Rego watched from a distance as Tamsyn checked the details of the paramedic and undertaker in the scene log. He smiled at her earnest expression, remembering his own first days in the job. He’d been a cocky little shit.
Rego cursed as he lost his balance struggling to climb into a forensic suit, the granite paving stones of the harbour slick underfoot.
One of the men from the Coastguard raised a hand and Tamsyn waved back. Rego glanced at her and she gave a small shrug.
“That’s Bernie Ryder. He’s friends with my Grandad.”
“Of course he is.”
Another difference policing in a small community.
The man who’d waved was in his late fifties, fit-looking, with a short beard, weather-beaten face and wearing Hi-Vis bib-and-braces overalls.
“Tammy! Are you in the job now, my lovely?”
“Yes, I am! It’s my first day, Bernie. This is my … this is DI Rego, PC Smith, Al Ross, and Mr Sellers is from the funeral home.”
The man nodded at Rego, his hazel eyes assessing.
“Gents. I’m Bernie Ryder, Maritime Operations Manager. We don’t usually expect to see the police on these jobs. Well, we recovered the body just down from that outcrop,” and he pointed at a section of the cove that couldn’t be accessed on foot. “Female. Been in the water at least a day, probably two.”
“You’re sure?” Rego asked sharply.
“Near enough. A body will float for a few hours after death, if that. Then sink. Bump along the bottom for one or two days. Gases of decomposition will make it rise and float after a day or so. Then it would be more subject to wind than tide.”
Rego decided he’d check to see if the pathologist agreed with Ryder’s estimated time of death.
The paramedic jumped onto the boat, staggering slightly as he caught his balance. He squatted down next to the body, pronounced life extinct, made a few notes and hurried away, calling over his shoulder that he’d be in touch.
Moving more cautiously than the paramedic, Rego climbed aboard, hoping the movement of the small boat wasn’t going to make him seasick. To take his mind off that thought, he concentrated on the job, or rather the body – definitely female. Then he steeled himself for a closer look.
Just because you could get used to seeing a dead body, it didn’t mean it was ever easy.
He snapped on a pair of disposable gloves and performed a brief body search, but there was no obvious cause of death: no bullet or knife wounds; no blunt force trauma, because from what he could see, the bones appeared to be intact. It was likely a suicide or accidental drowning. Maybe they’d get lucky with dental recognition.
The body’s skin was mottled and the outer layer beginning to slough away. As he rolled the body over, he saw that her eyes, lips and throat were gone along with some other soft tissue damage.
“Seagulls been at her,” said Ryder. “Probably crabs, fish, lobsters, too.”
Rego lost any appetite for seafood while he was in Cornwall. He crouched down to take a look at the victim’s hands in case he could use his mobile scanner to take fingerprints. Fish had definitely had been nibbling at the epidermis, but he was hopeful that the pathologist could get some friction ridge detail from the underside. It was possible, but beyond what he could do with his phone scanner.
He was surprised to find Tamsyn peering down at the body from the quay. She seemed a little pale, but then again, everyone in Cornwall was pale compared to him.
“Is that a tattoo?” she asked, bending closer and peering at the woman’s right ankle.
Rego had spotted it too, and was impressed that she had the presence of mind to notice it. He moved closer and knelt down, pulling out his phone to take a picture. The image was blurred as the woman’s skin had begun to decompose, but Rego’s pulse gave a sharp jump as he enlarged the photo. He’d seen that tattoo before, or one very like it. But where?
“Okay, the body can be taken from the scene.”
Stepping back, he watched as the Coastguard crew and the undertaker worked together to place the corpse into a black body bag, then move it from the boat to the funeral director’s van waiting on the quay.
He glanced at Tamsyn to see how she was doing. He was glad that she seemed composed.
“We always treat bodies with as much dignity as possible,” he said.
She nodded slowly.
“I don’t think there’s much dignity in death, sir.”
He met her gaze. “We do our best.”
After a final word with Ryder, Rego turned to PC Smith.
“Who found the body?”
“A Mrs Madeleine Polpenn who lives at Kemyell, that’s half a mile up the lane,” he said, pointing up the hill. “She saw the body when she was walking her dog at approximately 6.30am. Called 999. She was upset but not crying and all that.”
“Okay, I’ll go and debrief her in a minute. Are there any other roads down to this village?”
