"Any identification?" Tom asked, turning to Eric.
The detective constable held up a transparent evidence bag containing a small fabric purse. It was brown, the exterior corduroy lined with a zip pocket to one side and the folding flap on the other was buttoned shut. It was clearly wet through. Donning a set of nitrile gloves, Tom stood up and stepped away from the body. Eric handed him the bag.
Removing the contents, Tom carefully unbuttoned the one side which fell open in his palm to reveal numerous card slots. The interior lining was lime green with a repeating flowery motif. Several credit cards were present, along with a couple of store loyalty cards. All of them bore the same name: M Beckett. Behind the card slots was a small pocket, barely large enough for anything beyond a book of stamps or another card. It was here that he found a driving licence. The laminated plastic was damaged by the passage of time, and more recently the water, but was still readable. Putting a light over it, he saw the licence was issued nine years previously and although the photograph showed someone with a fuller face and darker hair, it was clearly the same person lying nearby in the sand.
"Mary Beckett," Tom said for his own benefit, glancing sideways at Eric. He knew the constable would already have looked. "Lives in Letheringsett. What's that from here… fifteen minutes?"
"If that. More like ten, I would say."
Tom checked her birth date, doing a quick mental calculation. "She's eighty-three."
Eric looked around, the sound of the team working nearby was drowned out by the incoming tide breaking on the shingle beach.
"Has anyone notified the next of kin yet?"
Eric nodded. "Uniform have been round." By the expression on his face, he seemed concerned he'd erred. "That's okay, isn't it."
Tom was lost in thought for a moment, weighing up what they knew, and didn't quite hear the question. "Sorry, Eric," he said, raising his eyebrows. "What was that?"
"I had uniform call round at her address. That's okay, isn't it?"
"Yes, yes. Of course. Is anyone home?"
Eric nodded. "Sister. Janet Beckett. They live together. But I told uniform not to say anything beyond that we'd located a body."
"Good. Come on. Let's go and see if she can shed any light on what Mary was doing out this way last night."
Chapter Three
Mary Beckett's home was an imposing traditional brick and flint building situated on the Blakeney Road between the hamlet of Glandford and Letheringsett, a small village near to the Georgian market town of Holt. The house itself was sited only a stone's throw from the boundary of the Bayfield Hall estate. Driving through the entrance gates, flanked by stone pillars with ornately-carved caps, the wheels crunched the gravel beneath the car.
A police car was already in the driveway, a uniformed constable standing at the front door. He stepped forward as Tom and Eric got out of the car, offering them both a greeting.
"Hello, Tom," the constable said. Tom recognised him, Billy Chambers, one of the more senior of the local officers, conscientious and very experienced. "Kathy's inside with the next of kin now," he said, referring to PC Kathy Rix, indicating over his shoulder towards the house.
"Lives with her sister as I understand it, right?" Tom asked.
"Yes, just the two of them, although Janet – the sister – has asked for her son to be contacted. I spoke with him a little while ago and he's on his way over."
"Right you are," Tom said. "Where can we find them?"
"Drawing room. Down the hall, second door on the left."
Tom nodded his thanks and Eric smiled as they left the constable standing in the porch. The front door was ajar and Tom pushed it open, finding the weight incredible in comparison to modern equivalents. If the exterior was impressive, then the period decor inside the house was more so. The hall was lined with oak panelling, by the darkness of the colour it was obviously original. The flooring visible throughout was tiled in a geometric pattern leading up to a central staircase that split on a half landing before disappearing off to the landing on either side of the building above them. Several of the tiles at their feet were cracked or broken with missing pieces. For all the grandeur of the high ceilings and ornate plasterwork, the house was tired with discoloured wallpaper and an assortment of mismatching furniture haphazardly placed around the open spaces seemingly without much thought offered to the aesthetics.
Tom noticed how their shoes didn't squeak on the tiles as they walked, another clear indication that the surface wasn't maintained particularly well. Thinking on it, that wasn't a surprise. Presumably, Mary Beckett's sister was of a similar age, and this house would require the presence of a small team to keep on top of the upkeep in a residence like this. Tom noticed Eric scanning the interior as they walked, wondering if he was having the same thoughts. He caught Eric's eye as they approached the door to the drawing room.
"Imagine living in a house like this," Eric said, keeping his voice low so no one else could overhear. "I mean, Becca's flat would fit in this… what do you call it?"
"Atrium."
"Yeah, this atrium."
Eric was right. It was an impressive home. Judging by the length of the stone wall running the boundary of the road, Tom guessed the grounds stretching away on the other side of the house would be equally grand. Tom raised his hand and announced their presence by
