Murder on the Beach

by Penelope Sotheby

  The weather was so nice that she expected to see others enjoying the morning on the beach and the owner of the umbrella, but there was no one in sight. She considered what to do with the umbrella, and decided to try and put it back where it appeared to have come from. Diane planted the umbrella as firmly as she could into the sand, wiped her hands across her trousers and continued her walk. She decided it would be nice to take off her socks and running shoes and put her feet in the water. Diane had bent down to do just that when she heard someone yelling from behind her. Diane turned and looked across the beach. She finally saw a man waving his arms somewhat wildly and hurrying in her direction.

  “You there,” the man yelled. “Hey, you there, lady. Stop.”

  Diane was sure she did not recognize the man and looked around again to see if perhaps he was talking to someone else. She still did not see anyone and considered ignoring him and continuing on her walk. After all, the man seemed upset, and she could not imagine why he would be yelling after her.

  “Yes, ma’am, you there,” he said pointing at her. “Stop. Wait.”

  Now convinced he was talking to her, Diane stopped and waited. She looked around again nervously, hoping to see anyone else around. The man hurried up to her and stopped, leaning over with his hands on his knees catching his breath. Diane waited a few moments, and the young man continued to breathe heavily.

  “Are you okay?” she asked him. “Is there something I can help you with?”

  The man stood up, finally able to take in a deep breath, and looked at Diane pointedly. “What are you doing?” he asked, someone angrily.

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “Why are you touching my things?” he asked.

  “What things?” Diane said, confused.

  “My umbrella!” the man said loudly. “Why did you run after my umbrella, take it and close it?”

  Diane was very confused. She could not understand what this young man was saying. She had seen an unmanned umbrella rolling across an almost deserted beach heading toward the water and had done what anyone would have. She did not understand why he seemed so upset about it.

  “The blue umbrella is yours?” she asked.

  “Yes, of course it is,” he said. “And I want to know why you picked it up.”

  “I did not see you, or anyone, so I put it back where I thought it came from,” she said. “It’s right there. I tried to plant it deeper into the sand so it would not blow away again.”

  “I can see that,” the man said, still seemingly put out by Diane’s actions, although she still could not understand why. “I can see that it is right there, but I’m asking you why you touched it in the first place.”

  “Well, I saw it rolling across the beach toward the water. It looked expensive, and I thought it was going to be ruined in the water. So I gallantly rescued it,” she said, adding some humor to the idea of rescuing an umbrella. The man, however, was not amused. He picked up the umbrella, closed it and folded his arms across his chest.

  “Listen, lady,” he said curtly. “I did not ask you or anyone to touch my things. Please mind your own business and keep your hands off of things that do not belong to you.”

  With that, the man turned and hurried back across the beach, umbrella in hand. Diane stood, dumbfounded by the exchange. She watched the young man until he disappeared across the beach. She decided that her first thought of Plymouth was likely correct and that returning to Apple Mews was becoming more and more appealing. She turned toward her chalet and heading back intending to work on gathering her things and leaving this place, along with its rude, umbrella-crazed people behind.

  Chapter 3

  Diane tried to forget about her unfortunate encounter with the rude stranger on the beach and spent the rest of the afternoon taking in historic sites and touring lighthouses. She made reservations with a local touring company, which had a pick-up stop near the beach. There were dozens of lighthouses set along the English shore in Devon and Cornwall. Eddystone, or Smeaton’s Tower, was her favorite. She marveled at the 250-year-old wonder and pictured early tradespeople wandering in the rough tide in rickety boats, finally setting eyes upon the light cast by the tower.

  The sun began to set low in the sky and, tired from her afternoon, Diane decided to return to her chalet. She hopped the bus back to the beach near her room. She stopped in the lobby/kitchen area and picked out a sandwich, cookies, and tea before making her way up to her room. As she sat down at the small table in her room to unwrap her sandwich, she felt a cool breeze and saw movement out of the corner of her eye.

  The window in her room that looked out toward the beach was open, and the curtain was fluttering in the evening breeze.

  “Now I know I shut that,” she said aloud to the empty room. “I know I did.”

  She put her sandwich down and walked across the room to the open window, eyeing it suspiciously. Everything was intact, including the panes and the latch. She moved the small brass hook up and down, not seeing any sign that the window was forced open.

  Diane latched the window tightly and returned to her sandwich. She finished her meal, washed up for the evening and lay down with a book she had found in a used bookstore earlier in the day. Despite the riveting plot of her new book, her mind kept wandering back to the window. While logically she knew she must have shut the window before leaving, something about it kept nagging at her. Even after putting the book down and settling in, sleep did not come easily. She could not explain exactly why, but Diane felt that somehow her space had been invaded.

  Chapter 4

  Morning came much too quickly. Diane had not slept well and considered rolling over with a pillow over her head to catch a few more minutes of rest. She looked over at her laptop sitting on the small table in the room next to the remnants of the previous night’s dinner and remembered that she had had not checked her emails in the past few days.

