BODY ON THE SHORE by Diane M. Dickson

A nameless victim, an elusive killer, and a puzzling case for a detective in a new role

When a body washes up on Crosby Beach in Liverpool Bay, detectives quickly declare foul play. Yet they will struggle to establish the identity of the victim, let alone the killer.

Leading the inquiry on his first murder case, DI Jordan Carr must marshal a somewhat motley team to build a picture of what happened one grim day on the Mersey. Like footprints in the sand, in time the clues will disappear.

With a victim who has clearly concealed her own identity, it will require a journey into Liverpool’s underworld to shake loose the facts.

But once they have their man, the police still need to know why the woman was killed. And answering that question will be DI Carr’s biggest challenge.

BODY ON THE SHORE is the first book in a new mystery series by Diane Dickson. Look out for the second book, BODY BY THE DOCKS, also available FREE with Kindle Unlimited and in paperback. Diane is the author of many crime fiction titles, including the bestselling DI Tanya Miller series set in the Midlands and Oxfordshire.

Targeted Age Group:: 25+

What Inspired You to Write Your Book?
It was quite simply the figures on Crosby Beach in Antony Gormley's installation, 'Another Place'. I have been there a few times and feel that they are quite haunting, especially when you take into account that they will be left to decay and rot away (probably).

How Did You Come up With Your Characters?
As with most of my books the characters tend to just pop in when the time is right to fill the roles. I did base some of them loosely on people I knew when I was younger. The old man who liked a flutter for example. I did rather like him and he was someone from childhood.

Book Sample
Prologue

Beatrice had always been afraid of the dark. Not so scared that it was a problem. Just a small quickening of her heartbeat, a tiny tingle of dread somewhere down in the pit of her stomach. Of course, you shouldn’t be afraid of something that doesn’t really exist, and the dark is only the lack of light. That’s what her mother had always told her. It was the things that might be hidden in the dark that were the cause of her fear. And with what had happened in the last few weeks, everything her mother had told her was now being called into question. Everything.
She knew that the chances of something really being there were very slim. At least, that was what she had made herself believe.
The noise in the night was small and indistinct. A cat, she thought, hunting in the alley. A dog possibly. But nothing to worry about, nothing to fear. Ironically, it was as she turned on the light that the danger came.
She fought hard, gave it everything she could. She clawed at his face and dragged at the bag and drew in panicked breaths. She mustn’t let it cover her mouth. She was dizzied and terrified, but she fought on until, at the end, apart from the pain, intense and stultifying, there was also a vague sort of indignant surprise. It seemed that she had been right about the dark all along.

