Death On The Coast
A West Country Crime Mystery ( Book 3)
Bernie Steadman
Contents
Also By Bernie Steadman
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Acknowledgments
Copyright © 2018 Bernie Steadman
The right of Bernie Steadman to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
First published in 2018 by Bloodhound Books
Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publisher or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
www.bloodhoundbooks.com
Also By Bernie Steadman
West Country Crime Mystery Series
* * *
Death In The Woods ( Book 1)
* * *
Death On Dartmoor ( Book 2)
Praise for Bernie Steadman
"What a brilliant start to the upcoming Detective Hellier series that is bound to be amazing." Gemma Myers - Between The Pages Book Club
"The detective novel has a thrilling plot with twists around every corner." Caroline Vincent - Bits About Books
"This book will certainly have the reader hooked throughout as they follow all the leads..." Mandie Griffiths - Jen Med's Book Reviews
1
Kegan waited outside the rough circle of stones until the moment was right. Faces, made hideous by red and black paint, stared at him through the swirling flames of the fire. He found Tana’s eyes, so black in her white face. It was time. The rock, cold in his hands, scraped at his palms as he lifted it high and smashed it down on the back of the man’s head. The crack of stone on bone was loud enough to make one of them flinch, but they held firm, watching intently as Kegan hauled the unconscious man into his arms, before rising – each taking a limb of the inert body – and throwing it messily into the heart of the fire.
* * *
PC Gareth Evans warmed his hands. Above his head, stars filled the black sky, competing with the rising smoke and the dying flames below. ‘Looks like kids started it,’ he said.
His partner scanned the area close to the fire with her torch. There were many footprints in the sand, crossing over each other, wandering off at a tangent, obliterating useful evidence. She tutted and rolled away an empty beer can with her toe. ‘Hmm …’ Six boulders had been pulled into a rough circle, and behind them lay a tideline of empty cans and discarded food wrappers. ‘Looks like it was quite a party,’ she murmured.
‘I’m surprised anyone bothered calling it in at five in the morning. Nobody lives near this end of the beach.’ PC Evans stepped closer to the fire and stared into its yellow heart. It would burn itself out soon enough once the tide came in, no need to alert the fire brigade. ‘Halloween party, probably. Nothing better to do with their time, eh?’ It would only get busier as bonfire night approached. There were just too many students in Exmouth to keep an eye on them all. ‘I hate students,’ he said.
PC Tracy Mulligan stood at the far side of the fire, boots lapped by the sea, peering into the flames. One of the larger branches shifted and dropped as it was consumed in a quick, orange flare. ‘What the …’ Tracy grabbed a long piece of driftwood in both hands and rammed it into the centre of the fire, poking and pushing one burning log, then another, out onto the sand. ‘Gareth,’ she said, ‘you better come round here and look at this.’
The body fell forward out of the inferno: its mouth a gaping hole, hands clawed against its chest. Tracy turned horrified eyes up to meet Gareth's. ‘Oh my good God,’ she said.
‘Right,’ said Evans, his florid face paling. ‘Stand back, Trace. You start to secure the scene and I’ll call the station. This is more than just a fire.’
* * *
DCI Dan Hellier perched on a rock and glared at the waves lapping the shore. How the hell were they supposed to maintain a crime scene when the tide came in twice a day? He sipped from a takeaway coffee and watched the gentle wash of the tide. Of course, it could be a clever ploy to avoid detection, or just a party that got out of hand. And if the body turned out to be a drunk who’d fallen into the fire in the middle of a Halloween party, he'd be even more annoyed.
The forensics team stood listlessly on the promenade, chatting to Sergeants Bill Larcombe and Ben Bennett. They were waiting to process the scene but there wasn’t a lot they could do until the tide had gone out again. They’d lifted the body, but that was all.
Hellier almost felt guilty about being there, as there was a mountain of stuff he could have been doing, but sod it, they could manage without him in the office for an hour or two. He took another swig of coffee and gasped as it burnt its way down his oesophagus. At least they’d had time to retrieve the body before the tide took it; what was left of it. He hated fires.
‘DCI Hellier?’ Campbell Fox, the pathologist, yelled, and waved a beefy hand in his direction. Dan heaved himself up, every muscle complaining from the forty-mile bike ride he’d completed the day before. He’d allowed himself to get out of shape over the summer, and that had to stop. No way was he going to become some desk-bound wally, old before his time and shuffling paper, DCI or not. He jogged across sand and flat rocks towards the promenade, where a make-shift crime scene separated the police from the general public behind crime scene tape and a tent.
