DI Walker

THE DAY AFTER THE SOLSTICE

WALKER CLIMBS INTO A PROTECTIVE suit, to match the other white-clad figures on the beach. At a little distance stands a group of fishermen: the ones who found the body and called it in. They form an uneasy, watchful audience.

A surge of fresh adrenaline hits as he approaches the victim. He can see the whole thing now because there isn't time to erect a tent over it, with the tide coming in. The blood-soaked fabric catching in the breeze. The obscene, broken-puppet angles of the limbs and neck. The ruin of the face. Features totally destroyed by the impact.

Not like it would have helped much to land on sand not rock. But it would have made less of a mess.

It's only when he glances up and catches Heyer's expression that he realizes he's spoken the thought out loud. She looks shocked. He's shocked at himself, actually, at his own callousness. He's usually so careful to be respectful of the victim and their dignity in death.

"Boss?" He turns and finds the crime scene manager standing there, frowning at him. She dangles a small clear plastic evidence bag with gloved fingers. "We found this," she says. "It was held in the victim's hand."

There's an exclamation behind them. Walker turns and sees that several of the fishermen are staring at the evidence bag. Who let them stand so close? They shouldn't even be near enough to see it but there's nothing he can do about it now. He watches one of them actually lift a hand to make a swift sign of the cross.

"Is that...?" Heyer has come nearer to look, too. "Is that a...?"

"It appears to belong to some kind of corvid," the crime scene manager says. "A raven or a crow—a bird of that species, anyway. We'll know exactly which later."

Walker studies it through the clear plastic. The oily sheen of it, the little puff of dark down at the base above the sharp quill.

A small black feather.