Jamie shook his head. “Just this one, sir. There’s another lane above the pub, but that’s half a mile or more. The coast path runs either side of the cove.”
“So entry is by this road, by boat, or on foot?”
“Yes, sir.”
“We need air surveillance,” Rego said.
Jamie looked doubtful. “The helicopter is probably deployed to the RTC. We might be able to get another one down from Brixham. That’s Devon, sir.”
He said ‘Devon’ the way people in Manchester said ‘Arsenal’.
Rego shook his head.
“No, we don’t need a helicopter. Is anyone at Penzance trained to fly drones?”
Until recently, air surveillance would have meant a very expensive helicopter from the National Police Air Service – and they allocated helicopters to scenes on a priority basis, so if there was a critical incident or car chase, you probably wouldn’t get a look in. But one of the things that had attracted Rego to this rural community was their innovative use of drone technology, and D&C Police had recently expanded the number of officers trained to use the equipment.
Jamie shook his head.
“No, sir, but they’ve got two drone pilots at Camborne.”
Rego made a note of that.
“They’ll need to search at least a mile up the coast path in each direction. But if we can’t get drones up quickly, it’ll have to be on foot. We’re looking for clothes, shoes, a handbag, preliminary entry point; a suicide note, if we’re lucky.”
Tamsyn stood back and watched as Rego worked. She didn’t feel as nervous or unsure now. Part of that was due to the Inspector treating her like a proper member of the team, and part of it was because she felt like she was actually being useful.
She wasn’t sure what she’d expected from a Detective Inspector, but she hadn’t thought he’d be so inclusive: orders, yes; explanations, not so much – but he’d been really good at clarifying what was happening and what she needed to do in her role.
Plus, he was pretty hot for an old guy.
She followed his gaze as Rego glanced up at the cliffs, then back down to where the body was being secured inside the funeral director’s van. Nobody had asked Tamsyn’s opinion but she didn’t think the woman could have jumped from anywhere near the cove – the cliffs were sloping, not sheer. If she’d jumped nearby, well, she’d have hit rocks first – you’d be able to tell if that had happened. And it seemed weird that she’d have jumped naked.
“You okay there, Tamsyn?” Jamie asked.
“I was wondering about her clothes.”
“The sea could have taken them if she’s been out there for a while.”
Although unconvinced, Tamsyn nodded. She’d lost her bikini top once when she’d been surfing so she knew the power of the waves. But for all the clothes to have disappeared? She wondered what had happened to the woman and why she’d decided to end her own life. It was all so random, so pointless.
It wasn’t the first dead body that Tamsyn had seen. She’d been ten when her father had drowned, fallen overboard while running the lines on his lobster pots, and she still remembered the numb horror of seeing his wax-like body rolling free of the tarpaulin that her grandfather had tried to cover him with.
It hadn’t seemed real, hadn’t felt real. The shock, the overwhelming pain – that had come later.
Tamsyn glanced again at the DI then up at the cliffs again. She thought it was more likely that the body had drifted here. The whole of the bay between the Lizard peninsula and Land’s End had very weak currents, but Lamorna was really tidal so it was harder to tell where the body might have come from. Her grandfather would probably be the person to ask. If she was allowed to tell him what she’d seen.
She decided her best bet was to let DI Rego do the detecting and for her to find out what PC Jamie Smith was doing.
“These are the fast track actions,” Rego explained to Jamie and Tamsyn, but mostly for Tamsyn’s benefit. “Identification: we need to identify the victim so that next of kin can be informed. We’ll need house-to-house, search social media for miss-pers, as well as the missing person’s database. If we don’t get anywhere with that, we’ll have to ask for information in a press release, but that’s not a scenario we want if it can be avoided.” He looked up at Tamsyn to make sure she was taking this in. “We don’t want the victim’s family hearing from the press that their loved one has died rather than hearing it from the police.”
Tamsyn nodded as she took notes.
“We want to identify her as quickly as possible but we need to be prepared to have something ready for the local papers,” and get on the right footing with the journalists, Rego thought to himself.
“That’ll be The Cornishman and The West Briton,” Smith said confidently.
“And Cornwall Live.” Both men turned to Tamsyn. “It’s online, so it’s quicker,” she added self-consciously.
Rego nodded, pleased that she was thinking for herself.
“And I’ll need to organise a dedicated phone line for the press release if we have to go down that route.”
