Copyright © 2017 Simon Jones
The circling seagulls were squawking, alarmed that their nesting place had been invaded. On the beach far below, forensics buzzed around the body. Two of their colleagues were up here, studying the cliff edge with steady intensity.
The Chief Inspector walked away. At times like this the job definitely lost its appeal.
The head pathologist sauntered over.
“Well, it looks like a straightforward accident, with one unusual aspect. Our friend could easily have made it onto the path from the angle he was climbing, but he seems to have leaned over to the left. See the claw-marks in the soil where he’s tried to cling on – from his height I’d say he was at full stretch. His balance goes, he flips over, and it’s goodnight Vienna.”
“Any reason why?”
The other man pointed. Just beyond the furthest of the scratch marks in the soil was a perfect four leafed clover.