Murder on the Beach Read online

  “Well, maybe we have not found it yet, or maybe there is not any,” he said. “There certainly doesn’t have to be for murder. She could just be an old bat who was mad at how the man talked to her, so she stabbed him with the umbrella.”

  Detective Donnelly nodded slowly, lost in thought. “Let’s see what we find out from the fingerprints. Do you want to print her, or should I?”

  “Oh, I definitely think you should,” Throne replied. “She could be your grandmother. I’ll get her tea.”

  Detective Thorne went toward the station’s small kitchen with a smirk while his partner gathered an ink pad and print card.

  Diane looked around the room before checking her watch. The detectives had left her alone in the room for at least 15 minutes, maybe more. She knew they were likely behind the large mirror in the room, but did not dare look their way. As the sobering thought of the entire situation started to occur to Diane, she realized there was only one option for her. The detectives had allowed her to keep her purse. She reached in and grabbed her cell phone and the business card she had been given at the wedding. She turned the business card over and looked at the personal cell phone that had been written on the back. After dialing the number, she put the phone up to her ear and waited for an answer. Four rings in, a deep male voice answered.

  “Hello?” the voice said.

  “Hello, Charles?” Diane said. “This is Diane Dimbleby. We met the other night at the wedding.”

  “Yes, Diane, of course, how are you?” he asked.

  “Actually Charles, I’m in kind of a mess I think,” she said. “I’m actually at the police station, in an interrogation room, and I believe I may be suspected of wrongdoing.”

  There was silence on the phone, and for a brief moment, Diane thought that either Charles had hung up on her or the call had been lost.

  “Charles?” Diane asked.

  “Yes, yes, I’m here,” he said. “I’m just surprised by what you said. I cannot imagine that anyone would suspect you of any wrongdoing. What on earth do they think you have done?”

  “I’m afraid they think I had something to do with a murder,” she answered.

  “A murder?” Charles asked, the shock apparent in his voice. “Are you pulling my leg? Is this some kind of joke?”

  “I do wish it were a joke, but I am serious,” she said. “I was hoping you might have a moment to possibly pop over to the police station.”

  Diane went on to give Charles a shortened version of the events that had occurred over the past two days, ending with her run-in with Detectives Thorne and Donnelly.

  “Of course, of course,” he said. “Give me 20 minutes. And Diane, do not talk to anyone or do anything without my presence. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” Diane said gratefully. “And thank you.”

  Diane leaned back in the small metal chair in the interrogation room, a little relieved that Charles Godfrey had agreed to come to her rescue. She knew that he was a high-profile attorney and for him to take time out of his busy schedule to help a virtual stranger was a small miracle. The interrogation room door opened, and Detective Thorne came in with a small tray carrying the tea Diane had requested, along with honey, sugar and a stirring spoon. He placed the tray in front of her.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “Is there anything else I can get you to make you more comfortable?” he asked. Before Diane could answer, Detective Donnelly entered the room with a small metal basket. Inside the basket was a stack of thick, card stock paper, wipes and a long ink pad. The detective set the basket on the table in front of Diane.

  “Here we are Ms. Dimbleby,” Detective Donnelly said. “Let’s get your fingerprints.”

  Diane hesitated, not sure whether her instructions from Charles Godfrey to not speak to anyone or do anything without him present extended to providing fingerprints. She decided that even if it did, providing her fingerprints was inevitable.

  “Alright, here you are,” she said, extending her hand to Detective Donnelly.

  Chapter 6

  Diane looked at her watch. It had been almost two hours since she had called Charles Godfrey. She did not think he would be able to see her as quickly as he had indicated, but she became more on edge as the minutes ticked by. Detective Donnelly had taken her fingerprints, letting her know that they had a print technician in the building who would be examining her prints immediately. Diane wondered what constituted immediately, concerned she may have to stay in the police station much longer than she wanted to. Actually, she decided, she had already been there much longer than she wanted to.

  As she continued to wait, she felt as if the room was getting smaller. Diane realized that this was only her imagination, fueled by uncertainty and stress, but it did not dissuade her feeling. Finally, the door to the interrogation room opened, and Detectives Donnelly and Thom walked in with coffee, some Danishes, and a file folder. Diane was relieved to see the croissant and eagerly accepted it, as she had not eaten since the morning. They sat down across from her and put the file folder on the table. Detective Donnelly took a photo out of the folder and pushed it across to Diane. The photo was a smiling headshot of the young man Diane had encountered on the beach.

  “Is this the man you met on the beach?” the detective asked.

  “Yes. Yes, that is him,” Diane answered.

  “And you have stated you do not know the man, is that correct?” the detective said.

  “That is correct,” she answered. “I do not know him. Well, other than speaking with him on the beach yesterday. I had never met him before that. In fact, I would not even call that meeting him. We had such a short, terse conversation that it was only an encounter really. Who is he?”

  “His name is Maxwell Carter,” Detective Donnelly said. “Does that name ring any bells?”

  Diane thought for a moment. “No, it doesn’t,” she said.

  “You have also stated that you did not see him after your conversation on the beach, is that also correct?” Detective Donnelly said.