He wanted a detective answering the calls on that.
“We also need to speak to local fishermen to ask if they’ve seen anything: clothing floating in the water…”
“What about the Scillonian, sir?” asked Jamie.
“What’s that?”
“It’s the ferry between Penzance and the Isles of Scilly. Maybe she jumped off there.”
Tamsyn frowned. She thought it was more likely that anyone falling or jumping off the Scillonian would be swept up the north coast and not against the prevailing south-westerlies. Unless she’d jumped when the ferry left Penzance … or was nearly back.
But she didn’t say anything.
“Jamie, you go with the undertaker and hand over at the hospital which is…?”
“Rose Cottage, sir: it’s what staff call the mortuary at West Cornwall Hospital in Penzance.”
Rego already knew that but didn’t interrupt.
“But if a post-mortem has been requested,” Jamie continued, “they get sent up to Treliske Hospital. That’s in Truro – about 35 miles away.”
Rego could see that he’d be spending a lot of his time driving up and down the length of Devon and Cornwall. Even his new HQ was 120 miles away in Exeter.
He added to his list of jobs: speak to the Coroner and request a post-mortem then get one booked asap, this afternoon, if possible; he needed forensics to lift a clearer image of the tattoo and get that circulated, then…
His phone rang.
“Yes, Tom.”
DS Stevens’ voice hissed and spat, reminding Rego that he was in a poor signal area.
“We’ve been able to negate criminality in the RTC, sir, so we’ve handed over to the Specialist Road Traffic Policing Unit; and Jen has found medication for heart pills at the unexplained death in Marazion.”
“Good, thank you.”
Rego went on to list everything he needed from his DS, including personnel for the team.
“PC Smith is going with the body and I’m taking PC Poldhu to debrief the witness. I’m hoping to get a post-mortem this afternoon, so I’ll bring Tamsyn back to the station then.”
He glanced across to find her watching him. Her focus was slightly unnerving.
Rego finished the call as the funeral director’s van left the quay. A couple of locals were waiting beyond the cordon, but there was no press interest yet.
Rego went to speak to them – it was always a good idea to talk to the people who lived near the scene to find out if they’d seen or heard anything. These two men were both stooped and white-haired but looked alert.
“Good morning, I’m Detective Inspector Rego. Do you live here?”
“Yes, both of us. I’m Arthur Evans and this is Bill Gwavas.” The elderly man pointed at a whitewashed cottage a few yards back from the harbour. “That’s me, and Bill is next door but one.”
Rego made a note.
“Is it true that a body has been washed up?”
“Yes, we have recovered a body. I can’t say more than that at the moment. Have you seen or heard anything unusual over the last couple of days?”
They discussed it between themselves for a few moments before declaring that they couldn’t think of anything relevant.
“Do you know anyone in the harbour area who has CCTV?”
They seemed to find that suggestion surprising, maybe even shocking, shaking their heads vigorously.
Rego handed them each a business card in case they thought of something else, then walked back to Tamsyn and Jamie.
“Tamsyn, if any of the locals ask you what’s going on, you simply say, ‘A body has been recovered, an investigation is under way, but it’s too early to say anything else’. And that’s it, nothing else except to take their names, addresses and phone numbers. All communications will be dealt with by the Force Press Office, and they’ll allocate a trained officer to deal with all press enquiries at this stage. Okay?”
“Yes, sir.”
As he walked up the steep path from the village, he waited for Tamsyn to speak. After half a minute of silence, he realised that she was too inexperienced to know that she could ask him questions.
“What are your thoughts so far, Tamsyn?”
She looked surprised, then appeared to compose herself.
“Do you think you’ll be able to trace that tattoo, sir?”
“Possibly. We’d circulate it with the press release.”
“It looked a bit like a fancy V with vines,” said Tamsyn. “Or maybe … maybe a goat skull. Wait, could those be sort of like … seahorses … or birds?”
A memory pinged Rego’s brain; one with frightening possibilities. Could it be? Was that possible, in sleepy Cornwall of all places? No, no. It couldn’t be. But what if it is?
He didn’t tell Tamsyn about his Oh shit moment. Instead, he kept his tone conversational.
“Maybe,” was all he said.
Tamsyn seemed to be waiting for him to say more, but Rego’s brain was cycling through a previous case that he’d been involved with. The tattoo could be a coincidence.
Except Rego didn’t believe in them.