Chapter 1

DI Jordan Carr took off his jacket and hung it over the back of his chair. He removed the lid from his takeaway cup so that he could enjoy the aroma of his Americano.
While he waited for the computer to boot, he fished into the bag of pastries. He’d already eaten that morning with Harry and Penny but had treated himself to a croissant and a chocolatine. Maybe when he hit his forties, he’d need to be more careful, but that was a few years off yet. He worked out regularly and went running three times a week, so the extra calories didn’t appear to be doing him any harm right now. He was tall enough to carry a couple of extra kilos, he reckoned, but if he started to get too chunky Nana Gloria and some of his more ‘honest’ cousins would be quick to let him know. Nana Gloria had a bit of a thing for Idris Elba and kept on about facial hair: “Just a little bit, Jordan. Stubble, that’s what they call it. You’d look just like him and he’s a policeman as well.”
There was no point telling her he was an actor, Nana Gloria believed what she wanted to. Anyway, it wasn’t happening. When he’d let it grow there were a few grey hairs in among the black, which depressed him. Anyway, Penny was one hundred per cent against it.
Mornings would soon be different, when Penny started back at work and Harry went to the nursery. He was sorry about that. He relished the family time and it warmed him to know they were safe at home in Crosby while he was at work.
But Penny was ready to get back to work. She had come so far since the days in Oxford, just after Harry arrived, when she had been lost in the fug of depression. They had come through it and, though she loved spending time with their son, she needed something more.
The computer was booted. He wiped the grease from his fingers, tossed the empty cup and the papers into the bin and leaned forward to scroll through the overnight messages. There wasn’t that much. A couple of fights in the city centre, the usual crop of car thefts and some attempted break-ins. He could spend the morning catching up on paperwork.
Then his internal phone rang.
* * *
DCI Cross stood looking out of his window. The glass was grubby and wet and the scene outside, dull and grey. The view was of the tiny bit of green in front of the station, the litter-strewn road and the low-rise flats opposite. It was uninspiring and he pulled the cord to part close the vertical blinds.
“Jordan. Have you got much on at the moment?” he said.
“Nothing too pressing, sir.”
“Good. Got an odd one for you. Details have been sent through to you. Young woman found dead this morning, down on the beach. A suspicious death apparently. Medical examiner is over there. CSI should be on scene, the circus is underway. Out near where you live, I reckon. Crosby, isn’t it?”
“Yes, sir. So, why have we got it?”
“Don’t you want it? Too busy, are you?”
“No, of course not. It’s just that there is Waterloo nearer.”
“Apparently, they are overstretched right now, some people sick, a few on courses, well you know what it’s like. There’s no slack in the personnel cover these days. Anyway, they’ve asked for our help. If you’d prefer me to give it to someone else, I can. I just thought it was about time you took the lead. You’ve been here a while now, settled in and familiar and all that rot.”
“Yes, of course, sir. I’m ready.”
“Okay then. Off you go and, DI Carr, try and move this along swiftly. I don’t want DCI Campbell from Waterloo on my back every five minutes. Take that new lad with you. DC Denn, isn’t it? We might as well throw him in at the deep end. I’ve heard he’s keen.”
“A DC, sir.”
“Yes. I realise you probably want a detective sergeant, but he’s what we’ve got. Make it work.”
“Yes, sir. I’d better get on then.”
Jordan managed to keep his tone level and his expression impassive but the DCI was getting under his skin. Impatient, ill-tempered and blasé to the point of rudeness, and if that wasn’t enough Richard Cross had raging halitosis.
Jordan grabbed his jacket, rang through to Terry Denn telling him to get down to the car park, signed out, and was in the car within ten minutes of leaving DCI Cross’s office. The despatcher had sent the co-ordinates to his smartphone and the Google voice had him heading back along the roads he had travelled just over an hour before.
* * *
The promenade was a pantomime of blue and white. Crime scene tape, cars, uniforms and, of course, growing now, a crowd of onlookers. Officers were trying to move people away, but it was an impossible task. There was a white van with the force logo on the side and boxes of kit near the open rear doors. Jordan took out gloves and shoe covers and moved aside to let the young detective take his own gear. Terry’s face was pale and there was a fine sheen of sweat along his upper lip.
“First one?” Jordan asked.
“Yes, sir. I’ve seen stuff already, traffic and so on. A few nasty smashes, but this is my first suspicious death. It feels different.”
“Yes, okay. Most important thing, don’t contaminate the scene. Nobody will be impressed if you do that.”

