![]() The tide was receding when they arrived, the concussion of waves on the shore gradually quietening as the day wore on by now the sea was almost half a mile in the distance. ![]() They had already been there for some time, with biscuits in an old tartan tin, digging and sieving the sand. She had come out of the house that afternoon and along the short path to the beach with her mother, Mrs Veda Elston. Short fair hair, no coat, blue eyes and dress to match: that was the description later given to the police. ![]() It was still strangely warm in that autumn of 1929, and she had taken off her plimsolls to feel the day’s heat lingering in the sand beneath her feet. Far below, a child of three was playing by herself with a new tin spade. T his is how it began, and how it would end, on the long pale strand of a Lincolnshire beach in the last hour of sun, the daylight moon small as a kite in the sky. ![]()
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