  “Yes it is,” Diane answered. “As I explained, I spent the rest of the day seeing sights and did not return to my room until almost dark.”

  “Diane, it is very important that you are honest with us,” Detective Thom said. “Are you absolutely sure you did not know him a bit more than you are letting on? Perhaps it was an accident. If you work with us now, we might be able to help you out.”

  Diane felt a surge of irritation bubbling to the top. She was more than happy to have a discussion about this situation, but it was clear that they were accusing her of a crime. And not just a crime, but murder. She looked pointedly at Detective Thom and decided that she would not give him the satisfaction of a response.

  Detective Donnelly pulled another photo out of the file folder and passed it across to Diane. The photo showed the same blue and white umbrella that Diane had chased and picked up on the beach. There was blood on the tip of the umbrella, as well as spatter across the top.

  “Our print technician managed it rather quickly,” Detective Thom said. “Your prints were a match for prints found on this umbrella. We believe it to be the murder weapon. The fatal wound matches the pattern, but forensics will confirm.”

  “Well, that is to be expected, right?” Diane said. “I certainly would think my fingerprints would be on it. I did tell you that I handled the umbrella.”

  “Yes, you did,” Detective Donnelly said. “The problem is, Diane, that your prints were the only ones on the umbrella.”

  That did not make sense, Diane thought. She absolutely expected her fingerprints to be on the umbrella, but she had not expected hers to be the only ones. The man who accosted her on the beach touched the umbrella as well. Or did he? It occurred to her that while she had taken the umbrella and planted it into the sand, she did not actually recall the man touching the umbrella in her presence. But surely he must have touched it at some point—he had made a very strong point that it was his umbrella. She tried to recall if the
man was wearing gloves, but could not picture it. This was not making sense to her, and she was unsure how to explain it to the detectives.

  “Well, um…” she began when the door burst open. Charles Godfrey, with an air of authority, was standing in the doorway to the interrogation room. He was dressed in a dark blue suit with a red tie and carried a small briefcase. Charles scanned the room and noted the coffee and small snacks on the table.

  “Thank you for your courteousness detectives,” he said. “And now I’d appreciate some privacy to talk to my client.”

  “Your client?” Detective Thom said.

  “Yes, my client,” Godfrey said.

  “Is this what you want, Diane?” Detective Donnelly asked. “You want to talk to us through a lawyer?”

  “I don’t really know what is happening here, and everything is moving rather fast,” Diane replied. “I think that it is best for me to take a step back and speak with someone outside of the police force. So yes, I want to talk to my lawyer before proceeding.”

  The detectives gathered their things and began to exit the interrogation room.

  “And detectives,” Godfrey said. “Let’s make sure that the one-way mirror is just a mirror.”

  Detective Donnelly nodded, while her partner smirked. They left the room, leaving Diane and Charles Godfrey alone to discuss the situation.

  Chapter 7

  “Thank you so much, Charles,” Diane said, her voice starting quaver. She had not realized how close she was to tears until he had appeared. “I did not know who else to call.”

  “You did the right thing,” he said, opening his briefcase and taking out a pen and notepad. “How are you holding up?”

  Diane considered this question. It seemed everything really was moving so quickly, and she did not know how she felt. Only a few hours earlier, she was standing on the beach next to a crime scene trying to be helpful. She realized how it must have looked to someone who did not know her, but it was important that everyone understood she had nothing to do with this murder and was only trying to help. Diane took a deep breath, realizing that she was really only in a room answering some questions, and now that Charles was here, things would get worked out. She decided she felt silly for tearing up a bit.

  “I’m holding up well, thank you for asking,” she said. “Now that you are here, I am sure everything is going to be just fine.”

  “I’m sure,” he said. “Now tell me everything about what has happened from the time you left the wedding that led you to this room being questioned by a detective about a murder.”

  Diane began telling Charles what she had done and endured over the past two days. She started with her decision to take a stroll on the beach the morning after the wedding, her walk along the pier where she saw locals fishing and her chat with the young boy.

  “He was quite a funny lad and had a string of fish already,” she said. “I suspect he spends a lot of time on that pier and not where he is supposed to be.”

  She continued telling Charles about her time on the beach and described seeing the blue and white umbrella rolling across the sand toward the water. She explained how she ran after it, grabbed it by the handle before it became wet and planted it back in the sand near a towel where she thought the umbrella had originally been.

  “Did the detectives tell you the murder weapon was the same umbrella you handled on the beach?” he asked. Diane nodded. Charles looked down at Diane’s hands and noticed the remnants of black fingerprint ink.

  “It looks like they printed you,” he said. “How long ago?”

  “It was shortly after I arrived,” she said.

  “Was this before or after we spoke?” he asked.

  “After,” Diane said sheepishly, remembering Charles’ instructions not to say or do anything.

  “Well, no matter now,” he said. “I’d be surprised if anything came back yet.”

  “Actually, one of the detectives said they had a fingerprint technician on hand, and they have already had something back,” Diane said. “My fingerprints were on the umbrella.”

  “Nothing to worry about,” Charles said. “You’ve already said what happened. It helps your story, as your fingerprints should be on there.”

