Get some sleep . . .

Perhaps it was just lack of sleep – he knew he could be irritable when he was tired. Better that than the alternative – that it had been too easy. Damn, what a waste that would have been . . .

Feeling unsettled, he went upstairs and checked his phone. Kim hadn’t called yet, which was good. He lay down on the bed, staring up with unseeing eyes before drifting into a troubled sleep.

6

Sunday, 27 May

Derek eased the front door shut behind him, not wanting to wake anyone. He felt the soft click of the lock and wearily turned to face the still-sleeping street. Toby was wagging his tail and pulling at the lead, eager as always. Derek yawned.

He felt the warmth evaporating from his anorak as he stepped out of the porch. Hunching his shoulders against the grey morning, he let the excited Labrador drag him down the path. They walked as they did most Sundays, down to the end of the street, bearing right onto Station Road. It was getting light when he climbed the steep tarmac slope to the footpath.

The wind battered him as soon as he reached the top, whipping his hood against the side of his face, finding a way up the back of his anorak while he stooped to let the dog off its lead, struggling with the catch.

He stood up stiffly and watched as Toby bounded away, down onto the beach, then turned his face into the wind to gaze out at the Second Severn Crossing, a snaking ribbon of lights cast across the cold grey water. Tiny vehicles crawled along it, high above the dark waves, their noise lost in the gale.

Eyes watering from the cold, he dug his hands deep into his pockets, turning away from the bridge to make his way along the promenade to the beach. The wind was less violent in the shadow of the sea wall, and Derek could now hear the crunch of his shoes on the shingle. In the distance Toby started barking.

Sheltered beneath the wall, Derek took out a cigarette. It took him a moment to light it, but he relished the first drag of smoke, his small compensation for these early walks.

Toby was still barking.

Frowning, Derek started to pick his way carefully down the beach, skirting the dark patches of mud and debris as he followed the sound towards a broad bank of reeds.

‘Toby?’ he called out, irritated. ‘Toby!’ But a sudden gust stole his voice away from him.

What had got the stupid dog in such a state this morning?

He paused for a moment, reluctant to get his shoes too muddy.

‘Toby! Come here!’

But it was no good. Bracing himself against the relentless wind, he moved closer. The wet stones became more treacherous as he approached the water’s edge and he had to watch where he was putting his feet.

Only when he was a few yards away did he look up to see what Toby had found.

She was dead – had to be, lying face down in the mud. The white T-shirt was soaked through, and water glistened on the back of her legs below her blue shorts. He hesitated, uncertain whether to run for help or to check her pulse and make sure. Taking a step forward, he wavered for a moment, then gingerly reached down, nervous fingers hovering over her pale wrist. A flutter of panic rose in him as he touched her cold, stiff flesh, and he jerked his hand back violently, almost losing his footing as he retreated from the body. She was definitely dead.

He stood for a moment, trying to gather himself, trying to tear his eyes away from the sprawling limbs, the bedraggled ponytail, the sodden running shoes . . .

Why the hell had he touched her? He cursed his stupidity. Mustn’t touch anything – everybody knew that! And he’d been walking all around, leaving footprints in the mud!

Breathing fast, he turned and stumbled back up the beach. He was halfway to the sea wall before he remembered the mobile phone in his pocket and, hands shaking, dialled 999.

He didn’t know how long he’d been waiting there before the first police car appeared, a sleek BMW that raced down Station Road. It pulled over beside him at the approach to the beach, the flashing lights throwing shivers of blue across the walls of the nearby houses. Two officers – a serious-looking woman and a tall man – got out.

‘Mr Wells?’ the female officer asked him.

‘Yes.’ Derek went over to them. ‘It was me who called you . . .’

‘I’m PC Firth and this is PC Gregg. Could you show us what you found, please?’

They made their way up over the promenade. Derek tied Toby’s lead to the railings at the base of the slope, then led the others down to the beach. The wind was dropping now but Firth still had to raise her voice to be heard as they neared the water.

‘I need you to stay here with my colleague,’ she explained, then picked her way carefully over towards the bedraggled figure in the mud.

‘My dog found her,’ Derek said, half to himself. He found it difficult, but managed to pull his eyes away from what the female officer was doing. ‘I didn’t touch anything, except to check if she was . . .’

He paused, remembering how wrong her skin had felt. That horrible lifeless cold that he could still sense in his fingertips. He shuddered.

‘It’s okay, sir.’ PC Gregg looked past him towards the water where his colleague was coming back over to them. She shook her head grimly as she approached, then turned to Derek.

‘Mr Wells, I’m going to ask you to go back to the car with PC Gregg . . .’ She caught his expression of panic and quickly added, ‘It’s very cold out here and we don’t want you freezing. I think it’s best that we get you off this beach, then once the other officers arrive we can see about getting you a cup of tea and having a chat. All right?’

Derek nodded numbly, and took one last look in the direction of the body before allowing himself to be led back up the beach. As he trudged over the shingle slope he wondered who she was.

‘Okay.’ Firth pressed the phone to her ear, turning to shield it from the wind. ‘How long do we have?’

She beckoned to the other figures making their way down the beach.

‘Okay, thanks for that.’ She finished her call and walked over to meet the three approaching officers.

‘What’s it look like, Sue?’ one of the younger constables asked.

‘Like a dead woman, Josh.’ She sighed, then addressed them all. ‘Body seems to have been here for a while – maybe a day – but I’ve just spoken to Control and they reckon the tide is on its way out. That probably gives us six hours so we’ll need to get a move on.’

She gestured towards the body behind her. ‘Let’s get the immediate area taped off for starters. There’s been enough people through the scene already – we don’t need any more.’

She turned and indicated the sea wall, and the line of houses beyond.

‘And we’ll want someone up there to keep people off the beach.’

Her phone started ringing and she turned away to answer it.

‘PC Firth?’ She listened for a moment and nodded. ‘Okay, sir . . . yes. See you when you get here.’

She stared at the handset, her expression softening for a moment, then turned back to the others.

‘One of you tell Gregg to keep the dog walker here. The DI’s on his way.’

Plumes of steam billowed up from the steel chimneys, pale against the dark sky, to drift out across the Severn. Detective Inspector Graham Harland scowled at the blighted landscape as he drove; the towering chemical works, the wretched structures choked with pollution and rust. Everything along this road was as bleak and joyless as he was.

He indicated left at the sign for Severn Beach and threaded his way through the village, past the miserable caravan park and on to the end of Station Road, where the other cars were waiting. There was a space beside the wire-mesh fence of a small utility building and he nosed into it, parking in front of the padlocked gates.