cliff collapsed?’

‘It seems likely. But I have learned one thing over the years and that is never to assume too much until the experts have assessed the site and the body.’

I crouched down to get another look.

‘Get away from the scene, Delaney!’ barked a familiar voice.

I stood up and looked at the superintendent. She had arrived in her usual good temper, I noted.

‘I asked him to take a look, ma’am,’ said Sergeant Coker.

‘And why the bloody hell would you do such a stupid thing?’

‘Because he’s a homicide detective. He has experience of these things, which we don’t. And until the team from Norwich gets here I thought it might help to have all hands on deck.’

‘That’s my decision to make, sergeant.’

‘When are the forensic surgeon and his team going to get here, ma’am?’ he asked pointedly.

She looked annoyed at the question and didn’t bother to hide it. ‘They’re not, sergeant. Not until tomorrow, anyway, and maybe not even then. There has been a major incident in the city. A fire set deliberately by the looks of it. Possibly a multiple murder and our one accidental death doesn’t take priority.’

‘If it was accidental,’ I said.

‘A cliff fell on him, Delaney. That’s pretty hard to arrange deliberately.’

‘I might be able to help,’ I replied.

‘I’ve already told you. We don’t need or want your help.’

‘It wasn’t me I was thinking of.’

‘What did you mean, then?’ asked the sergeant, seemingly oblivious to the basilisk-like stare his boss was giving him.

‘Doctor Walker, my fiancée, is a fully qualified and registered forensic pathologist. She can liaise with Norwich and help with a preliminary assessment so we know what we are dealing with here.’

I could see the superintendent chewing it over in her mind. She sure as hell didn’t want to lose face by accepting any help from me, but it was a fair offer and she knew that she would be foolish to turn it down.

‘The main thing we need to do is to get the site preserved. We need scene-of-crime tents securing the area — and quick — before the weather sets in again.’

The super looked at the size of the cliff fall and sighed. ‘We haven’t got anything big enough. How soon can your wife clear authority with Norwich and get out here? We need to get this body moved as soon as possible.’

I looked at the storm getting ever closer and shrugged. ‘I’m not sure. But I do know a man who used to have a marquee-hire business, with tents big enough for weddings and very large events. I am sure he can get a team down here soonest.’

‘Get on it, then!’ she ordered.

‘Oh no, my pleasure,’ I replied sardonically and pulled out my phone. ‘You’re very welcome, superintendent. George, it’s Jack Delaney,’ I said as the phone was answered. ‘I need a favour.’

About two hours later the storm finally made landfall at Sheringham, smiting the coastline like Thor’s legendary hammer.

Fortunately George Bishop, the landlord at The Lobster public house, had come through and erected a marquee over the area where the dead body was situated, surrounded by broken-up chunks of chalk, as well as rock, shingle and sand. George had had the forethought to bring extra strong long steel pegs to be hammered into the shore. Happily the tide was a neap one and not a spring tide so it didn’t come as high on this part of the beach and reach the cliff edges as it did closer into town. But I wasn’t entirely sure how long the marquee would stay up in the battering wind. Not very long, though: the spikes might have been sturdy but a rock and pebble beach is not the best place to try and anchor something. The rain was falling in sheets and the noise under the big tent’s canvas was close to tropical monsoon level.

Bright floodlights had been erected and a freelance SOCO team had been brought in to process the removal of the body. Most people assume that SOCO are all serving police officers but in reality there are a number of private firms that are called in sometimes to consult with the police. As the Norwich teams were already deployed on other business the superintendent had hired a private contractor. Two photographers were recording the scene. One was taking stills and the other had his camera mounted on a tripod and was shooting video. If it was a non-accidental death and the case ever came to trial then the evidence collected at the scene of the crime could be crucial to a successful prosecution, so meticulous care had to be taken. And they were certainly being meticulous. A lot of crime-solving is like that. Methodical procedure. Hour after hour of painstaking investigation. Not my favourite part of the job, but that’s why a DI is given constables and sergeants. Thankfully.

Kate had come about an hour after I called her and was watching as the debris covering the body was slowly removed. The soil, sand and chalk was brushed carefully away and sealed in bags as though it were an archaeological dig. The matter preserved for later forensic analysis.

The figure beneath slowly came to light, revealing, as I had surmised, the body of a large man, taller than my six foot and broader and thicker-set, wide shoulders. At least, he had been thicker-set. The flesh had withered on his bones. His face had sunk in and his hair was matted and slimy. It was impossible for me to tell his age, but one thing was for certain.

He hadn’t been killed by the falling cliff.

He had been in the ground for some time. Again, I had no way of telling how long he had been there but I hoped that Kate could. The superintendent had wanted me cleared from the site but Kate had insisted that I should stay. So Susan Dean could either wait a few days for the forensic pathologist to come up from Norwich or agree to Kate’s wishes and let me observe. It was a small victory, sure enough, but life is often enriched with such little triumphs. I could feel the glare of Superintendent Susan Dean’s gaze on me — it was every bit as intense as the bright lights illuminating the dead body, and it warmed me just as much as the jacket that Henry Hill had lent me.

Kate had bent over again, with a scalpel in her hand.

‘What are you doing?’ asked the super.

‘I am going to cut the gloves away.’

‘Maybe leave that until we can get the body to a proper forensic table,’ suggested Superintendent Dean.

Kate nodded. ‘Might be best. I don’t know how stable the body will be when we attempt to move him. I’d rather have him as intact as possible to record the evidence.’

‘How old was he at the time of death, would you think?’

‘Can’t say at this stage. Maybe in the range of thirty to fifty.’

‘That’s quite a big range.’

‘When we get him on the table we can do a more detailed analysis, I am just making suppositions here. Which is never wise.’

‘Gives us something to check against the missing-persons register,’ I said.

‘True.’

‘How long do you think he has been in the ground, Doctor Walker?’

‘I’d say anything up to thirty years, maybe longer.’

‘Definitely not recent, then?’

‘Not judging by the decomposition. Again, it is hard to tell — the soil conditions play a large part. This is very salty material here.’

‘Meaning?’ asked Susan Deans.

‘Meaning salt is a preservative,’ I interjected. Behind her Sergeant Coker suppressed a smile as she swivelled her head to glare at me once more.