Chapter 2

They walked to the head of the slipway.
Out across the wet sand, a small group was gathered around the legs of one of the steel men – sculptures that the artist Antony Gormley had installed. The other ninety-nine statues kept impassive watch from their places in the bay. Jordan approached the bobby with a clipboard and held up his warrant card.
“How do we get down there? Where is the safe route?”
“Isn’t one.” As he spoke, the man turned. “Best if you don’t go down. Not unless you have to.”
“I’m SIO on this, I guess I have to.”
“Ah right. Well, sir, no way is really safe, not just now. There’s the sand, isn’t there?”
“The sand?”
“Aye, the sinking sand. All stirred up it is and really unstable. They’re going to have to move along. Don’t know how they plan on getting the body back. I reckon they’ll have to slide it on a bag or something, but whatever, they need to watch themselves. Look now, see.”
Jordan peered towards the group as one of the figures called out waving his arms. He twisted back and forth obviously struggling to move his feet and lower legs. Two of the others, outlined against the pale grey of the sky and the darker grey of the water beyond, stepped carefully towards him. To a chorus of jeers and laughter from the onlookers on the shore, he fell backwards with a small splash.
The group around the heap of black plastic had paused in their work to watch. A couple more of them moved forward to help, but by now the little drama was over. As he turned to splash and plod his sodden way towards the promenade, carrying the boots that he had stepped out of, the unfortunate constable raised a hand to acknowledge the jeering from the crowd.
Jordan’s glance met that of the embarrassed uniformed officer. They both had thoughts of Morecombe Bay and desperate calls from the cockle pickers. Quicksand, the stuff of nightmares and folk lore, but at times a danger all too real.
“I reckon, you can wait here, Terry. It’s not going to be helpful more feet stirring up the surface. Can you deal with things over there?”
He pointed to one of the benches where a woman in an anorak was hunched forward, holding a little dog on her lap. A female officer sat beside her.
“That’ll be our witness. Have a word.”
Terry watched him for a moment and then stomped away towards the figure on the bench.
Jordan fetched a pair of wellies from the car and dragged on a scene suit over his clothes. The sand near the promenade was dry and powdery but where the tide had touched it the surface was ridged, puddled, and the nearer he came to the statue the more unstable it became. Now and again there was the sharp shock of camera flash against the dull day as pictures were taken. He walked carefully, determined not to give the crowd more entertainment. He was glad he’d brought his boots.
* * *
There would be no point bringing in a crime scene tent. There was nowhere to secure it and the victim would have to be moved before the tide came in. It was an impossible scene to examine in any depth so all they could do was gather what information there was while they had the chance. Jordan crouched beside the medical examiner. She glanced at him and nodded but continued dictating into the little handheld device.
The body was wrapped in two heavy duty refuse sacks, but they had torn where they’d caught on the big steel legs of the statue and then been cut by Phil Grant’s knife. Parcel tape had been used to hold the sacks together and remnants still adhered to the plastic.
Dr Grant paused and stood up to ease her back.
“Hiya, Jordan. How come you’re here?” she asked.
“Just helping out, Phil.”
“Well, if you can wait until we get back up to the car, I’ll let you have a full rundown on what I’ve got so far. No doubt it’s suspicious. Suspicious and violent. Poor thing could never have survived the blows to her head, but at least it would have been quick. The end at least.”
“How do you mean, the end?”
“Evidence of defence wounds, broken nails and what have you.”
She knelt again and pointed with a plastic pen.
Jordan steadied himself with one hand on the uneven surface as he leaned closer to look at the woman. Clots of hair stuck to her face and neck. She was wearing nightclothes, a blue towelling dressing gown and underneath, a pale nightdress with lace around the top. She had been pretty, was still pretty, if you could ignore the gaping wounds on her head.
It was unlikely that the body had been dumped here. She would surely not have been carried across unstable ground, just to be left at that particular point. More likely the corpse had been washed down the River Mersey with the tide and accidently caught on the legs of the statue, otherwise it would have been lost forever in the Irish Sea. Jordan would need to speak to someone about tide tables and currents. This was something new. Since he’d moved to Liverpool from Oxford, he’d come to enjoy the river and the broad flat sands, the ferries, and the container ships, but he hadn’t a clue about the ebb and flow of the waters. There wasn’t much else to see, and they had limited time. He glanced up at the blank face of the statue and then back to the gory remains.
“I’ll see you back at the car,” he said.
Phil nodded and continued with her examination.
Terry was sitting with the witness, making notes. He looked up as Jordan joined them. The woman was in her sixties, thin and fit-looking but right now, pale and shaky.
“Detective Inspector this is–”
The woman interrupted him, not wanting anyone stealing the limelight.
“Ewell, Theresa. It’s Miss. I was telling your boy here, I come down here every day. Twice, morning and evening. I watch the birds, the boats.” She reached beside her and held up a pair of binoculars. “I’ve done it for years. Me and my da used to come. Habit I suppose, but…” She shrugged. “Why live by the shore and not come to the beach? We used to come before they put up those statues. They are a bit spooky and strange. Big naked men walking out into the estuary like that, but I don’t mind them. They’re not offensive or anything. They’re by that man that did the big Angel aren’t they? Gormley – that’s his name.”
