The Chesil Beach Murders by Rachel McLean, book 11 in the Dorset Crime series - Chapter 1

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 best viewpoint up here was in the air, but use of drones was restricted; you had to get someone from English Heritage to accompany you for that. And this was a spur of the moment visit.

Anika knew what she was doing. She could get an angle that would include the walls of the castle in the foreground, the Fleet and Chesil Beach beyond in the background, and the sunrise resplendent above it all.

This was worth waking early for. Not as early in October as it would be in the summer, thank God.

She stopped after entering the fenced area surrounding the chapel and took more photos, stopping to change lenses partway through. There was a spot where the shadows would be at their most distinct, around the side of the building.

She walked round, holding onto her camera and watching the rough ground. When she reached her spot, she looked up.

What the hell?

There was someone in the alcove she was heading for, the spot where the light hit the chapel walls in a way that made for fantastic close ups. A man, or it looked like a man, was slumped against the wall.

Another photographer, out here early and dozing off from lack of sleep?

Or someone who’d come out for the lacklustre sunset the night before and decided to stay for the dawn?

No. That would be foolish up here, even protected by that alcove.

She shivered and moved closer.

“Hello?”

No answer. The man didn’t move. He was dressed in a black coat, heavy and old-fashioned. His head was slumped downwards and she couldn’t see his face.

“Hello?” she repeated. “Are you alright?”

Nothing.

Anika took a breath. This was making her feel uneasy. She’d heard a rumour that people slept up here sometimes, but only in the summer.

“Alright, mate,” she said, trying to sound breezy. “Time to wake up. You’re not the only one after a good photo.”

Nothing.

Oh, hell.

Was she going to have to wake him?

As she approached, she caught a smell. The smell of dirt, or decay. She sniffed the air and stopped moving.

Death?

“Are you OK?” she said.

Don’t waste your breath, she told herself. He’s completely out of it.

She felt sick now, the smell combined with the dread. Should she get closer, or was that too risky? What if he got nasty, if disturbed? What if…?

There were so many what ifs. But she couldn’t just leave him up here.

Anika turned her head away and took a deep breath. She clamped her lips shut and turned back to the man.

She took one step forward, two, three.

No point in trying to talk to him again.

She reached out, her hand stopping before she made contact.

That smell.

But she couldn’t leave him.

“Are you alright?” she said. “Can I help?”

Do it.

She took a final step and reached further so she was touching his shoulder. She gave him a shake.

The man’s head lolled. The bottom half of his face become visible.

Anika’s breath caught in her throat.

His mouth…

It was a gaping hole. Did he not have teeth?

She let out a whimper, then put her hand to her own mouth.

Don’t be sick.

She shook his shoulder again. He moved in a way that felt… wrong.

Oh, hell.

She grabbed her phone and dialled 999.

So much for the sunset. This poor bastard was dead.