'Three of the huts were unlocked,' Daniels said, returning. 'Nothing inside except some ripped deck chairs, old china, a burner and a kettle.'

  'Tell me what happened.'

  'The dead man was found over there.' Daniels pointed to an area about three yards from where they were standing. Ryga picked up his hat and coat and headed towards it as Daniels, beside him, hurriedly continued, 'He was lying on his back, with his arms by his side.'

  Ryga reached the location and studied the ground. There was nothing to see except stones. 'He was above the high-water mark?'

  'Just. His clothes were dry including his shoes. But they could have dried out since the previous high tide.'

  'Which was when?'

  Daniels consulted his notebook. 'Twenty-three forty-one.'

  'So he could have come in by boat on the high tide?' 'Possibly. It's a fairly treacherous coast, though.'

  'But an experienced sailor with a sturdy and shallow draft boat could have done it.'

  'I guess so. Low tide was 04.50 and the body was found this morning at 06.42.'

  'An analysis of his clothes will tell us if the sea covered him or part of him. Who found him?'

  'A woman. Miss Eva Paisley.'

  Ryga raised his eyebrows quizzically. 'What was she doing here that early?' Maybe she was an insomniac or a dog walker or an early morning swimmer, but Daniels scotched those ideas.

  'She said she came to the cove early to take some photographs of the morning sun rising over the sea. When she reached the beach she saw the body.'

  Ryga looked up at the cliffs. 'Surely she must have seen the body before then?'

  Daniels shrugged. 'She told Inspector Crispin that she could see instantly that the man was dead but she checked for a pulse before taking some photographs of the body.'

  Ryga was even more intrigued. 'That took some presence of mind. Not easily scared then.'

  'She said she'd seen much worse. I don't know what she meant by that. I only spoke to her very briefly by the car at the top of the cove because Superintendent Meredith was keen to get down here.'

  'Too keen, it seems, hence the broken ankle.'

  Daniels' lips twitched in the ghost of a smile as though he wasn't quite sure if he should take pleasure at his superior officer's misfortune. 'He was a bit short with her. When she said she had taken some photographs he told her the death of a man was hardly the subject for holiday snaps. Nice party, tall, not what you'd call pretty but attractive in a sort of no-nonsense way. Inspector Crispin and the local constable were with us. They'd already been down to the cove and verified the woman's story before calling CID at Weymouth, but with the superintendent breaking his ankle and the cove being difficult to access by ambulance, plus the tide coming in, Inspector Crispin said to move the body. We couldn't keep it here.'

  'So the police doctor wasn't called to examine the body in situ?'

  'No.'

  'And there was nothing on the dead man to tell you who he was?'

  'Not unless it's sewn in his underwear. Inspector Crispin said he went through the pockets of the victim's jacket and trousers and there wasn't a single thing in them, not even a handkerchief. And no one fitting his description has been reported missing.'

  Ryga replaced his hat and pulled on his coat. There was nothing more they could do here. 'Let's go to the mortuary.'

  Two

  Ryga couldn't say that he ever got used to the stench of the mortuary but he'd learned how to handle it – with a very deep breath. Best to take it in in one go. Daniels swallowed hard and made a pretence of blowing his nose. It had taken them some time to be escorted to the mortuary. This being a military hospital, there were certain protocols to observe even for police officers. Once there they were introduced to Captain Surgeon Kit Wakefield, a tall man in his early forties with fair, slightly thinning hair, intelligent light blue-grey eyes and a sharp-featured, face. He led them across the cold, clinical echoing room to a large refrigeration cabinet where he slid open a steel drawer which creaked a little, much like the filing cabinet in his office in the Yard, reflected Ryga.

  Ryga studied the face of the dead man with interest. Death no longer had the power to shock him. He'd seen too much of it over the last ten years. That didn't mean to say he didn't feel sorrow, pity, anger or despair, or sometimes all four emotions and in such a swift succession that they became one. This time he felt none of these, only professional curiosity. The dead man looked to be at peace. There were no visible signs of a brutal end to his life – there wasn't even a speck of blood on the suit – but he glimpsed a few tiny spots on the shirt collar. He was of medium height and build, with dark brown hair, flecked with grey, a wide nose, a rather strong, square jawline and very heavy, dark eyebrows under a prominent brow.

  'Can I see the stab wound?' he asked Wakefield.

  'He's your corpse.' But as Ryga hesitated, Wakefield obliged by moving the corpse's head.

  Ryga peered at the left-hand side of the neck. 'I thought the wound would be larger than that.' He was looking at a small incision about an inch in length.

  'Not if it was made by a narrow-bladed knife. I've seen plenty this small, some even smaller but just as deadly.'

  'Would it have killed him instantly?'

  'Difficult to say without doing a post-mortem. I understand you have a GP pathologist to conduct that?'

  Daniels answered, 'Doctor Tremaine. He's based in Weymouth. I need to ask him when he can conduct it.'

