“There’s no way we’re going down there,” Dani said as the fire engine sped past the top of Gold Hill. It had taken them less than a minute to get to Shaftesbury High Street on the eastern side of town, plus another five minutes to get their gear on and climb onto the appliance, which was how they referred to the shiny three-year-old Volvo FL that had got them here. Phil shook his head. “Why the hell does the system keep telling us to go down that way? It’s cobbled, for God’s

“Mademoiselle!” The young waitress stopped and turned, gripping a tray of champagne flutes. Henri de Saint-Clair, France’s greatest living novelist, reached out and took a glass. “Merci,” he said with a nod, before turning to his companion. “She must have walked right past me at least seven times.” “Then she cannot have recognised you,” Michel said. “Despite that thing around your neck.” Henri frowned, adjusting his cravat. “It’s my signature look.” “And it’s one you haven’t

Trevor felt the steering wheel shift under his hand as he rounded the traffic island. In the back seat, his four-year-old grandson looked up from his book. Trevor smiled into the rear view mirror. “Sorry, kiddo. Just a bump in the road.” Harry yawned and went back to his book. The Gruffalo. The boy took it everywhere with him. Trevor sailed past his exit – the A452, heading towards the M6 and a day out in Stratford – and took the island one more time. Harry was only four. He

It was going to be a hot morning, Guy thought. But not for a few hours. In the meantime, the only way he was getting any warmth into his body would be by moving it. Fast. The sun wasn’t visible yet, but the sky was beginning to lighten as the ruins of Egremont Castle came into view. The hill rose before him as he peeled off the main road and onto the path. Last week he’d slowed down here, afraid his legs wouldn’t take it. When he’d told his daughter, she’d smiled at him: a pa

Of the many calls Dorset Police received each year from members of the public who’d found a ‘dead body’, very few turned out to be actual dead bodies. Most were plastic bags or old boots floating in a secluded pool. Some were scarecrows that had fallen from their perches. Last year, there had been a fly-tipper, still at large, who’d dumped at least twelve clothes shop mannequins in hedges and ditches along the A35 between Bridport and Axminster, prompting a flurry of 999 call

Ella Hanley took a sip from her drink, then checked her watch again. Samira, you’re forty minutes late. They’d arranged to meet at the Bees Knees for a few cheeky cocktails. Just a few: it was a work night, and however undemanding their jobs, they’d have to be there in the morning if they wanted to keep them. But a few wouldn’t hurt, and this place was fast becoming their favourite hangout. Ella slid the slice of passion fruit to the side with her little finger and took anoth

Jude Bristow stood back from the pile of rubble obscuring the usually beautiful sea view and placed his palms on the small of his back. He leaned back as far as his balance would allow, stretching out his grumbling back muscles. “Jesus Christ,” he said. “I thought this was going to be easier.” Damian grunted. Jude’s mate was a man of few words, most of them not fit for public consumption. “Bastard thing,” he muttered. Jude nodded. “It is that. Did you have any idea so much of

The tides were perfect this time. Simon Miller smiled as he parked his car by the final gate before Grune Point. He’d driven through three of them already, carefully unlocking each padlock and securing them after passing through. The track ahead was too rocky for his Honda Jazz, and it was only a ten-minute walk along Skinburness Creek to reach the Point. At half past five in the morning, the tide was out, exposing plenty of sand and marsh for the birds. Dawn was still an hou

Dr Petra McBride sank into the armchair, her feet finally free from the torture of her usual four-inch heels. She massaged them and winced at the tender spots. At least the hotel robe was soft against her skin, a small comfort after a long and difficult day. She’d tried the hotel slippers, and they were like sandpaper. She glanced towards the bathroom. The tub was filling, steam escaping into the bedroom. A bath would help. She needed to unwind, clear her head. She yawned and

Annie Abbott danced from side to side on the pebbles near the breakwater as she addressed the group of swimmers. She might not have been their leader, but she liked things organised and was always happy to take charge. “Brilliant!” she cried over a wind that threatened to whip away her voice. “You were all amazing!” The group huddled in their dry robes, none of them paying any attention. Figgy muttered to herself, and Helen and Rosamund were exchanging grumbles. Yes, it had b

