Page 8 of Slack Tide Kill

"Then I'll take the north route now. I'd recommend a two-man team to the west." Sally glanced back at the tape line. "My partner should be here soon, and he'll help. But you need to bring in more bodies, DCI. We're way under capacity for what this requires."

Mayhew stared at her a moment, jaw working under the skin, then nodded and started issuing orders down her radio.

Sally headed toward the witness.

The older woman, Nancy Cagen, watched her come. She was small and wind-scoured, her face heavily lined but lustrous still, wiry curls of gray hair escaping a knitted hat. Her jacket was red and green, layered under a scarf that had been washed so many times its pattern was barely a ghost. The plastic bag in her hand was from a supermarket, sagging with something heavy.

"Officer Sally Rogers, NCA," Sally said, offering her hand. "I understand you found the body?"

Cagen shook her hand. Her palm was rough as old rope, her grip firm. "Nancy Cagen, my love." Her voice was deeper than Sally expected, her accent broad. "I was out combing the beach, and there he was."

Sally looked at the bag. "Anything good this morning?"

Cagen paused a moment, then raised the bag slightly. "A whole lot of winkles, an old boot, some nice hagstones. You know, stones with holes in them, carved by fairies?" A pause. "And him."

Sally softened her tone. "Can you talk me through it, please?"

"Of course. Whenever the Lady allows, I walk the slack tide." Cagen pointed out to sea, far out, where the water was a smear against the flat gray sky. "Down there, right at the very edge where the sea can't go any further before it starts coming back in."

Sally considered. It was a long stretch of sloping shingle from the body to the sea. "It's a strange landscape."

"It's a cuspate foreland, my love. A great shifting sieve on the Channel, straining everything that comes through. England's only desert, they used to call it."

Sally absorbed that. Desert. Cuspate foreland. She'd have to look it up. "And you walk here regularly?"

"Oh aye, I'm out here couple times a day, combing the Gray Lady's trail."

"The Gray Lady?"

"Just my name for her. The Channel. Like an old-style Goddess. Fickle. Furious. Beautiful, too."

Sally weighed that. "I'd have thought the strand line was where the debris turns up. Right here."

Cagen cackled; a startling sound on that beach. "Who wants debris when you can have treasure? Slack tide keeps the best secrets, lovey. Crystals, sometimes, after you crack 'em. Fossils buried in rock for millions of years. Real gems." She shrugged. "You have to break them open to know. Nothing shows you what it is from the outside."

Sally filed that away and let a silent moment pass. "Do you have any idea who might have done this, Nancy?"

"Now?" Her eyes narrowed. "No clue. But 30 year back, when the other lad turned up, I had plenty. Said them all to the police back then, again and again, and they just weren't bothered."

Sally leaned in. "Who wasn't bothered? And what did you tell them?"

"Only the obvious, love. Everyone knew who killed that lad, though no one wanted to say it then or now. I'm not afraid though, and I'll tell you–"

"Thank you, Nancy," DCI Mayhew interrupted firmly, arriving at Sally's shoulder. "Someone will drive you home. Get warm."

The moment closed like a shell.

"DCI, I think we should–"

"It's all in the reports, isn't it, Nancy?" Mayhew snapped. "All your theories that went nowhere. Unless you have something new to add?"

Cagen shrugged, a weary form of defeat. "Right you are, our Glory." She hefted her carrier bag and gave Sally a look that was almost apologetic. "Good luck with all this, lovey. Come find me on the beach and we'll talk again."

Sally watched her go, then turned to Mayhew. "She was about to tell me who committed the original murder."

Mayhew waved a hand. "She's told that story countless times, to anyone who will ask. Some local gangster, and it went nowhere, again and again."

"Who?"