Aside from the roaring waves, the beach on Cape Cod Bay was quiet and peaceful. The families had retreated with the sun, and the couple was alone, settled comfortably on a blanket just short of the pounding surf. The silence between the roar of each crashing wave gave her time to ponder what she had to say.
“I have something to tell you,” she said. “There’s someone else.”
“What do you mean?” he stammered.
“I’m sleeping with someone else. It was time you knew.”
“What do you mean you’re sleeping with someone else? I thought we had something special.”
“I don’t love you,” she replied without remorse, relieved to have it off her chest.
He found breathing difficult, gasping and sucking in air as another wave crashed. The ocean’s rage consumed every inch of his body as he stood, red in the face and quivering. She just sat dumbfounded as he grasped a large piece of driftwood and began to bludgeon her. He started with her head as she screamed. He beat her until her body was lifeless, beating, beating, beating while his rage began to subside.
He stumbled backward from the body, staring and shaking with one lone tear trickling down his face. The driftwood fell from his grasp as he watched wave after wave crash on the shore. He had no idea how much time passed as he stood in shock. Before he turned to leave, the tide had begun approaching the lifeless body, and waves lapped under it, washing her into the surf. The sand squished between his toes as he turned and stumbled across the moonlit beach to the dark trail leading to the parking lot. Not a soul was on the beach to witness his brutal loss of control.
As he crested the trail into the parking lot, moonlight gave way to the overhead lights, throwing long shadows. Under the eerie glow of the parking lot, he was becoming aware of his surroundings and the magnitude of what had just happened. He had killed the girl he loved and was covered head to foot in blood spatter.
The young couple parked at the beach. Only one other vehicle was parked here, and they would have the beach to themselves. They could hardly keep their hands off each other, exiting the car grabbing a blanket and cooler from the back seat. He grabbed at her as she giggled and ran toward the beach. She didn’t see the man emerge from the trail, smacking right into his wet, sweaty body. She noticed the smell of his sweat reeked of fear before noticing that his clothes and hands were covered in blood. She quickly backed away, apologizing, hoping he would continue. The man said nothing, sidestepping her and continuing to his truck.
Looking down at herself before her boyfriend got to her side, she realized she was covered in blood from bumping into the stranger. Adrenaline rocked her body as her arms and legs began to shake. She sat down on a large rock at the edge of the lot while her boyfriend consoled her. He memorized the license plate of the stranger’s truck as it raced from the parking lot.
“Call nine-one-one,” she said. “Something is wrong here.”
Without a word, her boyfriend took his phone and made the call, telling the operator about the stranger emerging from the beach covered in blood. He provided their location information and was asked to wait for an officer to arrive.
“No way was I going out onto the beach now anyway,” his girlfriend said, still shaking with fear. “What if the guy comes back? Are we safe here?”
“I think we’ll be safe. The police are on their way,” he said, reaching into the cooler and opening a Coke Zero for her.
Her hands shook as she took the soda, and the two shared it while they waited silently for the police to arrive.
The wait was short. Eagle Cove police officer Larry Saunders responded to the dispatch call for an unusual situation at the beach parking lot. Saunders was a veteran of the small Eagle Cove Police Department. Eagle Cove, Massachusetts, is a small, friendly community where people enjoy safe streets and an absence of violent crime. Larry had never investigated a murder.
When he drove into the parking lot with the red and blue lights flashing, he quickly spotted the individual who made the nine-one-one call waving his arms by the rocks leading to the beach trail. Larry pulled up to the couple sitting on the rocks, immediately registering the young lady trembling, covered in blood transfer.
He asked what happened in as compassionate a voice as he could muster. The young couple related the story to him while he jotted down notes. He called for backup from the Plymouth County Sheriff’s Department, giving details of the strange man covered in blood and the make, model, and license of the truck he had left driving.
“Do you mind waiting here for the sheriff’s deputy while I look around on the beach,” Larry asked.
“We’ll be okay,” replied the young man.
Larry grabbed the flashlight from his belt and used it to guide his way onto the beach trail. Once he emerged onto the beach, the moonlight bolstered his ability to see. It was easy to follow the barefoot tracks of the stranger. Spots of blood glistened in the beam of his flashlight, making the tracks easy to follow. Larry avoided stepping near the tracks, proceeding cautiously in their direction.
He found the young woman’s body, about forty feet from the trail, bobbing in the surf, partially tangled in a blanket. Floating nearby was a blood-stained piece of driftwood and two pairs of flip-flops. Larry photographed the scene with his cellphone before calling for the coroner and crime scene team. He asked that Plymouth County put an APB on the truck the stranger had left in. The tide was still coming in. Larry was forced to compromise the scene before it did it for him. He slipped on latex gloves and dragged the body from the water, moving it further up on the beach. He then collected the flip-flops and driftwood before returning to the trailhead and making a video of the barefoot tracks in the sand. Reviewing the recording to ensure he captured the blood droplets before Mother Nature washed away the evidence. He walked back through the trail and asked the couple to send the crime scene team in when they arrived. He also apologetically requested them not to let anyone else enter the beach. It will be a long night, Larry thought, turning and returning to the beach.
