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two forensic officers in white overalls were working. One stood on board a moored boat, and was dusting its handrail for fingerprints. The other was crouched over the corpse. Sangster scanned the beach. The sand still lay flat and undisturbed. Normally by now guests would have staked out their sunbeds before going into breakfast. But uniform had closed it off.
    He strode on towards the jetty. As he approached, he saw two bushy, grey eyebrows peering at him from under a protective hood. They belonged to Sergeant Anderson, or the Swiss watch as he was known back at HQ because of his reliability and precision after a long forensic career. Although he would never say so, Sangster was pleased to see Anderson. The man could be opinionated, but he could do his job, and Sangster valued that above everything.
    Anderson looked surprised. “Bit out of your Brisbane patch, aren’t you, Tom?”
    Sangster nodded. “Dave and I were on our way up the coast to another meeting when the DC rang and told us to get over here quick, before the tide came in and you had to move her.” He lifted the cordon tape. “Okay to come through?”
    “Yeah. No need to suit up. We’re about done.”
    Sangster ducked under the cordon and steeled himself. Looking down at the corpse, he waited for the familiar shudder of revulsion to pulse through him. He’d reacted that way to the sight of violent death on his first murder case and it had never gone away. If anything, it had become stronger over the years.
    The woman was lying face down on the damp sand, with her head twisted to expose a bloodied left cheek. The fingers of her outstretched right arm seemed to point in the direction of the hotel as if she were trying to tell him something. Her black evening dress, stretched tight around her swollen body, had ridden up over her thighs, revealing long, sun-tanned legs that lay buckled in the sand.
    The eyebrows rose again. “She must be important if you’re here, Tom.”
    Sangster didn’t reply. Normally, he would stamp on any sarcasm, but he knew this was Anderson’s way of dealing with his own emotions at gruesome crime scenes. And he didn’t want to encourage any more conversation; he wanted to think.
    But Anderson wasn’t going to oblige. “So who is she, then?”
    “A senior executive working for Western Energy.” Sangster felt the stiffness in his right knee as he crouched down. “That energy and resources company.”
    Anderson looked unimpressed.
    “The PM’s Office are interested in her,” Sangster said.
    That got Anderson’s attention. “What’s she got to do with them?”
    Sangster shrugged. “All I know is they’ve been on the phone to our Deputy Police Commissioner. That’s why I’m here.”
    Anderson huffed. “You’ll have your work cut out with that lot breathing down your neck.”
    Sangster gave him a pointed look. “Which means you will too.”
    Anderson looked away.
    Concentration restored, Sangster’s eyes swept over the body. The source of all the blood on her cheek was a deep, circular cut. It looked like something had been stamped or imprinted into the skin.
    Anderson noticed his interest. “Unusual wound, isn’t it?” He grunted with the effort of squatting down to get a better look. “The killer must’ve caught her with something sharp as he punched her. He could have been wearing a ring, or holding a key in his hand.” He paused and lifted up the victim’s matted hair. “Take a look at these contusions on the back of her neck.”
    Sangster crouched closer.
    “I think the killer gripped the back of her neck hard between the thumb and fingers of one hand.” Anderson demonstrated on the corpse with his own gloved hand. “And held her head under.” He let her hair fall back. “That’s how she was killed.”
    Sangster studied her clothes and the position of her limbs carefully. Then he looked into her open eyes and froze. There was moisture in the corners like tears. Another wave of emotion pulsed