She turned to look over at the small group which was now beginning to move away from the metal giant, dragging the black bags on a plastic stretcher.
“Anyway, Benjie here,” she said, stroking the terrier’s silky ears, “he ran off and he wouldn’t come back. He’s not like that. Normally he’s a good boy.” She leaned forward to plant a quick kiss on the dog’s head. “I didn’t go down. I usually stick to the top here, on the dry sand. It’s not safe if there’s no-one around to go down there. Anyway, he was pulling and dragging at that thing and then when I had a look with the binoculars, I could see it was some poor sod in a bag on the beach. Horrible.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“And you didn’t go down there?” Jordan asked.
“No, should I have done? There was no way whoever it is was still alive, not in a plastic bag. I just called you lot.”
“No, you did exactly the right thing. I’ll have someone take you home if you like. Is there someone who can be with you.”
“No, lad, it’s fine. I’ve got my car there and I’m alright. I don’t live far away. Just need a nice cuppa and I’ll be sorted.”
“Have you got all you need, Detective Constable?” Jordan said.
Terry nodded and closed his notebook.
“Okay, I’ll send someone later to take a statement, if that’s alright. You didn’t see anyone, did you? While you were having your walk.”
“No, only the usuals, nobody down there at any rate,” the woman said.
“Okay, I’ll let you go. Thank you so much, Miss Ewell, you’ve been a great help.”
They walked back to where the coroner’s van was parked, the rear doors standing open. He lifted his hand to wave at Phil Grant who was now dragging off a sodden, dirt-smeared crime suit.
“Nice to see you again, Jordan. How’s your lovely wife?”
“She’s well, thanks.”
“There’s a flask of coffee here. Help yourself.”
“Thanks, I will.”
She continued to strip off the protective gear and bundled it into a bag.
“So, as you saw, female and young. Probably early twenties. IC1. I’ll get to the examination today. Will you come?” she asked.
“Yes, I’ll bring Terry as well.” As he spoke Jordan was aware of the young detective beside him tensing, he turned. “Your first?”
“Sir.”
“Oh well, you have to get it out of the way sometime.”
It began to drizzle and there was a chill wind blowing across the estuary. A couple of gulls were arguing about a lump of something nasty lying beside a waste bin. He had no choice but to walk over to make sure it wasn’t anything more than just general litter. It was just a discarded sandwich. Jordan left it where it was because someone would have the job of collecting all of the waste, including the disposable nappies and examining them in detail, and he wouldn’t risk contaminating anything now he’d taken his gloves off. It was almost certainly a waste of time considering that the body had washed down the Mersey, but a fingertip search would have to be done.
Once she had finished her coffee, Phil dragged off her thick sweater and yanked out the clips that held her long hair. Jordan refilled her mug from the flask, and she reached to take it from him.
“Cheers.”
Out of the corner of his eye Jordan was aware of Terry gawping at the medical examiner. Now she was out of the shapeless suit and unglamorous head covering he got his first proper eyeful. Jordan remembered his first meeting with her at a reception, and the kick on the shin Penny had given him when she had seen him do a double take watching her walk across the room.
This morning she was all business, a total professional.
“Okay, first impressions. She hasn’t been there long. I suppose you already sussed that, Jordan?”
Jordan nodded. “We were just lucky that she washed up against the statue.”
“Yes, the next tide would have carried her away but that wasn’t going to happen. This place has visitors even in the middle of winter, so it wasn’t ever going to be long before she was seen. Thank goodness.”
“Okay, we’ll get off. We’ll see you this afternoon. Come on then, Terry.”
Jordan put his empty cup in a plastic bag to take with him back to the car. As they passed the coroner’s van, he stopped.
“You should have a look, Terry. It’s different seeing them at this stage, rather than back at the morgue.”
He heard Terry Denn gasp beside him.
“Get busy, it’s the best way to deal with it. Come on, we’ll go back, set up a room, start our books. She hasn’t been dead long, that’s lucky. We have a few hours now that are golden. Let’s make the most of them. First thing is to identify her.”
Jordan pointed towards a bulky figure at the edge of the grassy verge.
“Go over and have a word with that bloke over there. He’s in charge of all of this lot. Make sure he knows we have taken this on and we’re at Wavertree. I don’t want information doing the rounds to the local bods before it gets to us and wasting valuable time. Get the fingerprint images sent to us as soon as possible and any meaningful finds. Probably won’t be any and I don’t expect she’ll be on the system, but you never know. Come on, move yourself.”

Author Bio:
After the Secondary Education System in sixties Liverpool spat me out I had a pretty eclectic career. I worked as a veterinary nurse with the RSPCA, and then had a go at nursing (people this time). I had a super job as a Personnel Officer at a military hospital in Riyadh which presented very unusual challenges. After over twenty years in the Middle East I ended up as a PA in Portsmouth. I’m a total Reacher creature, Terry Pratchett addict and lover of JD Robb.

I’m a wife, mum, granny and a poet. I believe in the Loch Ness Monster, the Yeti, Dragons and think that ghosts are visitors time-slipping in the multiverse."

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