  Ryga would have preferred a Home Office forensic pathologist but as they were very few and far between and as his chief had already said it was unlikely he would get one of them they'd have to be content with the local GP.

  'I'd be happy to oblige tomorrow if Doctor Tremaine is unavailable,' Wakefield volunteered. 'I have some experience of forensic examination. I was with the British War Crimes Group after the war, involved in the examination of members of the armed forces, mainly air crew shot down over Germany but also some soldiers who had been shot in the back of the head and others bayonetted, some after being forced to dig their own graves.'

  Daniels cleared his throat. Ryga stiffened and hastily pushed away the memories of what he had witnessed when some of his fellow inmates had attempted escape.

  'I appreciate that, sir,' he answered. 'Either I or Sergeant Daniels will let you know as soon as possible. But perhaps you can help us now. I have just a few questions.'

  'Fire away.'

  'Wouldn't there have been blood both on his clothes and where his body was found?'

  'Not necessarily. The bleeding looks to have been internal, and probably very extensive, meaning death would have been rapid. That doesn't mean that he was killed where you found him, though,' he quickly added. 'It's possible that after being stabbed he lived for a few minutes and staggered to where he fell. But he wouldn't have gone far.'

  'So he couldn't have made it down the path from the clifftop?' asked Daniels.

  'No. I'd also say he didn't put up a struggle. There are no signs on his hands that he defended himself or that he took a beating, although it's difficult to be certain because bruises look very much like lividity, which you can see by the blueish-pink colour of his face. There might very well be bruises on his chest or abdomen.'

  'Any thoughts on the time of death?' asked Ryga.

  'His body needs to be fully examined to determine that but from the lividity in his face and neck I'd say he's been dead for at least twelve hours, probably more, sometime during the early hours of this morning or possibly even late Tuesday night.'

  'Is there anything else you can tell us, Doctor, or should I say Captain?'

  'Doctor is fine. By the ravages of his skin, I'd put him down as late forties, although he could be younger and experienced a hard life.'

  'A manual worker?'

  'Judging by the size and condition of the hands, yes.' Wakefield lifted one and in doing so Ryga glimpsed the sleeve of the dead man's shirt. It was the cufflink that caught his eye. It was square, made of some kind of metal and contained a stone in the middle. He made no mention of it but studied the hands, noting they were large and strong, the skin roughened, the fingers stubby, the nails clipped and clean. There were no rings on the fingers of either hand.

  'Was he a smoker?' Ryga asked, thinking of that cigarette end he'd found in the shore-side pill box.

  'From the fingers I'd say no, but that's just a guess because the lividity makes it difficult to see any nicotine stains. An examination of his lungs will give you more information on that. I can't smell any nicotine on his clothes, can you?'

  'I can't smell a damn thing in here so it's no good asking me.'

  Wakefield smiled.

  'Was there a hat with the body?'

  Wakefield picked up a clipboard and consulted the paperwork on it. 'Not when he was brought in, according to this.'

  'And I didn't see one on the shore,' Daniels added. 'It could have blown away.'

  'Was it windy here last night?'

  'No, but if he came ashore by boat there could have been enough wind to snatch it away.'

  Ryga peered more closely at the dead man's forehead and hairline. He couldn't see any indentation or line where the man would have worn a hat but any mark could be hidden by the lividity. He addressed Wakefield. 'Do you think you could get someone to undress him while we wait? I'd like to get his shoes and clothes to the lab for testing.'

  'Of course.'

  'We'll also need something to wrap them in – brown paper will do.'

  Wakefield walked briskly to a door on the far right and after a few moments reappeared with two men dressed in mortuary garb, one of whom was carrying a large pile of brown paper. Ryga and Daniels stepped back while the attendants moved the body on to the slab. As they began to undress the victim, Wakefield said, 'He was wearing dentures. Do you need them?'

  'No. Leave them for the pathologist to examine, unless you can tell us anything about them.'

  'Not my field of expertise.'

  Ryga gave Daniels instructions to make a note of the clothes as they were removed. The shoes were first and handed to Wakefield, who briefly examined them before passing them across to Ryga, who like Wakefield was wearing rubber gloves. They were smooth, black leather lace-ups with a slightly elongated toe. 'The sole shows wear but it's not worn down. And neither has it been repaired.' Ryga peered inside. 'No maker's name.' Although there was some very faint lettering.

  Wakefield said, 'They look to be hand-made to me. Perhaps he specifically asked not to have any maker's name placed inside.'

  'But that doesn't mean they can't be identified. We can check with all the shoemakers.'

  'In the UK, yes, but if they were made abroad . . .' Wakefield let the words hang on the chill mortuary air.

  If that were the case then Ryga knew they would most probably be unable to trace them. Continuing his examination of the shoes, he said, 'The right shoe is worn down more heavily on the heel than the left.'