  After washing her face and making a cup of tea, she powered up her small laptop and entered the Wi-Fi information provided by the hotel. The news began scrolling across her homepage, and something familiar caught her eye. Pictures of the man who had been so rude to her the day before on the beach were staring back at her under headlines touting “suspicious death” and “likely murder victim.” Diane, a little shaky at the thought of someone she had just met being dead, clicked on the story and began reading. Apparently, the man was found dead on the beach from a fatal wound to his chest. Police were stating that while the first thought was that the man had died from a gunshot wound, preliminary reports were showing that his heart had been pierced with a small, cylindrical object. The news story also mentioned that blood evidence had also been found at the scene, including on the tip and fabric of a beach umbrella near the body.

  At the mention of the beach umbrella, Diane’s eyes widened, and her heart began to beat a little faster. She continued on and noticed that the only pictures included with the news story were two pictures of the victim and a picture of the beach. There did not appear to be any pictures of the actual crime scene, but Diane was certain that she knew where this had occurred. There was no description of the umbrella at the scene, other than the mention of blood, but Diane was certain that it must have been the very same umbrella she stopped from rolling into the ocean and replacing in the sand. It must have been the very same umbrella the now deceased young man had been so rude to Diane about.

  While she had not dwelled on the reason for his strange behavior at the time, she certainly wondered about it now. Diane jumped from her seat, quickly dressing and readying herself for the day. She intended to find out what was so important to the man about that umbrella. So important, she thought, that it may have cost him his life.

  After grabbing a quick breakfast on her way out of the chalet, Diane put on a hat and sunglasses and headed back to the beach. The area was much busier than it had been the previous day. She supposed that was because, in part at least, people may have been trying to get a look at what happened. A
s she approached the area, she noticed that an about thirty-foot area had been cordoned off with bright red and white police barricade tape. A small white tent was propped up where she had replaced the umbrella the previous day, and several small evidence tags were placed throughout the area around possible areas of interest. She tried to recall what had been there the previous day and remembered seeing a blue and yellow beach towel stretched out on the sand near where the white tent now stood. In fact, she was sure there had been a beach towel nearby because she thought the umbrella might have belonged to the same person who had put out the towel. Diane looked around for the towel. She had not wanted to get too close to the scene, so she had to crane her neck a bit. There was no sign of the towel, and she assumed it must have been swallowed up by the sea.

  Turning on her heels to head back to the chalet, Diane noticed two people who appeared to be walking toward her. The lookie-loos who had been in the area earlier had all gone, and she was the only one left in that area of the beach. As it was a man and woman, she thought perhaps the pair was just strolling, but their clothes were not quite right for a beach walk. They also seemed to be intent on walking straight in her direction. Turning to look at the beach, Diane waited for the two strangers to walk past her. To her dismay, they did not. Instead, the pair stopped right in front of her.

  “Good morning, ma’am,” the woman said. “Can I ask what you are doing here?”

  What an odd question, Diane thought. She began to speak, but paused, looking them up and down nervously. “Who are you?” she finally asked.

  Both reached into their pockets and pulled out police badges. Diane studied them and realized that they were both detectives with the local police station She then realized that she probably should have figured this out from their clothing. The man was dressed in a light brown suit, matching loafers, and a plain white and brown tie. The woman was dressed very much the same, but her suit was dark blue with no tie.

  “Now that we have that out of the way,” the female detective said, “why don’t you tell me what you are doing here so close to our crime scene?”

  Diane knew there was no way around it, so she decided to explain everything she could as the detectives began writing in their notebooks.

  “My name is Diane. Diane Dimbleby,” she began. “I’m not from Devon, I’m actually from Apple Mews. I attended my nephew's wedding two days ago. I’m staying in a room at the chalet across the street. Yesterday, I thought it would be nice to take a stroll on the beach. I do love the beach.”

  Diane found herself speaking somewhat strangely and realized how nervous she actually was. Logically, she knew she had no real reason to be nervous as she had not done anything wrong. But speaking with the detectives about the death of a man she had encountered only the day before was unnerving her.

  “Anyway, I started my stroll at the pier and continued along the beach close to the water,” she said. “I had just decided to take off my socks and shoes for a little dip in the water when something caught my eye. I noticed a large blue and white beach umbrella rolling across the sand headed toward the water. It looked pricey, so I thought it best to catch and return it to the owner. I managed to grab it before the water caught it and put it back in the sand where I thought it had come from.”

  The two detectives gave each other a look that made Diane even more uncomfortable. “And then why did you decide to come back out here today and nose around the crime scene?” the male detective asked her.

  “Oh, there’s a little bit more to yesterday before today,” she said.

  “I see,” the male detective said. “Go on.”

  “After I put the umbrella back in the sand …” Diane began.

  “Where did you put it?” the female detective asked her, cutting her narrative off.