  “The thing is,” Diane said. “My fingerprints were apparently the only ones on the umbrella.”

  Charles looked up abruptly from his note taking. “Well that is bizarre,” he said.

  “I thought that as well, then something occurred to me,” she said. “Of course my prints would be on it, and I certainly expected the young man’s to be on it as well. But I do not actually recall him touching the umbrella, at least not in my presence.”

  Diane went on to tell Charles about the awkward encounter with the young man on the beach, how he had yelled at her and accosted her for touching his umbrella.

  “He actually told me to mind my own business and keep my hands off of his things,” she said, becoming flustered at the memory of it all. “I mean, the nerve of him, after I really was only trying to do the right thing. But he did not actually take the umbrella from me. We did not speak until after I had already placed it in the sand.”

  Charles continued taking notes, nodding at times. Diane went on to tell him about her return to her room, waking up the next morning and finding a picture of the man she had seen the previous day on the news. She explained that she felt it necessary to return to the beach and see if she could locate anything of interest that might be helpful.

  “As I was leaving, the detectives noticed me and inquired as to what I was doing,” she said. “I decided I must be honest with them, and the next thing I knew I was in this room being questioned and fingerprinted.”

  “Is there anything else you can tell me?” Charles asked.

  “The detectives told me the young man’s name was Maxwell Carter,” she said. “Do you know who that is?”

  “I don’t believe so,” Charles answered. “I take it you did not recognize the name either.”

  “No, I do not,” she said. “He certainly did not tell me his name while he was berating me for touching his umbrella.”

  Charles closed up his notebook, took off his glasses and put both items into his briefcase. He appeared to be thinking through what he wanted to say next, and this made Diane somewhat concerned.

  “I think there is more information out there to discover,” he said. “They do not have enough to hold you any further on, and I am going to insist you be returned to your hotel. I want you to get something to eat, get some rest and wait for me to call you in the morning.”

  Diane agreed and thanked Charles again. “Wait here while I talk to the detectives about taking you back,” he said.

  Charles gathered his things and left the room. Detective Thom was waiting outside of the room, leaning against a vacant wooden desk while sipping on a cup of coffee. He was also holding a file folder. He opened the folder and motioned Charles to join him.

  “Detective Thom,” Charles said. “I am going to have to insist that you take Mrs. Dimbleby back to her chalet. There is not enough evidence to keep her in that room, much less arrest her.”

  The detective looked at Charles and nodded. He held up the report he was looking at and said, “I think I am going to have to agree with you. This is the autopsy report.”

  Detective Thom pulled away from the desk he had been leaning on and walked over to Charles. He gave him the report and allowed him a few minutes to review it. The detective pointed out that Maxwell Carter’s wound was made by piercing his sternum with the tip of the umbrella.

  “Diane Dimbleby is a slight woman,” the detective said. “She can’t be too much over five foot. The victim, in this case, was a strong, athletic man who jogged and did weight training regularly. It just doesn’t seem likely that she had the strength to pierce an umbrella through Maxwell Carter’s sternum.”

  “So you have settled on the umbrella as the murder weapon?” Charles said.

  “Yes,” the detective said. “T
he blood type found on the umbrella is a match to Maxwell Carter, and the wound is a match to the tip of the umbrella. The umbrella is simply not sharp enough to penetrate without significant force, and that is something Diane Dimbleby is not capable of providing.”

  “Well then that settles it,” Charles said. “When will you be taking Diane back to her chalet?”

  “We will take her back shortly,” Detective Thom said. “But even with this report, it does not mean she was not involved in some capacity. We will need to interview her again, so she will need to stick around Plymouth for a bit longer.”

  “Shortly is not a sufficient answer,” Charles said. “How about I take her back?”

  “That’s not going to work for me,” Detective Thom said. “You see, I want to make sure I know exactly where she is staying, who the proprietor is and how I can get a hold of her when I need to.”

  “I’m afraid I must insist that I accompany you in getting her back to her room quickly and safely,” Charles said.

  “Suit yourself,” the detective said. “Give me five minutes, and I will drive her back. You are welcome to follow.”

  Chapter 8

  Detective Thom escorted Diane from the interrogation room, allowing her to stop off at the ladies’ room, to the same unmarked car she had arrived at the police station in. Charles was waiting near the car as soon as they exited the building. He explained to Diane that the detective felt it necessary to escort her back to her room and why.

  “That’s ridiculous,” she said, ensuring the detective could hear her.

  “I agree,” Charles said. “But it is what it is, and I am going to follow along and make sure you get back to where you need to be.”

  The detective opened the back car door for Diane, and once again she crawled into the back seat, still feeling like a suspected criminal. She would have much rather Charles drove her back in his car. At least then she could have sat in the front seat like a normal passenger. They rode in silence all the way back to her chalet. Detective Thom pulled the unmarked police car into the small parking area closest to the entrance, and Charles Godfrey pulled in next to the side Diane was sitting. He got out of his silver Mercedes-Benz and looked warmly at Diane through the window. The detective opened the door, and she stepped out of the car and walked toward the entrance. As she reached for the door handle, she stopped and turned to Detective Thom.