week.’
The dialogue was interrupted briefly by some screaming gulls fighting over a fish head. Burgers still got Hen’s vote.
Stella threw in another suggestion. ‘What about the woman who found her?’
‘Jo Stevens?’
‘What’s she like?’
‘Ordinary. Profoundly shaken up by the experience. Lives in Chi and has the occasional walk down here at weekends. I got the impression she was keeping something back. It could be down to nerves, but she was pretty tight-lipped when I asked.’
‘Could that be because she picked up the victim’s clothes?’
Hen turned to look at her. ‘That’s a thought.’
‘Is she short of a few bob?’
‘Shouldn’t be. She’s in work. Mind, we don’t even know if the clothes were worth taking. No, on second thoughts she’d have found nicking them difficult. She was still at the scene when the patrol car answered the shout. The things must have walked before she got here.’
‘What’s she holding back, then?’
‘Don’t know. It’s just the vibe I was getting from her.’
‘Would you like me to have a go at her?’
Hen shook her head. ‘I don’t want her retreating into her shell.’
Stella wasn’t known for bullying tactics, but she let the remark pass. ‘Could she be a suspect?’
Hen flicked ash on the pebbles. ‘What, drowned the woman and raised the alarm herself? It wouldn’t be unknown in the annals of crime. I dare say there’s a syndrome with a special name for it. In the absence of any other suspects, Stella, I’m keeping an open mind on Miss Jo Stevens.’
‘And the men she saw along the beach, the jogger and the dog-owner?’
‘Still trying to trace them. Like I said, Selsey people aren’t the best at coming forward. This box on wheels looks too much like a prison vehicle. Speaking of which, I’m still interested in local villains.’
‘We checked the sex offenders’ register on the first day and drew a blank, as you know.’
‘This may not be about sex.’
‘Nothing showed up in the post mortem.’
‘My point exactly. It’s easy to get carried away with the idea that because she was undressed it was for one thing only.’
‘What else is there?’
‘Skinny dipping, for starters. This was a warm September night. At this end of summer, the sea temperature is as high as it gets.’
‘I haven’t heard of nude bathing down here.’
‘These things go on, Stell.’
‘In Selsey?’
‘All along the coast. There’s an entire beach in Brighton that is set aside for the birthday suit brigade. I once walked by out of curiosity. Didn’t exactly inflame me. And then there’s art.’
‘There’s what?’
‘Photography in the main, celebrating the naked form, usually female. Page three girls. Not just the Sun. Lads’ mags. Even posh Sunday colour magazines pay big bucks for that kind of stuff. Beaches are favoured locations. Not that your average girl-fancier wastes much time looking at the background.’
‘And they call it art!’
‘I hope I haven’t got a Philistine on my team. This is commercial art. Cash for the models, fees for the photographers, and sales for the newsagents.’
‘Do you think our victim was a model, then?’
‘Actually, no. At thirty plus, she was a bit old for that. Unless it was amateur photography. The local camera club.’
‘A Women’s Institute calendar. What was that film?’ Stella asked, playing to Hen’s improving mood.
‘It had a thousand imitations. The world’s moved on.’
‘But has this place?’
‘Going by Bognor, where I live, probably not. But I haven’t heard Selsey is planning anything quite so risqué. Someone would have told us, wouldn’t they?’
‘Are they telling us anything?’
‘You can’t get up to frolics like that without half the village knowing about it.’
‘We don’t know half the village.’
‘Which is why house-to-house has its attractions,’ Hen said. ‘You walked into that.’
Behind them, a phone went. One of the computer
The dialogue was interrupted briefly by some screaming gulls fighting over a fish head. Burgers still got Hen’s vote.
Stella threw in another suggestion. ‘What about the woman who found her?’
‘Jo Stevens?’
‘What’s she like?’
‘Ordinary. Profoundly shaken up by the experience. Lives in Chi and has the occasional walk down here at weekends. I got the impression she was keeping something back. It could be down to nerves, but she was pretty tight-lipped when I asked.’
‘Could that be because she picked up the victim’s clothes?’
Hen turned to look at her. ‘That’s a thought.’
‘Is she short of a few bob?’
‘Shouldn’t be. She’s in work. Mind, we don’t even know if the clothes were worth taking. No, on second thoughts she’d have found nicking them difficult. She was still at the scene when the patrol car answered the shout. The things must have walked before she got here.’
‘What’s she holding back, then?’
‘Don’t know. It’s just the vibe I was getting from her.’
‘Would you like me to have a go at her?’
Hen shook her head. ‘I don’t want her retreating into her shell.’
Stella wasn’t known for bullying tactics, but she let the remark pass. ‘Could she be a suspect?’
Hen flicked ash on the pebbles. ‘What, drowned the woman and raised the alarm herself? It wouldn’t be unknown in the annals of crime. I dare say there’s a syndrome with a special name for it. In the absence of any other suspects, Stella, I’m keeping an open mind on Miss Jo Stevens.’
‘And the men she saw along the beach, the jogger and the dog-owner?’
‘Still trying to trace them. Like I said, Selsey people aren’t the best at coming forward. This box on wheels looks too much like a prison vehicle. Speaking of which, I’m still interested in local villains.’
‘We checked the sex offenders’ register on the first day and drew a blank, as you know.’
‘This may not be about sex.’
‘Nothing showed up in the post mortem.’
‘My point exactly. It’s easy to get carried away with the idea that because she was undressed it was for one thing only.’
‘What else is there?’
‘Skinny dipping, for starters. This was a warm September night. At this end of summer, the sea temperature is as high as it gets.’
‘I haven’t heard of nude bathing down here.’
‘These things go on, Stell.’
‘In Selsey?’
‘All along the coast. There’s an entire beach in Brighton that is set aside for the birthday suit brigade. I once walked by out of curiosity. Didn’t exactly inflame me. And then there’s art.’
‘There’s what?’
‘Photography in the main, celebrating the naked form, usually female. Page three girls. Not just the Sun. Lads’ mags. Even posh Sunday colour magazines pay big bucks for that kind of stuff. Beaches are favoured locations. Not that your average girl-fancier wastes much time looking at the background.’
‘And they call it art!’
‘I hope I haven’t got a Philistine on my team. This is commercial art. Cash for the models, fees for the photographers, and sales for the newsagents.’
‘Do you think our victim was a model, then?’
‘Actually, no. At thirty plus, she was a bit old for that. Unless it was amateur photography. The local camera club.’
‘A Women’s Institute calendar. What was that film?’ Stella asked, playing to Hen’s improving mood.
‘It had a thousand imitations. The world’s moved on.’
‘But has this place?’
‘Going by Bognor, where I live, probably not. But I haven’t heard Selsey is planning anything quite so risqué. Someone would have told us, wouldn’t they?’
‘Are they telling us anything?’
‘You can’t get up to frolics like that without half the village knowing about it.’
‘We don’t know half the village.’
‘Which is why house-to-house has its attractions,’ Hen said. ‘You walked into that.’
Behind them, a phone went. One of the computer
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