This will eventually be a crossover. For now I will file it under the Foyle's War category.

The Pale Rider

Rating: T
Summary: What do you do when a body washes up on the beach?
Beta: Captn Becky
Notes: Canon up to May 1942. Anything else are lovely imaginations from the author's warped mind.
Disclaimer: All known characters are the creation of Anthony Horowitz and Dorothy Sayers. I make no money off this.

May 1942

This was not what Detective Chief Superintendent Christopher Foyle of the Hastings Constabulary was wishing for on a mild late spring day. He stood there amongst the rocks, hands shoved in his trouser pockets, and looking at what was left of a woman laying before him while ignoring all the moment around him. The waves of coming off the Channel always had that soothing quality that he was in desperate need of at this moment.

Something moved out of the corner of his eye, forcing him to look up to see what it was. From there his eyes traveled to the blue water and the war that was raging just beyond the horizon. Everything seemed so calm, as if it were a relaxing spring day. Yet it was deceiving at the same time. He watched the tide start its slow and laborious return. At the moment the sand was still in sight. In a few short hours that part of the beach would be covered by the Channel. Turning his attention back to the body, he knelt down to get a better look.

A shadow appeared then there was a flash with a pop. The sound startled Foyle for a moment, but he refused to let it show. Reaching out, he gently turned the woman's face, surprised that rigor had already passed. Holes where her eyes once rested, and stumps for ears and nose gave the face a macabre look. Further down was what looked like bruises on her neck. The only thing that showed any idea of who she could have been was the rather expensive looking bracelet on her wrist. Why it was still there he had no idea. If she was killed on land by some reprobate, that would have been the first to go, pawned if he wasn't mistaken.

Foyle looked up again to watch his sergeant, Paul Milner talking with several fishermen. At first he hoped that one could be a witness, but in the end figured that they were most likely the ones that had spotted the body. The tall thin man turned towards him and frowned while shaking his head.

"Mr. Foyle?"

He turned to see who it was that was calling him. A young woman with strawberry blonde hair and wearing a drab colored uniform approached. Samantha Stewart held her arms outstretched to keep her balance as she hurried across the rocky beach. She stopped just short of the body, trying to catch her breath.

"What is it Sam?" He stood and rubbed the back of his neck. This wasn't the first time he didn't want her in the middle of a murder investigation, and he certainly knew it wouldn't be the last. Even he was having a bit of difficulty dealing with this particular wanton disregard of life. Thankfully the woman's face was facing away from her.

Sam looked down to the body and grimaced. She seemed to swallow hard before gathering her wits. "Do you know who she is?"

"No." Why he was humoring her, he had no idea. "Why?"

"I think I might have found something up there." Sam pointed towards an overhang a short distance above the beach. A short distance from that point was one of the many anti-aircraft gun placements.

"Oh?" Maybe this was why he let her constantly pester him with questions. He once again wished she was a man so he could hire her outright. But he couldn't. Sometimes she was better at finding things than some of his long time uniformed constables under his command.

Leaving the body for the time being, they worked their way up to the embankment and to the area Sam was now pointing towards. When they stopped he looked down to the ground and the three tire tracks in the dirt. All that told him was that a Morgan had been parked there recently. He filed that bit of information away for future reference.

The tracks were not what Sam was looking at. Stuffed under a ledge was a small bag. From his position it looked like a lady's handbag. She knelt down to reach for it.

"Don't touch that."

She jumped back and her feet came out from under her, making her sprawl in the half grass half gravel. Foyle came over and helped Sam to her feet. She brushed the gravel from her skirt, "Sorry, sir." She paused, "Fingerprints?"

"There could be. Need to make sure" He knelt down, frowning at hearing his knees pop, and examined the bag. Rising back to his feet he whistled to get his men's attention and then called for the photographer.

As soon as the pictures were taken, Foyle pulled out a pen and with that he pulled the bag from under the ledge by what looked like a strap. He was right. It had been a handbag at some point earlier. While using his handkerchief he opened the bag to reveal that there were items inside it. The ever present ration card was at the top, so it hadn't been lost all that long ago. Still using the pen he found a modern style pocketbook. The rest of the items looked like papers of various sorts. Standing up, he set it on the ledge and began going through its contents, hoping there would be some type of identification within it.

"Do you think it'll help?"

Christopher glanced out of the corner of his eye only to see Sam's imploring look. He gave her a bit of a smile. "Not sure yet."

A card fluttered to the ground.

"What's this?" Sam knelt down and picked it up. "It looks to be some type of business card." She turned it over, looking at both sides, and shrugged as she handed it over.

"More like a Victorian style calling card." He hadn't seen one of these in a very long time. Christopher frowned as he examined it. The name printed on it was unfamiliar to him. Whoever it was, was either very wealthy or very high up in the ranks of the aristocracy. Keeping it in hand, he continued to rummage around in the bag until he found the identification card. "Margaret Woollenhouse."

"Is that her?"

"Maybe."

Christopher looked back down to the beach. The woman's body was already covered and was in the process of being carried away to the coroner's for the autopsy and upcoming inquest. "Come on," he said as he picked up the bag and started back down to Milner. The sergeant was still shaking his head.

"Still haven't found anything of note?" he asked the younger man as he approached.

"Not yet, sir." Paul frowned. "There doesn't seem to be any witnesses at all. It looks as if she was killed on one of the boats then dumped overboard."

"Most likely." Foyle pressed his lips together trying to think of the best action to take. He looked back down to the handbag then handed it over with all its contents. "There's a woman's ID along with a ration card inside. See what you can find out about her and if it's possibly connected with our body."

"Yes, sir." Paul seemed uneasy as he opened the small bag and retrieved the booklet.

Christopher turned and headed back up to the street. "And check to see if there are any reports on any missing women," he threw over his shoulder.

He could hear Sam hurrying after him. She only caught up when they reached the edge of the beach. "I think they're connected."

Christopher didn't even bother to look at Sam at first. "And why's that?"

"Well," she smiled with growing confidence. "It was found in the same general area. I know if I lost my purse, I'd be searching everywhere for it and wouldn't give up until I found it."

Christopher stopped and turned towards her while frowning.

"I mean it is obvious, isn't it?" Her confidence seemed to fade the longer he remained silent.

He finally gave her a small grin, "Then let's see if you're right." His words earned him her own brilliant smile in return. It was so easy to make her happy.

TBC...