4

The wind buffeted DI Helen Grace as she sped along the coastal road. She hadn’t been down this isolated spit of land before and she liked what she saw. The wildness, the isolation – it was her kind of place. With the road open before her, she ratcheted up her speed, pushing hard against the strong headwind.

Soon the crime scene came into view and she eased off on the throttle, bringing her Kawasaki’s progress down to a respectable 30 mph. DS Lloyd Fortune was waiting for her by the fluttering police tape. Young, smart, the poster boy for ethnic-minority policing in Southampton, Lloyd was destined for great things. Helen had always liked and respected him, yet still it felt odd having him as her number two. Charlie had been temporarily promoted to DS during their pursuit of Ella Matthews, but her elevation had never been made permanent. And as soon as Charlie had announced her pregnancy, it became academic – she would remain at her former rank of DC for the foreseeable future. It wasn’t fair, but that was the way it worked, the odds forever stacked against working mums.

The old team was breaking up. Tony Bridges had left the Force for good, DC Grounds was due to retire shortly and Charlie was on maternity leave, a few weeks shy of giving birth. Lloyd was the new DS, they had two new DCs – the Major Incident Team had a very different feel now. If she was honest, it made Helen uncomfortable. She hadn’t got a handle on the new personalities, was yet to establish an easy rhythm with the freshly assembled team. But the only way to do that was to go through fire together.

‘What have you got for me, Lloyd?’

They were already making their way under the police cordon and across the sand towards the trench.

‘Young female. Buried about three feet down. Found by a couple of kids an hour or so ago. They’re over there with their parents.’

Lloyd indicated the family of four, huddled in police blankets, giving their statements to a uniformed officer.

‘Any connection to the victim?’

‘No, they come here most weekends. Usually have the place to themselves.’

‘Anybody live near here?’

‘No. The nearest houses are three miles away.’

‘Does it pick up anything from the lighthouse at night?’

‘It’s too far round.’

‘Making this a pretty good deposition site.’

They walked in silence to the lip of the trench. Meredith Walker, Southampton Central’s Chief Forensics Officer, was at the bottom, carefully excavating the body. Helen took in the scene, the white-suited Forensics Officer crouching sinisterly over a woman who looked completely at peace, despite the wet sand that stuck to her hair, eyes and lips.

The woman’s face, shoulders, upper torso and arms had been revealed. Her limbs were painfully thin and the skin very pale, which made her single tattoo stand out even more. Despite the partial decomposition, she was a strangely beautiful sight, her black hair still framing those vivid blue eyes. It reminded Helen of the Grimms’ fairy tales, of gothic damsels awaiting love’s true kiss.

‘How long has she been down there?’ Helen asked.

‘Hard to say,’ replied Meredith. ‘The sand at this depth is cold and wet – ideal conditions to preserve the body. There are no animals or insects to get to her here either. But it’s not recent. Given the levels of decomposition, I would say two, three years – Jim Grieves will be able tell you more once he gets her back to the mortuary.’

‘I’ll need the Crime Scene Photos tonight if possible,’ Helen replied.

‘Will do. Though I’m not sure how much help they’ll be. Whoever did this has been careful. Her earrings and nose studs have been removed. The fingernails have been cut. And you can guess what time and tide have done to any residual forensic evidence.’

Helen thanked Meredith and walked down to the water’s edge to get a better view of the scene. Already her nerves were jangling. This was a careful, premeditated disposal by someone who knew exactly what they were doing. This wasn’t the work of an amateur. Which strongly suggested to Helen that their killer had done this before.

5

‘Stay away. Don’t come near me.’

Ruby was backed into a corner of the room. She held out her arms to ward off attack, but knew immediately that it was an empty gesture.

Click. A powerful torch beam fired straight at her. Her heart raced as she watched the torch beam run the rule over her, creeping down from her face, over her chest to her thighs and then her feet. Despite her determination to appear strong, her composure abandoned her now and she started to sob.

‘Don’t be frightened.’

His voice was measured and steady. She didn’t recognize it, though the Southampton accent came through clearly.

‘Please let me go,’ she gushed through tears. ‘I won’t tell anyone. I –’

‘Are you cold?’

‘Please. I just want to go home.’

‘If you’re cold, I can get you an extra blanket. I want you to be comfortable.’

His calm pragmatism was crushing. He was speaking as if nothing unusual had happened. As if this were normal.

‘Are you hungry?’

‘I want to go home, you motherfucker. Stop … stop talking to me. Just … take me home. The police will be looking for me –’

‘Nobody’s looking for you, Ruby.’

‘My parents are expecting me. My mum’s coming round today –’

‘Your parents don’t love you.’

‘What?’

‘They never have.’

‘Why are you say—’

‘I’ve seen the way they treat you. What they say about you when you’re not around. They want rid of you.’

‘That’s not true.’

‘Really? You walked out on them, remember. So why should they come looking for you?’

The horrible logic of it rendered Ruby speechless.

‘No … no. You’re wrong. You’re lying. If you want money, they’ve got –’

‘I’m just telling you the truth. They don’t want you. But I do.’

Ruby sobbed louder. This couldn’t be happening.

‘I want to go home,’ she whimpered.

The torch beam moved still closer. He was beside her now. Ruby hung her head, clamping her eyes shut. She could feel his breath on her. She flinched when she felt him stroke her hair.

‘That’s good to hear, my love.’

His voice was a warm whisper.

‘Because this is your home now.’

6

Alison Sprackling was furious with her daughter. They had made an arrangement to meet at eleven – it was now nearly one p.m. Where the hell was she?

The doorbell had gone unanswered, so Alison had let herself in. Ruby lived alone in a tiny, down-at-heel flat. She was by nature a party girl and often went out drinking on Friday nights, so it was not beyond her to cower under the duvet, nursing a hangover, blocking out the world. There was of course always the chance that she had brought someone home with her – not something Alison liked to dwell on, given her daughter’s romantic history – but there was too much riding on this to be bashful.

It had taken so long to get the family back to a point where a reconciliation might be possible – Alison was determined not to blow it now, however unreliable and wilful Ruby could be. Months of diplomacy had gone into engineering Ruby’s return to the family – today was the day when they were going to contact her landlord, book a removals firm. It was a day of celebration, a day to rubberstamp a hard-fought victory for common sense over hurt.