Fox beckoned him again, impatience in every gesture. Dan put a spurt on. He couldn’t quite get used to being DCI Hellier. It felt like someone else. The interview process had nearly seen him off, too. But, there it was, and here he was, jumping over boulders on Exmouth beach.
‘Enjoying the view, are we?’ asked Fox as Dan stepped up beside him. ‘You won’t be in a minute.’ The body was lying in a bag on a stretcher, ready for transporting to the hospital path lab. ‘I thought you might like a wee peek, before I take him away.’ He unzipped the bag and exposed a body, half-consumed by fire, settled in a stance like a boxer about to fight, arms curled into fists.
Dan took a shallow breath, covered the lower half of his face with his jacket sleeve, and put his cup down on the concrete. ‘Oh, that is horrible. Burns victims are the worst.’
‘Aye, they are. Luckily this one w
as rescued before the fire completed its work, so there should be identifying marks that we can use. Unlike on our Bog Bodies case, eh?’ He scratched his beard through his mask. ‘On first look, he’s clearly male. There is a small amount of head and facial hair on the skull. The skull has a massive fracture at the rear, on the occipital bone, which may indicate that he was dead, or at least unconscious, before he went into the fire. I've alerted the coroner.’
‘Right, it looks like we need the murder investigation team after all. Okay, thanks. Let me know when the post-mortem will be.’
Dan went back to his perch on the rock. Dead before he was burnt on the fire? At least unconscious? Could kids having a Halloween party really have burnt a man to death? He glanced at the two evidence bags full of the rubbish that had littered the site. It had been collected up by the two PCs on duty, and Dan made a note to thank them for their quick thinking in beating the tide. It certainly looked like it had been a bit of a party: beer cans, takeaway boxes, the black ends of joints. If one of the partygoers had fallen into the fire, would the others have left him to burn? Not if it was an accident they wouldn’t.
He slid off the rock and walked back to the promenade and the scientists standing by. Bill Larcombe would be fine on his own as crime scene manager, and it would be another couple of hours before forensics could get in to examine the fire in more detail. ‘Bill,’ he said, ‘we’ll set up back at the station. It seems pointless having the primary site here. Come back as soon as you’ve cleared the scene.’
Larcombe nodded. ‘Looks like murder then, boss?’
‘Or manslaughter. Whichever, I don’t think a bloke with a massive hole in the back of his head jumped into that fire, Bill.’
2
Tana sat cross-legged in the middle of the bed with her eyes closed and her hands at rest in her lap. Around the room, the others rested on the floor, propped against the wall.
Jay sneaked a look at his phone. It was almost 7.30 am. Light showed through a crack in the curtains. He would have to get going or he would be late for college, and he didn’t want to attract anyone’s attention today. He shook Scarlett’s hand to check she was awake. She looked bombed out. Dark hollows under her eyes, mascara tracking down her face in black streaks. ‘Come on,’ he whispered, ‘gotta go.’ He nudged Amber, who looked as if she’d dropped off to sleep.
Tana’s eyes flickered open. She stared at Jay, as if from a place far away.
‘Err … we have to go now, Tana,’ he said, pulling Scarlett and Amber to their feet.
‘No problem. You were brilliant.’ Tana tugged on Amber’s hand. ‘I’ll see you all tonight and we’ll talk.’
In the small bathroom near the front door, Jay scrubbed at his face and hands with soap and water to remove the dirt from the fire and the make-up Tana had made them wear. No problem? That’s what she thought? The face he saw in the mirror was not the person he had looked at the night before, where the world was a shitty place, yeah, but where the charge of murder could not be added to his list of sins. Squeezed in next to him, Scarlett washed herself, digging in her shoulder bag for a clean top. They hadn’t said more than a couple of words.
He grabbed his guitar from the living room, shrugged on his overcoat and opened the door. Amber was waiting outside for them, leaning against the railing. He could see that her head was far, far away. Far away from normal. Things had changed for all of them now, a step had been taken, and soon the dam they had built around them would break. It was bound to.
* * *
As soon as the front door had slammed shut on the last one, Tana rose from her bed and stretched. ‘What a night. It was amazing, wasn’t it?’ She tore off her smoke-stained clothes and stood naked before Kegan. ‘I’m starving. Do you want to make us a coffee?’ Before he could answer, she jumped in. ‘No. I know, a quick shower then down to Costa for brekkie.’ She grinned at him and headed for the bathroom.
