DS Cameron Reid came into the tent.
‘Morning, sir. Or what passes for one. I didn’t think we’d be seeing you again so soon.’
Brodie returned the nod. ‘I wish it was under different circumstances.’
‘Don’t we all.’ Cameron looked grim. ‘Female. Late twenties, maybe early thirties. No obvious signs of restraint or trauma – no blood that we can see, anyway. Lying on her back, arms by her sides. It’s too neat. Staged, probably.’
The woman’s body was pale against the darker sand, the skin already damp with dew and sea mist. She looked almost peaceful, like someone sleeping on a summer afternoon. But there was nothing peaceful about this. Not here. Not now.
‘There are no drag marks. It’s like she was placed here,’ Art said.
Brodie crouched, studying the body without touching it. The tide hadn’t reached her. That meant she’d been placed after it receded, and before anyone arrived for their morning walk. That left a window of maybe two hours. Whoever did this had been watching. Waiting.
‘Who found her?’
‘A retired bloke out with his spaniel. Just after 5a.m. Poor sod thought she was sunbathing at first.’
Brodie stood, brushing his hands against his trousers. He glanced around. The beach stretched in both directions, empty save for gulls and police officers. It was a flat expanse of sand used by early-morning joggers and dog walkers. If someone had brought her here, they’d done it fast and quietly. Having the car park in close proximity was no coincidence either. Whoever had placed the woman had picked this beach carefully.
‘Still no word on McRae?’ Brodie asked.
‘None. He’s just… gone. And now this.’ Art gestured towards the body. ‘Whoever did this wanted us to find her. And early, before the beach filled up. It’s not just murder – it’s a message.’
Brodie looked down at the woman again. Her hair fanned around her like a halo, the faintest trace of a bruise beneath her jawline, almost hidden by the shadows. A message, yes – but to whom? And why now?
‘I want door-to-doors on every house and flat overlooking the Esplanade,’ Brodie said. ‘Pull CCTV from the shops, the promenade, anywhere with a view of the beach. Someone must have seen something – delivery vans, early risers, bin collections. And I want to know who she is.’
‘Already on it,’ Cameron replied, scribbling a note.
‘This isn’t random,’ Brodie added, eyes still fixed on the lifeless woman, his mind jumping back seven years, when they had discovered The Embalmer’s first victim.
‘Here’s the doc now,’ Cameron said, poking his head out of the tent.
He looked over the sand to the car park where a silver Subaru Outback was pulling in. A few seconds later, Dr Ronald ‘Sherlock’ Holmes retrieved his kit from the boot and slipped on the white suit before trudging over the sand towards the officers.
‘Liam! Back so soon?’ Sherlock said with a smile as he came inside the tent. ‘You must like it this side of the water.’
‘Needs must, Sherlock. I just go where I’m told to go.’ Brodie looked again at the car park to see Detective Superintendent Breck not quite parking his car but more abandoning it. He came onto the beach the same way Sherlock had.
Sherlock went to work, examining the young woman’s body as Breck approached and entered the tent.
‘Glad you could make it, Liam,’ Breck said, shaking hands with the DCI.
‘I thought DCI McRae would have been back,’ Brodie said.
‘Yes, well, nobody’s seen him or heard from him. He’s still listed as a missing person. We’re all hopeful, though. I mean, he might have had an accident, or a knock on the head, and he can’t remember who he is. Something like that.’
‘Jesus,’ Sherlock said, looking up at the others.
‘What’s wrong?’ Brodie asked.
‘This woman has been exsanguinated.’
‘What?’ Breck said. ‘Like in a funeral home?’
‘Exactly. I moved the sand away from her neck, and you can see the puncture hole. If she hasn’t been, I’d be very surprised.’
Brodie stood looking at the woman, the smell of the salty air drawing up into his nostrils.