  'Which suggests your victim walked more pronounced on that side, but not enough to indicate he had a limp. Your pathologist will measure the body to see how much shorter the right leg is to the left. It's not uncommon – we all have one side of our body shorter than the other, some people more so. I'd say the shoes were a very good fit, because as you can see from the feet,' he pointed to them, the socks having been placed on the trolley to the side of the body, 'there is no pressure on the toes, no corns or bunions and no hard skin on the soles of the feet.'

  Ryga turned to Daniels. 'They're clean and polished, Sergeant, and no saltwater marks on them.' He wrapped them in the brown paper. 'The socks look as though they are silk.'

  Wakefield agreed that they were.

  Next came the trousers. Ryga noted there was no belt and no braces. There was also no makers label in them or in the jacket. The quality was very good. He wrapped them up and turned his attention to the geometric patterned and brightly coloured silk tie. 'It's got a label in it. Van Heusen.'

  Wakefield peered at it. 'So it has. Mean anything to you?'

  'No.'

  'Me neither.'

  Daniels also shook his head.

  Stretching out his hand, Ryga took the cufflinks from the mortuary attendant who had removed them from the shirt. He turned them over. The weight felt good. They were square in shape, made of pewter perhaps, with a pale pink stone in the centre.

  'Unusual,' Wakefield commented.

  Ryga agreed. Certainly not run-of-the-mill shop cufflinks. He slipped them into a small brown paper envelope which he had removed from the inside pocket of his coat. There was no other jewellery on the victim. The shirt was a good quality cotton with a soft collar. It was clean, as was the vest, which was white silk. The underpants were cotton, and like the vest looked to be new.

  Wakefield asked if he could examine the now naked body. Ryga was only too keen for him to do so. He watched as Wakefield scrutinized it, nodding to the mortuary attendants to turn it on one side then the other and then to lay the corpse on its stomach.

  'No tattoos, so he probably wasn't navy or ex-navy. This is a naval hospital, Inspector, and I am a naval officer, I know that the first thing most seamen do when they finish their basic training is get themselves a tattoo.'

  Some merchant seaman too, thought Ryga, although he had never indulged, perhaps because he had a morbid fear of needles.

  'There's an interesting scar on his chest, see here,' Wakefield said as the body was once again turned over.

  Ryga peered at it. It was about five inches long just below the right rib with jagged edges. 'An operation?' he asked.

  'I'd say a knife wound, stitched up not very expertly, possibly in a hurry or in a field hospital. It's old – could have been incurred during the war or could have been inflicted in a street fight. The dead can tell us a great deal and I think you're going to need all the help you can get with this one, Inspector. Not like our other corpse over there.' Wakefield nodded in the direction of the body of another naked man lying on a slab. 'Sadly he died on the operating table, cardiac arrest during surgery. It can happen. No relatives and no mystery surrounding him.'

  Ryga put his attention back on the man that did concern them. He was eager to hear why Wakefield thought they had their work cut out.

  'For a start,' Wakefield said, 'he has no identification on him. Secondly, he was found in an unusual location only accessible by foot or boat. Thirdly, all the evidence about his body points at a hard life but his clothes are of excellent quality and I'd say expensive, including his shoes, which are handmade. His clothes have no laundry marks or labels and he's not exactly dressed for a stroll along the shore or for a walk along the clifftop. Neither is he dressed for boating, so what was he doing there?'

  'That's what we need to find out,' Ryga answered, but as he and Daniels were shown out of the hospital there was another question running through his mind. In the car on the way to Portland Police Station he expressed it to Daniels.

  'How could someone creep up and stab a man in the neck without making a noise on the stones?'

  'Maybe he was hard of hearing or deaf.'

  That hadn't struck Ryga as a possibility but it was a good point. 'I don't think even a post-mortem will be able to confirm that.' Or could it? Would there be some damage to the inner ear that a pathologist would see? He made a mental note to ask whoever conducted the post-mortem to be aware of it and hoped that Wakefield would be that person. He seemed very skilled in these matters, far more than an ordinary GP, particularly given his recent experience with the British War Crimes Group.

  He said, 'If the victim wasn't deaf then he must have arranged to meet his killer on the beach and didn't think he had anything to fear from him. The killer must have chosen the moment to strike when the victim least expected to be stabbed. I take it there was no sign of anything on the beach around the body that could remotely resemble the murder weapon?'

  Daniels shook his head. 'I would have thought the killer would have taken it with him or ditched it in the sea.'

  Ryga agreed but said they would need to conduct a full search just to be sure, and it might throw up something further, though what he couldn't say. 'So we have a man who was likely once a manual worker and possibly injured in a fight or in the war, who made it good and became quite wealthy.'

  'Pity the clothes don't tell us much,' Daniels said, drawing up outside the police station.

  But Ryga thought they'd already told them a fair amount, or rather thrown up several questions. Now all he needed was the answers.

  Three

  'We need photographs of the victim,' Ryga said as they entered the police station, a large, two-storey building that adjoined the courtroom and faced the sea. 'You said Miss Paisley took some. Would she have dropped them off here?'

 

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