Annie Abbott stood barefoot on the pebbles, her dry robe fluttering in the breeze as she sipped her coffee. She’d put off her first caffeine hit until after the morning swim, knowing it added to the pleasure. She adored swimming in Lyme Regis bay, in that sheltered sweep between the sea wall and beach. But even in July the water was cold first thing and she had to admit that, more than the swim itself, she enjoyed having swum. This was her favourite time of day. She could rel

“Oh!” Annie Abbott hesitated as the cold water of Lyme Regis Bay reached her waistline. By now, she should have got used to this, but every morning she came down here, it took her by surprise. The dreaded ‘oh’ zone, as she called it. She squeezed her eyes shut and waded a little further out. She could do this. In fact, once she was fully immersed, it would be bliss. “Swim!” came a voice from up ahead. Her friend – acquaintance maybe, Annie wasn’t sure – Rosamund, never the sl

Anika’s breath caught in her throat as she adjusted her camera’s focus. Perfect conditions. And she was out here on her own. How come no one else had looked at the weather forecast and seen it would be like this? In her camera viewfinder, St Catherine’s Chapel rose ahead of her, at the top of its hill outside Abbotsbury. Beyond, the sun was rising in a blaze of reds and oranges. It was gorgeous. She fired off some photos then moved up the hill to get closer to the chapel. The

Miles Stringer wiped his bald head and turned away from his crew to look skyward. Not yet nine and sweat poured off him like he was in the Mediterranean. The clouds gathering over the sea brought welcome relief. Not the menacing storm clouds that halted work, just the gentle sort that offered shade. “Come on!” He cupped his hands around his mouth. “Pick up the pace! Break in fifteen minutes.” The still morning air carried his voice across the site. Though he couldn’t hear the

Izzy Davison sat at the reception desk of the Sandbanks Hotel, her eyes heavy. The clock read 2am. She leaned back, listening to the soft hum of the intercom system and the background swoosh of the sea beyond the windows. The baby-listening service was part of her job, and usually, she didn’t mind it. But tonight was different. The baby in 204 – Ellie, her name was – had been crying for the past hour. Her wails echoed through the intercom, piercing the quiet of the hotel lobb

Trixie Burns stood above the pools at Tongue Pot, watching Eileen and Ada splashing below. Joe stood to one side, his eyes on Ada. Ada knew that Joe was only here for her. She was wearing a modest one-piece, but given the way Joe stared at her, Trixie reckoned she’d have drawn his attention in a plastic bag. Joe wasn’t a bad lad. But Ada could do better. And the fact that Joe and Ada were still here, rather than off somewhere private, like Liam and Bella, suggested that Ada k

“Where’s the little shit gone now?” Hettie Bradshaw muttered. “Persephone! Where are you, my darling?” Two years, she’d had the dog. Two years of puppy training and all the care a special little girl could ask for, and she still didn’t understand her own damn name. Maybe it was too complicated for a spaniel. But Hettie had had eight King Charles Cavaliers, all named after overlooked figures from Greek mythology, and Persephone was the first to struggle with recall. Mind you,

Detective Sergeant Dennis Frampton flapped his newspaper open. His wife had laid the kitchen table, the usual Tuesday morning spread: toast and jam, a pot of tea. Tomorrow there would be a boiled egg, Pam’s way of marking the middle of the week. And on Saturday, a fry-up. You had to go a long way to beat Pam’s fry-ups as far as Dennis was concerned, and even further since she’d switched to using an air fryer. The olive oil had taken longer to acclimatise to, but he was just a

Angus Wallace trudged through the damp grass, his boots squelching with each step. The early morning mist clung to the village of Lochranza, obscuring the loch’s edge. “Kylie! Heel!” he called, his voice gruff from disuse. He lived alone these days, and barely spoke to anyone except his dog. The black terrier ignored him, straining at her lead. Angus sighed. He should never have let his daughter name the dog. As they neared the loch, Kylie’s excitement grew. With a sudden jer

It was a one-and-a-half-hour drive from Bournemouth to Lyme Regis. Usually more than enough time for Annie Abbott to convince either of her girls of pretty much anything. Annie had raised Tina and Naomi to be strong and independent women. But there was a difference between strong and independent, and just bloody pig-headed. The current disagreement, and the whole reason Annie was driving Tina back with her to Lyme Regis, was Tina’s living situation. And her physical condition