Page 16 of Slack Tide Kill

Her jaw dropped slightly. That was a direct tie to Reactor A. All the more reason to hurry back and get inside. Check the CCTV. Interview the Director, Rupert-something, about this Rook connection.

The storm gathered as she drew nearer. The rain was heavier now, soaking her despite the jacket, obscuring the reactors like the shack's dirty glass, turning the buildings to lumpy shadows. Ahead she saw the white blot of a forensics tent being erected around the crime scene. Figures in white clean suits were using sledgehammers to drive anchoring pins into the shingle, each strike resounding strangely across the beach.

She thought again about what Dean Whateley, the 'Seafoam Strangler', had said. Sound carried strange across the beach. Barking at 3 a.m. An engine.

By the time she reached the tent, it was secured. A steady drip of forensic specialists flowed in and out, wearing particle masks and blue evidence gloves. A press officer stood at the outer tape line briefing an inner cadre of reporters. More officers swept across the beach in fingertip searches. There was no sign of DCI Mayhew or Liam O'Connell.

Sally checked her phone as she strode up to the tent. A message finally came in from Liam.

‘Almost there.'

She entered the tent. The stench of rotting seaweed inside was overpowering. Forensics officers bustled around the body, poring over his clothes and any inch of exposed skin. Another photographer fired a final few flashes through the gloom then stepped back.

The body remained untouched, though a black body bag lay by his side. DCI Mayhew stood nearby, talking in hushed tones to a man with rough stubble and dark, wideset eyes, wearing full clean gear.

Sally headed over. "DCI."

Mayhew turned, and her expression soured. "Ah. This is our NCA partner, Officer Rogers. Crime Scene Manager Dwayne Akilota."

Akilota nodded. "Officer Rogers." His voice was clipped, some sub-Saharan accent she could not identify. "The DCI made me aware of your findings."

"The numbers," Sally said. "Did you confirm them?"

"Yes. Zoom photography was sufficient, though we will of course run closer analyses in Dover." He raised a tablet in his hand, displaying a zoomed-in, high-resolution image of the victim's ‘eyes'.

Sally flinched at the sudden close-up.

"8107," Akilota said. "As you thought."

Sally studied the photograph. The digits were startlingly clear, though something looked off.

"The 8 looks different," she said. "Less neat than the others. Maybe it's the angle of the photograph?"

Akilota's eyes narrowed. "You've a keen eye. I agree, the tooling on that one is different. It's flagged for closer review in Dover."

"Good. Anything else? ID? Cause or time of death?"

"Nothing on cause yet. Preliminary time is between midnight and 6 this morning."

Sally's heart sped up. She turned to Mayhew. "I knocked on three doors near the lighthouse. Got a report of dogs barking at 3 a.m., an engine sound, and possible CCTV at a defunct food shack tied to a local businessman, now deceased."

"3 a.m. is right in our window. And this shack has CCTV? I'll send a team and–"

"I've got it," Sally interrupted. "Focus your teams on the scaffold interviews. Unless you suddenly have manpower to spare?"

Mayhew glowered. A beat passed. "Who is this businessman?"

"I don't know much yet, but he had a connection to the reactor. I'll run him through the PNC then go knock on his door, see if I can find some family member who'll turf up the keys to the shack."

"You'll need to file a warrant."

"I know that, DCI."

The two women stared at each other. Akilota looked between them.

"Keep me apprised," Mayhew finally said.

"Of course, DCI." Sally turned back to Akilota. "No ID?"