Robin Castle Gentle waves caress the beach, contradicting my panting breaths. Hands trembling, I wedge my fingers into the neck folds, hunting for a pulse. Detecting no turbulence, I kick its leg, to be certain. “Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?” “Help,” I squeak. “Body. Dead. Hogan’s Beach.” The operator rapid-fires questions I can’t answer. “Hard to breathe,” I murmur. Emergency services take what feels like hours to appear. On the cold, damp sand, I empty a bottle of hand sanitizer, cleaning my hands and phone. Like a herd of rhinos, the ambulance and police arrive. Hands prod and poke me; hands