As one of only three patrol officers in the tiny Eagle Cove police department, the responsibility of solving this murder will fall squarely on Larry’s shoulders. He stood on the beach while the surf pounded. His hair was standing on the back of his neck. He looked around for more clues, pondering the terrible act of violence that had taken place here. His hands shook, and anger surged through his extremities. He wondered who could do such a thing to this beautiful young woman.
It seemed like forever before the crime scene team and the coroner arrived. They took control of the scene while Larry shared his pictures with the deputy in charge. He monitored the radio carefully, awaiting an apprehension of the stranger who had stumbled into the parking lot and driven away in his truck. He interviewed the young couple while waiting for the coroner and crime scene team to leave, recording their statements in his spiral notebook. After getting their contact information, the crime scene technician asked for the young woman’s stained clothes. He provided her with a Tyvek suit to change into, and she went behind their car to change, complying with the request. After her clothes were bagged, Larry told them they could go, thanking them for their help.
Soon, the body was brought from the beach and loaded into the coroner’s van. The scene was cleared, and everyone left, leaving Larry to begin his investigation. Before he reached the station, a call came across to radio of the truck and driver detained near the outskirts of Eagle Cove. A Plymouth County sheriff’s deputy had stopped the vehicle in response to the APB posted earlier. Larry turned on lights and sirens, racing to the scene of the stop. When he arrived, he found the sheriff’s deputy standing at the side of the truck, talking to the man inside. Upon joining the conversation, Larry noted the man was still covered in blood spatter, shaking and speechless. He had refused to say anything to the deputy.
Larry and the deputy walked to the truck’s rear to evaluate the situation and devised a plan to arrest the individual on suspicion of murder. Larry would transport him to Eagle Cove Police Station for questioning. The deputy would wait for a wrecker to haul the truck to the crime lab at Plymouth County. The deputy called in the arrest while Larry returned to the truck’s window.
“I’m going to ask you to exit the vehicle with your hands in clear view,” Larry said.
The man popped open his door and got out, raising his blood-soaked, shaking hands. Larry put cuffs on him, took him to his cruiser, and deposited him in the back seat. He got into the driver’s seat and took off for the station without hesitation. On the short ride, he called the chief, requesting that he meet him at the station. Once parked at the curb in front of the station, he took his prisoner inside and into an interview room. There, he cuffed him to the ring in the center of the stainless-steel table and relieved him of his personal belongings before leaving him to think about what would happen next.
While he waited for the chief to arrive, he called in wants and warrants on the man. He learned there were no outstanding warrants and, by the address on the driver’s license, he was a resident of Eagle Cove. He checked to be sure the recording equipment in the interview room was playing in the conference room adjacent to where the man sat cuffed to the table. He watched the man shaking and whimpering inside. Making good use of his time, he printed out each of the pictures from his phone on the color printer and a copy of the Miranda rights form. Larry was ready to begin his interview when the chief arrived at the station. He laid the pictures out for the chief to see and explained that this man was suspected of killing a young woman on the beach. “I’m going to go in and interview him now.”
“I’ll observe from the conference room,” the chief replied.
Larry entered the interview room with his shoulders back and a firm, confident stance. He carried a file folder, which he dropped on the table in front of the suspect. Staring into his deep blue eyes, Larry began reading the suspect his rights. “Do you understand your rights as I have explained them to you?”
“Yes,” he stammered.
“For the record, state your name.”
“Roger Clark.”
Mr. Clark, here’s a copy of your rights as I have read them to you. It states that you’re talking to me of your own free will,” Larry said while taking the Miranda rights form from the file and putting it in front of the suspect.
Clark read the form while his body shook from adrenaline. His red face was barely noticeable from the blood spatter still present but smeared from wiping his hand across it. Larry released one side of the cuffs and laid the pen down for him to sign the form. Larry was surprised to see his suspect manipulate the paper so he could hold it with his right hand and sign with his left. He continued to shake and whimper, volunteering nothing. With the form signed, Larry took the pen back and gave him a bottle of water.
“Where have you been tonight?” Larry asked.
“I had a date that ended early,” Clark responded.
Larry’s eyes widened, and he attempted to stare into his suspect’s eyes. Clark refused eye contact. Larry took the pictures of the woman who had been bludgeoned to death on the beach from his folder and began laying them down one by one on the table. “Did your date die on the beach tonight?”
Clark refused to answer, staring down at the table but avoiding even a glance at the pictures.
