It was one of those glorious summer mornings that make Winterton beach one of the most entrancing places in the world at sunrise. As the sun gently creeps up from where the horizon and the sea conjoin it slowly bathes an increasing amount of water with a reddish yellowish tinge. This then merges with the wide expanse of golden-yellow sand at low tide creating a beautiful riot of reds, yellows and ochres.
Michael Bates stood looking at the sun rise, basking in the warmth of its rays, whilst shielding his eyes with both hands. Meanwhile his golden Labrador, Poppy, frolicked in the softly overlapping wavelets. The sky was clear and the only sounds were those of the incoming tide splashing gently on the sand, garrulous gulls and warbling terns: apart from Poppy's playful barking.
Bates turned away and looked at the undulating dunes sprouting gorse bushes and a healthy array of sea wort and other coastal grasses.
His mind switched to thoughts of returning home later that day. Returning home to deal with the incessant ravages that this interminable recession was inflicting on his businesses. He had a meeting scheduled for that evening with his accountant. They were going to thrash out tactics for dealing with HMRC. An organisation that seemed to be populated by staff with no understanding of either business or basic economics. The ex-Chancellor Gerald Black had turned the department into a vicious organisation: a reflection of his own twisted personality. Its modus operandi revolved around hoovering money in with scant regard for the human cost in terms of unemployment and the long-term health of the economy. Of course it was alright for Black who had stepped down to spend more time with his family. He was cushioned by his MP's salary, expenses and the generous pension that would no doubt come his way when he left Parliament in the near future.
Bates was jolted out of his reverie by the abrupt change in poppy's barking. The playfulness had given away to an agitated and distressed yelping and whining. The dog was about sixty yards ahead of Bates. It circled and then stepped closer to, and then anxiously barked whilst backing away from, what appeared to be a large piece of light coloured flotsam at the high tide mark. The dog repeated this process whilst its anxiety level grew.
Bates hurried across to the dog whilst simultaneously ordering,
'Here girl, here girl'
The distressed dog ignored its owner and continued with its distressed behaviour.
When he reached Poppy, Bates stopped abruptly. His eyes bulged and his heartbeat accelerated with shock. He felt his breakfast rising up through his body. He turned and violently retched. He wiped his mouth with his handkerchief and struggled to spit out the remaining goblets of bile in his mouth.
He turned around. The 'flotsam' was the body of a naked and shapely formed young blonde woman lying face down. The dark roots showed that her hair colour was not natural. A few pieces of seaweed had wreathed themselves around the corpse.
Bates pulled himself together. He had to get to the phone. He grabbed Poppy and snapped the leash on her collar.
He gazed around the beach, thankfully noting that it was still empty, and hurried off in the direction of his holiday cottage.
On the way he met another dog walker with an Alsatian that circled and barked aggressively at Poppy.
'Get the thing on a leash' he snapped at the burly, elderly female owner.
'What the...' she started to say.
Before she had time to finish Bates breathlessly interrupted
'There is a dead body down there' he pointed towards the corpse. The woman emitted a high pitched sound and put her hand to her mouth.
'Are you local?'
She nodded in assent whilst leashing her dog.
'Get home and ring the police and tell them there's a dead body on the beach. I'll go back and stand guard until they arrive'
The woman scuttled off.
Within half an hour the beach around the corpse had been cordoned off. The police were attempting to keep the gawkers at bay. As a precaution they had also cordoned off the beach car park near the café.
Within a short while a crime scene officer arrived at the site soon followed by an irritable young pathologist: he had got lucky on a date the previous evening! The former took numerous photographs whilst the latter determined that the body exhibited no external signs of violence in the original position. He turned the woman onto her back noting the shaved pubic area. Again he could see no discernible signs of violence to the body. He indicated that the body should be bagged and taken to the mortuary so as to determine the cause of death.
Simultaneously to all this happening three police officers were conducting a linear search of the beach around the corpse.
In normal conditions the details of a crime scene must be carefully recorded and preserved. However, three things mitigated against that in this instance. Firstly, the tide was coming in. Secondly, the lack of any signs of violence to the body indicated that it may have been a drowning. Thirdly it was a Sunday morning and the police were mindful of their budgets
Within an hour and a half the beach was clear of everything to do with the young woman's corpse. Few of the many dog walkers were aware of the earlier drama that had unfolded on the beach. The local media had quickly interviewed Bates and the woman. Their interest had quickly evaporated when it appeared that it may just be a drowning and not a murder.