The Killing Season (8 page)

‘What?’

‘Something to do with the plasticine era,’ I continued, suppressing a smile. ‘Which made a kind of layer cake of the cliff’s substructure, apparently. But I can’t tell you why such a large chunk fell. Apparently it happens sometimes. A metre a year in some cases where there’s gradual erosion, but occasionally there is a bit of a landslide. My geological friend down on the beach there,’ I said, pointing at Martin Lewis, ‘agrees that a lightning strike might have caused a bit of an explosion, if you will, causing a shearing of the varied fabric of the cliff that resulted in the toppling forward of that bit thus separated.’

‘Are you deliberately trying to be obtuse?’

‘Not at all. It’s not my area of expertise. But I’m just trying to do my job, Susan. Like everyone else.’

‘It’s “superintendent” or “ma’am” to you, Delaney.’

I smiled and shook my head tolerantly. ‘You can’t have it both ways,’ I said. ‘If I am not on the force you can’t expect me to jump to heel like an obedient dog. If I am a member of the public I deserve just as much respect and courtesy as anyone else,’ I said and flashed her another smile for good measure. I wasn’t having the best of mornings so far, so I took what small comforts I could to brighten my day.

‘I don’t have time for this bullshit, Delaney. Some of us have proper work to do.’ She glared at me as she said the word ‘proper’, and looked ready to spit. ‘I’ll leave you to deal with this,’ she said to the man who had come over with her and then she walked off. Letting the world know just how extremely busy she was as she did so with head held high and a purposeful stride. She almost managed it if her heel hadn’t snagged a little on the rough grass and she nearly tripped over. Like I say, small moments, small comforts.

The man held his hand out. ‘Nicholas Dudley,’ he said.

‘Jack Delaney.’ I shook his hand.

‘Health and Safety consultant to the district council. We have some issues here that we need to go through.’

‘Right,’ I said, my heart sinking as he pulled out a folder.

‘First of all we need to erect appropriate barriers to safeguard the public.’

‘Sure.’

‘And we need to close this club down until we have a proper geological survey and report.’

I looked up at the dark clouds that were massing ominously in the sky as the wind lashed the sea into a frenzy of dancing white horses. I felt the cold permeating through to my bones, finished my styrofoam cup of coffee, and looked at Dudley. ‘Are you fucking serious?’ I asked.

‘One hundred per cent serious. I know a lot of people think health-and-safety regulations are just so much red tape and needless bureaucracy. But we are dealing with people’s lives, Mr Delaney. People’s lives! And we take that very seriously. Very seriously indeed.’

‘Do you really think people are going to want to go out and play golf in this weather? Nobody is that mad, even in North Norfolk!’

‘It’s not about madness, it’s about regulations. It’s about securing the safety of the public. This club will be closed until further notice. Furthermore, I have a checklist that I need to go through with you. It will probably take a couple of hours, and the geological specialist will be consulting with me later in the day, so we will need to evaluate matters again after he has reported, too.’

I was beginning to understand why Henry Hill had passed this particular buck to me, and why the bustling superintendent had had a wry smile on her perfectly lipsticked lips as she had strode away.

‘Why don’t we go inside and go through it?’

‘No, no. I need to assess the area before then. Health and Safety is a field operation first and foremost, Mr Delaney. Sure, there is a lot of paperwork involved. But we as a profession are very far from desk jockeys. Very far indeed.’

I could feel myself losing the will to live with every passing second that I spent in Dudley’s company. I was relieved to see Henry Hill running up the short hill to where we were stood. Until I saw the expression on his face, that was.

‘Don’t worry about him now, Jack,’ he said breathlessly.

‘Now hold on a minute—’

‘Why, what’s happened?’ I cut across the health-and-safety officer, interrupting him before he got into full flow again.

‘They’ve found a dead body.’

THE WIND WAS
picking up by the second as we stood on the beach. An excoriating wind. I decided it was time to go home and get my overcoat: the leather jacket alone just wasn’t cutting it in this climate.

Maybe I was just getting old.

Fortunately, Henry Hill came across and handed me a Puffa-style coat that would fit over my own. It was warm and cut the wind-chill factor significantly. Gratefully, I slipped my hands into a pair of gloves that he’d also brought and bent down to look at the body. Or, rather, at the hand that was protruding from the fall of soil and clay.

A uniformed sergeant was standing with us, a couple of constables in the background.

‘This is a bit outside of our bailiwick, sir,’ said the sergeant, a beefy florid-faced man in his forties with thinning reddish hair and friendly green eyes.

‘You don’t have to call me “sir”,’ I replied. ‘I’m on sabbatical and, as your super has pointed out, not on her team.’

‘I’ll call you “sir” all the same, if that’s OK?’ he replied. ‘We all know who you are. We read the newspapers and watch the news even out here in the sticks.’

‘Newspapers exaggerate.’

‘Sometimes. But I was on the force when you found the girl in the boot all those years ago and then again last year, when you repeated the trick.’

‘Right place, right time is all.’

‘You make your own luck in my opinion. Certainly in this job. And don’t pay the super any mind. She doesn’t like hot rods from the Met coming up. Puts her nose out of joint. She thinks that you all reckon you’re something special. You in particular, with all that media coverage.’

I stood up again and held my hand out. ‘Well, you know who I am,’ I said, prompting him.

‘Sergeant Coker – pleased to meet you,’ he responded. ‘Harry Coker.’

He was about my height but built on grander lines. His grip was very firm. His ruddy portliness belied a great deal of strength – there was a lot of muscle underneath his bulk.

‘So what do you think?’ he asked.

I looked down at the protruding hand again. We were on the beach close to the cliff face, the lifeless hand reaching up through the debris like the scene from
Carrie
, only this hand looked male to me. It was a big hand. Gloved. Part of the wrist was showing, discoloured and emaciated.

‘Looks male to me. Maybe attached to a body, hard to tell until SOCO can clear the area. Do you have a forensic unit?’

The sergeant laughed and shook his head. ‘No. Like I say, this is outside our normal remit. Dead bodies don’t tend to show up a lot in these parts. We have to call in specialist units from South Norwich.’

‘Well, he looks like a big man, judging by the hand size, although his emaciated wrist indicates malnourishment. Apart from that, and the discolouration, not much I can add.’

‘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.’