  “Well, I put it right over there where that white tent is set,” she said.

  “Interesting,” the female detective said. “Go on.”

  “So I put the umbrella back in the sand and started off to finish my stroll,” Diane said. “I heard a man yelling and turned to see someone coming toward me. I was not sure at first that the man wanted me, but he seemed to be speaking directly to me, so I waited.”

  “The man, did you know him?” the female detective asked.

  “That’s the thing,” she said. “I did not know him. And he was very upset with me for touching his umbrella. I tried to explain that I was trying to keep it from being damaged, but he did not seem to care. He, in no uncertain terms, strictly told me to mind my own business and not touch his things. So this morning, when I saw that this man I had seen was murdered on the beach, I thought it best to come out here and see for myself.”

  The female detective finished her writing, flipped the notebook closed and looked intently at Diane.

  “That’s quite a story,” the male detective said as he put his notebook away. “I can’t imagine too many folks would return to where someone they had just met was murdered to have a look around.” The female detective shot him a glance and looked kindly at Diane.

  “Ms. Dimbleby, I’m Detective Hazel Donnelly,” she said. “And this is my partner Detective Andrew Thorne. We are investigating the murder of the man you encountered on the beach. You may have some additional information we might need, and so I would like for you to come to the station with us.”

  “I believe I have told you everything that I know,” Diane said, uncomfortable at the thought of being taken to a police station for questioning. “Couldn’t I just give you my number to contact me?”

  “As you have told us you are not from the area, I’m afraid that would not work,” Detective Donnelly said. “I think it’s best if we sort this out down at the station. We will also need to get your prints.”

  “My prints?” Diane asked.

  “Yes,” Detective Donnelly said. “You mentioned that you grabbed an umbrella. While I cannot say that it was the same umbrella, or that the umbrella was used as the murder weapon, it’s enough for us to want your prints for comparison.”

  “I suppose I understand,” Diane said. “Please let me grab my purse.”

  The detectives escorted Diane back to her room and allowed her to gather her purse and a jacket, as the station interview rooms had a tendency to get cold. She also saw her cell phone sitting near her laptop and scooped it up before leaving the room. She walked with them back toward the beach where Diane saw a plain white four-door hatchback among other cars in a visitor parking lot. Diane had seen unmarked police cars before, and although there was nothing to indicate the police, she was certain the hatchback belonged to her escorts. Detective Donnelly opened the back door of the white hatchback for Diane to get in, while her partner slid into the driver’s seat. As they exited the parking lot and headed toward the police station, Diane had a sinking feeling as she recalled grabbing the umbrella. The detective attempted to draw Diane into some conversation about the events, but she had decided it might be best to be polite, but quiet.

  Chapter 5

  Detective Thorne pulled into a parking space at the back of the station, and both detectives got out of the car. The back two doors of the car did not open from the inside, so Diane had to wait until Detective Donnelly finished gathering her things before opening her door. She slowly stepped out and looked up at the station. It was a rather plain two-story, red-bricked building with a breezeway that attached to what Diane thought was a jail area. The detectives led her up some steps to a metal door. Donnelly leaned down and scanned a key card, and the door popped open with a short buzzing sound.

  She was then escorted past a bullet-proof kiosk where intake deputies talked with visitors and shuffled paperwork around. There were several cubicles in the main area of the station behind the entrance, as well as a number of small rooms lining the hall. Police officers both in and out of uniform milled about. Donnelly and Thorne placed Diane in one of the rooms and asked her if she wanted anything.

  “I would love a cup of tea and perhaps some water,” Di
ane said.

  “Sure thing,” Detective Donnelly said. “Sit tight, we will be right back.”

  The door closed abruptly, and Diane felt herself shake a bit. She closed her eyes and took some deep breaths. It concerned her that it may have appeared to the detectives that Diane was acting suspiciously. Who was she kidding, she thought, she was acting suspiciously. If it was the same umbrella Diane had chased on the beach, they would likely find her fingerprints on it. The problem, she decided, was whether they would find any other fingerprints on the blasted thing. If yes, her story would certainly be considered plausible, and she would surely be left go to about her business. If no, Diane would not only be considered a suspect, she would likely jump to the top of the list of any suspects.

  “What do you think?” Detective Thorne asked his partner as they stood on the opposite side of a one-way mirror looking into the room that held Diane Dimbleby.

  “There’s no evidence she knew the victim, and she certainly doesn’t look like a murderer.” Detective Donnelly said. “It just does not fit.”

  “There’s no evidence she knew the victim yet,” Detective Thorne corrected his partner. “And we have seen several murderers over the years that don’t look like murderers. Remember the quiet librarian who killed the man who delivered her mail? I dare say she definitely did not look like a murderer.”

  “True,” Donnelly said. “But the man who delivered the librarian’s mail is also the same man who broke the librarian’s heart when he returned to his wife. This is very different. I just don’t see any motive here.”