Len had taken the call at first light. The informant was confused. old and female, and not very talkative. But, Len got the gist that there was a body under the pier behind the fishermen’s co-op, a dead body, at that. With the steam still rising from his first coffee of the new day, Len slipped his holster onto his waist clip and headed out in the direction of the co-op, three piers down behind Walker’s Chandlery.
He started to jog when he saw a crowd had already gathered. Bloody hell, people - get a life. Wedged between the slowly rotting stanchion and the chicken mesh that protected the last pen of the marina, the body was edged with blood-encrusted flotsam. He took the turquoise twine wrapped around both ankles as a clue. This was no routine death.
His pulse-rate quickened rapidly as his minds-eye flicked through the procedures manual.