He glanced at Gregg, who nodded.

‘We’re pretty sure she lived alone,’ Mendel continued. ‘Certainly nobody’s reported her missing and she’s been dead for a couple of days.’

PC Gregg stood up and carefully refilled his glass from a large bottle of water on a side table.

‘How did we identify her in the end?’ he asked.

‘Supermarket loyalty card on her key chain,’ Harland explained. ‘One of those little key-fob ones. She didn’t have any other ID on her – that’s to be expected if she was out for a run when it happened – but she would have needed door keys, particularly if there was nobody at home to let her in.’

‘Her going for a run certainly fits with what she was wearing: white T-shirt, blue shorts, decent trainers . . .’ Mendel turned a page and read on. ‘Preliminary medical report shows no water in her lungs, so she didn’t drown. Cause of death looks like strangulation and the marks on her throat are consistent with it. No evidence of a rope or anything else being used, so chances are our killer did it with his hands. Some other bruising to her abdomen and arms – no evidence of sexual assault.’

‘Any hope of getting prints?’ Gregg asked.

‘Maybe, but I doubt we’ll be that lucky.’ Mendel sighed. ‘And the tide partially submerged the body at least twice, which won’t have helped. No footprints, either.’

There was a pause as the room took this in. Harland leaned back against his chair, a distant expression on his face.

‘Sir?’ Firth asked. ‘Any signs of a boyfriend at her house? Strangulation often has a personal or sexual connection.’

‘Good point,’ Harland agreed. ‘We’ve got people going over the place now, but I’ve not heard anything yet. I’ll chase them.’

Firth smiled. Mendel turned another page and looked up.

‘Very little in the way of personal effects,’ he noted. ‘She had her keys, as we’ve mentioned, but nothing else on her person. The SOCOs found bits of broken watch when they lifted her. It’s a sports one – assuming it’s hers, she may have been using it to time herself running.’

‘One more thing on that.’ Harland looked up at them. ‘When they lifted the body, they found fragments underneath her. There were other bits in the mud around the scene – all unweathered – so it’s possible they were left there at the same time as she was.’

He rubbed his eyes, suddenly weary, before continuing.

‘The pieces that we’ve recovered so far have all been very small, and there’s been a few of them. If this was her watch, then it didn’t just fall and get broken – it appears to have been deliberately smashed.’

‘That’s all I’ve got here.’ Mendel shrugged. He stacked his papers together and reached for his coffee, scowling when he found it had gone cold.

‘What about CCTV?’ Harland asked Firth.

‘We’ve retrieved everything we can for now,’ she explained. ‘Coverage round there is far from comprehensive but we’ll work through it and see if anything jumps out.’

‘All right.’ Harland got to his feet again and walked slowly over to the window. ‘Let’s start pulling together a picture of who our victim was. Friends, family, co-workers. We particularly want to know about any relationships she might have been having, or anything else of a personal nature that could fit with strangulation as a cause of death.’

He turned to face them and offered a thin smile. ‘That’s all for now. Thanks.’

There was a general scraping of chairs as everyone stood up and made their way out of the room. Harland remained, staring out into the street with unseeing eyes.

A violent murder – without the usual tiresome hallmarks of drugs, gangs or deprivation – and it had fallen to him. Deep inside, he felt a quiet euphoria that he didn’t like.

The call, when it came, was as unwelcome as it was predictable. The momentum and energy of a developing case was like the warming glow that came from physical exercise – an endorphin rush that masked all former pains while it lasted. Interrupting this state made the summons even more frustrating, but Harland faced it with a resigned stillness. Dealing with superiors was like holding your breath underwater – struggling only made it worse. Wearily, he stood up and made his way out into the corridor.

Superintendent Alasdair Blake was a small, fastidious man, with prematurely white hair and rimless glasses. His usual expression was one of mild disapproval, etched deep into his face over the years, and he sat stiffly as he studied the report.

‘Yes,’ he called in answer to the knock on the door, and looked up to greet Harland with a doubtful smile. ‘Come in, Graham. Take a chair.’

Blake had never felt quite at ease with Harland. Even now, watching him enter the room and sit down, something just didn’t seem right about the man. Nothing wrong with his work, certainly. He was diligent and clever, a good combination in any career officer. Well presented and well spoken. But why had he, of all people, stopped chasing promotion? Maybe the death of his wife had somehow robbed him of ambition, but that was a year ago now . . . Whatever it was, Blake didn’t want it getting in the way of this case.

‘I’ve read your report,’ he began, indicating the pages in front of him. ‘Sounds like we were fortunate to find the body when we did.’

‘That’s right,’ Harland nodded. ‘The consensus is that she was either killed there or dumped there. We’re almost certain that she wasn’t washed-up or moved by the tides – the condition of the body looks too good for that. And if we’re lucky, it means we might even have a small area of the crime scene that wasn’t disturbed by the water.’

‘Really?’ Blake looked up. ‘I thought the whole area was submerged.’

‘It was, but not underneath the body,’ Harland explained. ‘She was lying face down, and the tide seems to have washed right over her. The ground directly below her might be very significant.’

‘Where you found the fragments from a watch?’

‘Exactly. And Forensics think they might get something off the front of her clothing where it was protected by the mud.’

Blake sat back in his chair, nodding thoughtfully as he reread the report. The wall behind him, like the rest of his office, was bare and impersonal, save for three large certificates in matching cheap plastic frames.

‘Strangulation,’ he noted after a moment. ‘I assume you’re checking for boyfriends?’

‘Yes, and we’re going through the database to see if there are any locals with a profile that fits.’

Blake studied him for a moment.

‘I’m glad you’re on this, Graham,’ he said. ‘It’s a nasty business, and practically on our doorstep. We really need to get a result on this one.’

Harland recognised the tone of voice and sat quietly, knowing what was coming. His face remained impassive as he withdrew into himself, away from the meaningless pep talk.

‘I mean,’ Blake was saying, ‘a brutal murder, just a couple of miles down the road from headquarters . . .’

He placed the report on his desk and tapped it meaningfully.

‘This will attract a lot of interest from upstairs, so we have to resolve it quickly and cleanly.’

For a moment, Harland’s distaste flickered across his face, but he got hold of it. Too close to headquarters. Pity the tide hadn’t dragged her corpse a bit further along the damned coast.

‘Of course,’ he said, then added, ‘sir.’

Blake caught his eye, misreading the expression. Had this woman’s death stirred up painful memories? Hopefully not. He didn’t want someone who wouldn’t be able to see the job through . . .

‘Everything all right?’ he asked, reluctantly adding, ‘Personally, that is?’

An empty smile creased Harland’s mouth.

‘Everything’s fine, sir.’

‘Good,’ Blake said quickly, relieved not to have to explore any awkward territory. ‘Well, I’ll be expecting regular updates on this. And do let me know if there’s anything I can do to help move things along.’