Death on Cromer Beach

Ross Greenwood

Description

The first in a new series from bestselling author, Ross Greenwood!

A brutal double murder on a Norfolk beach horrifies the town of Cromer. The way the victims died is chilling and so Norfolk’s Major Investigation Team task DS Ashley Knight to manage the case.

It soon becomes clear that the murders were carefully planned and the finger of suspicion points to an organised crime gang, but as the evidence mounts, a far more sinister theory emerges.

Ashley has been allocated a young but opinionated partner in Hector Fade, and sparks soon fly. Annoyingly for Ashley, Hector is no pushover and looks destined for great things. When the pair delve into the case, they struggle to understand who would inflict such suffering on their victims and hope the crime is a one off from a deranged and dangerous individual. But then another body is found.

**There’s a killer on the loose who must be caught, or other victims will meet their fate by the sea.

Bestselling Ross Greenwood is back with the start of an exciting new series, perfect for fans of Mark Billingham, Ian Rankin and Peter James.

Praise for Ross Greenwood:

'Move over Rebus and Morse; a new entry has joined the list of great crime investigators in the form of Detective Inspector John Barton. A rich cast of characters and an explosive plot kept me turning the pages until the final dramatic twist.' author Richard Burke

‘Master of the psychological thriller genre Ross Greenwood once again proves his talent for creating engrossing and gritty novels that draw you right in and won’t let go until you’ve reached the shocking ending.’ Caroline Vincent at Bitsaboutbooks blog

'Ross Greenwood doesn’t write clichés. What he has written here is a fast-paced, action-filled puzzle with believable characters that's spiced with a lot of humour.' author Kath Middleton

Sujets

• Policier & Thriller
• Policier
• Thriller
• Sea Stories
• Mashups
• Psychological
• Women Sleuths
• Hard-Boiled
• Thrillers
• Suspenso
• Reino Unido
• 21st century
• Psychological thriller
• SpongeBob SquarePants
• United Kingdom
• Psychology
• City Life
• Great Britain
• Seaside
• Crime
• Suspense
• Norfolk
• Noir
• Fiction
• Royaume-Uni

Informations

• Publié par: Boldwood Books
• Date de parution: 26 avril 2023
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781804156940
• Langue: English

Extrait

DEATH ON CROMER BEACH


ROSS GREENWOOD
CONTENTS



Norfolk Major Investigation Team Structure


Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

Chapter 66

Chapter 67

Chapter 68

Chapter 69

Chapter 70

Chapter 71

Chapter 72

Chapter 73

Chapter 74

Chapter 75

Chapter 76

Chapter 77

Chapter 78

Chapter 79


More from Ross Greenwood

Author’s note

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Also by Ross Greenwood

The Murder List

About Boldwood Books
Dedicated to the RNLI.
The crew, the volunteers, and those who donate.


For Catriona Woods
A right Royal mystery.
Only when there are seven
Can they rest in heaven
For nobody can deny
The Hungry Sea

ANON.
NORFOLK MAJOR INVESTIGATION TEAM STRUCTURE



Detective Superintendent
Zara Grave


Detective Chief Inspector
Vince Kettle


Detective Inspector
Peter Ibson


Detective Sergeants
Ashley Knight – Bhavini Kotecha


Detective Constables
Hector Fade – Barry Hooper – Salvador Freitas – Emma Stones – Jan Pederson