Kegan swallowed. Tana’s body, laced as it was in the lattice of burn marks and silver scars she had gathered over the years, was both exotic and repulsive. He knew his body would soon look the same if he stayed with her. He held his right forearm up and examined the weeping burns. Weird how there was no pain when they were all in the grip of the fire, but it burned like hell the next day. He fumbled in his rucksack and found the gauze to wrap his arm, pulling on the ends of the cloth with his teeth to tighten the knots a little. ‘Always be prepared’ was more than just a motto since he’d been with her.
He was in it deep with Tana. Deep in the grip of the Irish witch. Again, he tasted the burning and the flesh and the flames on his tongue and shuddered deep in his groin. Deep. She had him, and she knew she had him. It was a wild ride with Tana.
He picked up her clothes from the floor and threw them into the laundry bin. Christ, it had been scary at the start: luring that disgusting old tramp to the beach, filling him with cheap cider, and then … His brain refused to conjure up the image for him. It was there in his head, but lurking under a blanket of horror. Even when he thought really hard, all he could remember was the sickening crunch of the old guy’s skull cracking.
The sound of Tana’s thin voice came from the shower. She was singing a song like nothing momentous had happened. Kegan shook his head and dug out fresh clothes from his rucksack. ‘Hurry up, Tana,’ he yelled through the door, ‘I need a shower too.’ He had to get to work, though how he was going to get through the next eight hours until they were able to sit down and talk it all through, he had no idea. He didn’t even think he could go to work. Better to walk away.
They had done it. Taken the step. Kegan knew he would dare more with Tana – go further than he had with anyone else. He just wished he didn’t feel so frightened.
He sank back down on the bed and thought about what would happen next. The laptop was charging in the corner of the room, a small white light throbbing like the pulse in a grey neck. If she posted the pictures she’d taken last night, on her site, nothing would ever be the same again.
3
Detective Sergeant Sally Ellis stood in front of the mirror in the ladies’, tugging at the hem of her shirt. It was no good, she was fat. Fat, fat, fat. She couldn’t fasten the button at the side of her skirt, and she had to wear her blouse on the outside, and that made her feel scruffy. And fat. I’ve no excuse, she told herself, too many doughnuts have caused this, and I’ve only myself to blame. She sighed, and tugged a brush through her blonde curls, which bounced back into exactly the same position. She stared at her reflection. It had hurt, really hurt, when she’d heard the younger members of the team wondering if she was pregnant again. After all the effort and IVF it had taken last time, that would have been a miracle. Instead, it was just humiliating. But that throwaway comment was the spur she’d needed. ‘No, madam, you are going on a diet.’ She winked at herself. ‘And if I’m suffering, so is every bugger else.’
Sally had arrived at work that morning to find a voicemail from Bill Larcombe, telling her to set up the major incident room and move Team Two into it ready for when the boss arrived. She had no idea what Dan was doing down at the beach, apart from sticking his nose into everyone’s business. He should have been able to trust them to get on with it by now. He had too many responsibilities to go gadding about after every major incident. Perhaps she should tell him.
She opened the MI room door and found a satisfying babble as desks were allocated and people began to collate information about the new case as it was called in. Sally tacked a map of Exmouth onto the board, cleaned the rest of it, added Dan’s name to the top of it, and recharged the coffee maker. She sent young Adam Foster out for milk and refused to acknowledge the questioning looks when she didn’t order doughnuts. This would be tough, but good for them, as she was sure they would all come to understand.
Dan held the first briefing just after 9am. The team gathered in their usual places and he perched on his – on the corner of the table. ‘We have a male Caucasian, major trauma to the back of the head and se
vere burning to most of the body. Found by PCs Gareth Evans and Tracy Mulligan at approximately half past five this morning on Exmouth beach.’
‘Which bit of the beach, sir?’ asked DC Adam Foster, his throat injury adding a darker, rougher edge to his voice.
‘Between the end of the main promenade and Orcombe Point. Just around the corner.’
‘It might mean that the perpetrators are local, sir. They’d have had to know the tide times to avoid being washed away, wouldn’t they?’
‘Good thinking, Adam. Sam, what time was high tide last night?’
DC Sam Knowles tapped into his computer. ‘Just give me a sec … High tide was at seventeen-eighteen yesterday, sir.’
‘Right, if you set the fire at, say, ten pm, the tide would have gone out far enough to expose that strip of sand for the next eight or so hours.’
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