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Elin and Steed follow Rachel, clambering over the rocks at the base of the cliffs. Small, flatter stones are interspersed with huge boulders piled on top of one another; an old cliff fall.

Elin, already sweating, wipes her forehead with the back of her hand. Rounding the cliff, she can see the paramedics leaning over the body, talking quietly.

She absorbs the scene: a slim, fair-haired woman in her early thirties, sprawled across the rocks. She’s in a black dress, her arm bent backward at an unnatural angle. The side of her head closest to the rock is caved in, the massive trauma shattering a large section of her skull. Brain matter and white bone fragments are visible against the pale gray of the rock and the dark pool of blood under her head.

Disturbed, Elin swallows hard. Some scenes, like this one, are so graphic that you can never be prepared. She knows it will stay with her long after the case has been closed.

“Wouldn’t have stood a chance from that height,” Steed says thickly.

The older medic, Jon, a tall, stocky man, says, “She’s dead.” He turns his wrist. “Life extinct at 7:33 a.m.” Turning to Elin, he peels off his glove. “She’s already in rigor. Obviously massive head injury, multiple injuries to spine and pelvis. Surface wounds consistent with a fall from that height.”

Elin turns her head up, struck by an awful, vertiginous sensation as she looks at the jagged ridges of the cliff. She can’t help but imagine the fall: the woman’s body twisting and turning in midair, skull loudly cracking on the rock below.

Looking back to the woman, Elin’s eyes track up to her face. Her eyes are closed, the right one obscured by a bloody abrasion. Her full mouth is slack, drawn downward.

Her gaze moves lower, alights on the woman’s black dress and her shoes. One strappy sandal is half off, the woman’s perfect inky-blue pedicure visible. Elin wants to preserve this fragment of the woman in her mind—the one part of her untouched.

“Any ID?”

“No, and I don’t see a bag or phone. Either she didn’t have them on her, or they’ve gotten lost somewhere in the fall.” Jon clears his throat. “I think we’ll take the boat back, leave you to it, if you’re good to take it from here.”

His words propel her into action. Reaching into her bag, Elin pulls out her kit, forensic suits, overshoes, and gloves, then passes a set to Steed.

“Okay for me to go in?” Rachel pulls up the hood of her own suit.

Elin nods. They scramble into their suits, the rustling of the paper amplified in the quiet. They wait while Rachel photographs the body, the pool of blood around her head.

A few minutes later, Rachel puts the camera aside, starts patting down the body, examining the small pockets at the sides of the woman’s dress. She confirms they’re empty.

“The rigor?”

She considers. “I’d say it still isn’t complete. She’s been here longer than a few hours but not more than twelve.”

That gives Elin something to work with—the woman probably fell in the early hours of the morning.

“Can we turn her over? Look for any other wounds?” In particular, Elin’s looking for signs of an attack: a gunshot, puncture wounds.

Steed steps carefully around the body until he’s directly opposite Rachel. On the count of three, they turn the woman. Rachel examines her back and legs. “Nothing. Can’t see any other abrasions apart from collateral damage from the fall, scratches to her hands and arms. No obvious defensive wounds either, no bruising or signs of restraint around her wrists. Fingernails look clean.”

Elin nods. From what Rachel’s said, this may have been just a fall, but she can’t discount the possibility that she was pushed. A well-aimed, careful shove from behind would result in the same outcome without any obvious defensive wounds.

As Rachel picks up her camera, Elin turns to Steed. “Let’s cordon off the area with tape. Establish a common approach path and start a scene log. I can’t imagine there’s going to be anyone wandering about, but just in case. If you’re okay to preserve the scene, I’m going to update Anna, then check in with Leon.”

“Sounds good.” Steed steps forward, face flushed.

Elin hesitates. “You okay?”

“Fine.” He clears his throat. “It’s just—we had something similar happen with a family member... It brings it back.”

As Elin says a few reassuring words, it’s clear from his rapid blinks that he’s still riding the feeling. She wants to offer comfort but knows if she gives in to any kind of emotion she’ll lose the focus she’s desperately clinging to.

“Right,” Elin says finally, giving a nod. “I’ll see you in a bit.” Taking off her suit, she starts back over the rocks, but a few yards from the scene, she stops, blinded by a sudden, sharp glint from the cliff above. When she turns her head, it’s gone, but the glint reappears as she walks: a hazy semicircular glow flickering in the center of her vision each time she blinks.

It takes a while to leave her, but even when it does, Elin still feels unsettled.

She’s picking up on something scorched about the island, a strange stillness that seems unnatural somehow, malevolent.