Family Liaison Officer
Scott Gorton


Care Coordinator, Community Mental Health Team
Dylan Crabb


Forensic pathologist
Michelle Ma Yun
1
EARLY APRIL

Dora Thorne rested the basket on the concrete promenade, stared past the fishing boats out to sea, and hauled the salty air deep into her lungs. The sky was still a dark grey, but the soft glow on the far horizon hinted at the coming sunrise. A gust of wind brought tears to her eyes and a smile to her lips. There was nowhere quite like the east coast at that time of the morning.
After checking she could see well enough to pick her way through the stones, she lifted the basket again. Her chihuahua, Happy, looked up adoringly. He loved the dawn, too, but his feet were delicate, and he often whimpered on the sharp shingle.
She carried him past the high-tide line, through the last of the shifting surface, and he jumped out. The scamp chased after three sandpipers as he headed for the nearby water’s edge, making high-pitched ‘ruff’ sounds as they took to flight. Away from the shelter of the buildings, it was much windier than she’d thought, and the black waves sounded as if they were roaring in.
If the sea was calm during the summer, they’d both paddle, but the water was freezing at the start of April, so Happy splashed in the shallows and Dora kept to the sand.
This was the only time of day she came here now. Out of season, it was rare to see another soul while it was still dark. A few lurked on the cliff tops to catch the rising sun, but they were too far away to interrupt her special time. Nowadays, standing on the shore with her dog was the only place she felt truly at peace.
Dora turned right as always and headed south. Years ago, she and her husband used to walk the two miles along the beach to Overstrand. They’d head up the slope to the Cliff Top Café and order Norfolk smoked-bacon sandwiches with doorstop slices of crusty bread. Ketchup, butter, and contentment oozed between their fingers. She paused as the familiar lurching jolt hit her once more. Seven years now, and still the same response.
Joe had retired on his sixty-fifth birthday, and they’d sold up straight away in Oundle and moved into a bungalow close to Cromer seafront. He’d kidded that they were eloping to escape from their two kids, but their children both had busy lives in London. Joe also joked they were coming here to die. It was an unwelcome surprise when, a year later, he did just that. A good death, she supposed, warm in his bed, but the abrupt shock of waking up next to his stiff body had never left her.
Nothing had been the same since. Her existence had become a curling photograph slowly drying out in the sun. She’d only known one man intimately and had no interest in getting to know another.
A year later, she’d trudged alone along the shore, up the steep path once more to the café they’d loved, and ordered their usual. She wept when it arrived. The kind owner, Karen, tried to calm her, but Dora fled down the slope to the beach and collapsed in the sand. She had never gone back.
For months afterwards, she walked to the end of Cromer pier and stared at the wild North Sea. The swirling water below was called the Devil’s Throat by locals, with its unforgiving rip tides and hidden depths. Dora dreamed of oblivion in those moments, and she prayed for the strength to embrace it.
But life still had a surprise for her. Three years back, her neighbour, Malcolm, had a litter of five to sell from his chihuahua. Four had been found homes. He brought the last one round, shivering on the flat of his hand.
‘No charge,’ he said. ‘This one’s the runt.’
‘I don’t want a dog.’
‘Nobody wants him. All he needs is a happy home.’
Dora smiled at the Norfolk pronunciation of happy, which sounded as if he’d said harpy. She looked at the shivering creature and something long dormant stirred inside her.
‘You look like you might need the company,’ said Malcolm, who then pushed the animal into her arms on the doorstep and ambled away.
How had he known? Norfolk people seemed to understand such things.
Dora had called him Happy, because by the end of the first day of sitting on her lap he was, and that was how he made her feel. He’d been a weak puppy, but they’d grown stronger together through beach walks, rich tea biscuits and tuna steak. Dora loved that he was quiet and respectful, like herself. He rarely barked loudly and never made a mess. She’d saved him, and he’d saved her.
With a friend to live for, she rejoined society, even taking a part-time job in one of the town’s many charity shops. Once a month, she had her hair styled and coloured, and most days she popped into the Doggie Diner café with Happy for a latte and a nice paw-shaped cookie for him. It was a special place for them.
Dora wiped her eyes, although this time the breeze wasn’t to blame, and couldn’t help grinning at Happy’s joy as he raced up the beach ahead of her, scattering seabirds by the dozen. The narrow strip of wet sand that remained, which stretched into the distance, glistened like a mirror under his little feet as he scurried along it.
As the growing golden fingers of sunlight lit up what she always felt was never-ending sky, a rush of water almost caught her out. The wind, which was luckily an easterly, bullied her towards the flotsam and jetsam that had been deposited by the previous high tide. She jerked her head to her left. With the quickening dawn, she could now make out the sizeable white-tipped waves as the rising gusts ripped the tops from them.
Dora pulled her woolly hat down and inhaled deeply, dragging the cold air deep inside her chest, then strode after the dog, feeling alive. The orange sun edged into view ahead of her and lit up the towering cloud bank with such an array of yellows and gold that she put a hand to her mouth. Dora ruefully wished she and Joe had made the move decades before they had, while his heart was still healthy.
After twenty minutes had passed, she’d made more progress than she expected, and they reached the steep steps that rose towards the lighthouse. It was time to go back. The clouds had won their eternal duel and vanquished the ball of fire. With it beaten back, the light dwindled. Once again, the lonely shore was a bleak and barren place. Dark clouds boiled and swirled above. A sea mist speckled her glasses. She’d need to head home now or the flat sand would be covered, and she’d have to carry Happy over the shingle.
Dora had a good whistle on her. In fact, Joe always said it was the first thing he’d fallen in love with when they’d met at college and were cheering on the same rugby team. She put two fingers in her mouth to call Happy back, but stopped when he barked. It was a deep, rasping sound she’d never heard him make before.
A screeching howl of the wind wrenched the hat off her head and blew it up into the air and away, but she paid it no heed. She stared ahead. A tension crept into her shoulders. Happy was standing next to two black shapes much further up the beach. Dora moved as quickly as she could, misjudging a deep puddle in front of a groyne. Her boots instantly filled with freezing water, but she staggered onwards to her beloved pet.
To her surprise, Happy then let out a noise that could only be described as a snarl.
An icy hand with bony fingers encircled Dora’s heart. He’d never made that sound before, either. She slowed as she neared him. The dark shapes were two big black builders’ buckets, upside down, with boulders balanced on them. They appeared wedged into a slight incline on an isolated patch of less packed, drier sand, but still below the line of plastic rubbish and old nets that indicated the last high tide.
Dora looked to her left at the incoming sea. From this slightly higher elevation, she could see big rollers rising and dumping closer than she’d imagined. The threatening, crowded clouds had descended now and churned overhead. Weather turned on a sixpence down thi