“Look at the pictures, Mr. Clark. Did you beat that woman to death on the beach?” Larry waited a moment without a response. “Why do you have blood all over yourself? Is that her blood from the terrible beating you gave her?” Still no response. Clark continued whimpering and shaking uncontrollably. “What did she do to deserve to be beaten like that?”
“I want a lawyer,” Clark finally said.
“Makes no difference to me,” Larry replied, taking the pictures of the flip-flops and the driftwood out and placing them in front of him. I’m sure that we’ll find your fingerprints and DNA on these items. “Where’re your shoes? You may need them when we take you to county for booking.”
Clark remained silent as Larry stood and left the interview room.
The chief met Larry outside the room and asked about transporting the suspect to county. The tiny station had nobody else working this late, so Larry asked the chief to transport the suspect with him. Chief agreed. They got a pair of Tyvek booties from the storage room and slipped them on the suspect before loading him into the back of Larry’s cruiser. The ride was quiet, with the suspect sitting in the back, silently shaking and mumbling.
Upon arrival at Plymouth County jail, the suspect was fingerprinted and booked for murder. They took his clothes, providing him with an orange jumpsuit. His clothes were bagged and sent to the crime lab before he was allowed to make a call and lodged in a cell.
Larry arrived early at the station the following day and began combing through the report from the crime lab. The blood on Roger Clark’s clothes was a match for the victim. His fingerprints had been lifted from the driftwood, and the flip-flops retrieved from the beach were confirmed as his size. The truck, which had been impounded, and a search warrant obtained. A purse in the truck contained identification matching the victim. Larry called the coroner to confirm the identity of the victim. The coroner confirmed a match to the identification found in Clark’s truck. He asked the coroner to send over his report as soon as possible.
He began drafting his report while waiting for the coroner’s report to be faxed. By the time he had finished his task, the coroner’s report had arrived, and he could attach it and the crime scene investigators’ report to his. He then drove to the victim’s address to make the notification. This was a task to which Larry did not look forward. He didn’t know who he would find at the address. It could be a roommate, or it could be her parents. In any case, he didn’t discount the possibility that someone there may be able to add motive to the vicious crime.
Larry parked his cruiser in front of a run-down apartment building just off the highway. He located the unit number and checked his appearance before knocking on the door. A young woman answered with a puzzled look on her face.
“Is this the home of Sheila Wheaton?” he asked.
“She lives here, but she’s not home. What’s this about?” the young woman answered.
“I’m Officer Larry Saunders with the Eagle Cove police, and I’m investigating a crime that happened last night. Are you related to Miss Wheaton?”
“No. I’m her roommate.”
“Does she have any family in the area?” he asked.
“Her parents live over near the school. I don’t know the exact address.”
“Do you know where your roommate may be?” he asked.
“She had a date last night and never came home.”
“Is that unusual?”
“It didn’t seem right last night. I thought when she left that she would break up with him.”
“Do you know who she was out with?”
“Yes. It was Roger Clark.”
“Thank you so much for your help. I’ll be in touch if I have more questions,” Larry said while handing her his card.
He returned to his car and ran a search for any Wheaton’s who lived near the school. His search returned one result very near his own home. Starting the car, he drove away from the curb, heading to what he presumed would be the address of the victim’s parents. When arriving at the home, he parked in front of a house resembling his own, only two blocks from the school. He got out, walked to the door, and rang the bell. It was answered by a pleasant-looking woman about forty years old with platinum blond hair, wearing a robe and clutching a cup of coffee. She quieted the dog inside, pushing the door open just far enough to keep it from escaping.
“Good morning,” he said. “I’m Officer Larry Saunders with the Eagle Cove police. Is Sheila Wheaton your daughter?”
“Why yes. What is this about?”
“Mrs. Wheaton, may I come in to talk with you?”
“Sure. Just let me put Cocoa in another room,” she said while closing the door, leaving Larry standing on the stoop.
Moments later, she returned to the door with a man resembling her in age. Larry presumed it was her husband. Reaching out to shake his hand, he introduced himself.
“I’m Joe Wheaton,” he said. “Is there a problem with Sheila?”
“May we sit down?” Larry asked.
Mrs. Wheaton showed him into the living room, where they all took seats. Larry perched on the edge of his chair, making eye contact with the parents of his murder victim. “I’m sorry to tell you that your daughter has died.”
The Wheaton’s just stared at Larry in disbelief. The lack of emotion confused Larry momentarily as the shock of hearing his news wore off, and both began to break down. “What happened?” Joe Wheaton asked.
“I’m afraid she was killed last night on the beach,” Larry answered. “I’m investigating to get to the bottom of it. Do you know her boyfriend, Roger?”
“Yes, but I thought she was ending it with him,” Mrs. Wheaton sobbed, wiping her tears away with the sleeve of her robe.
“Evidence suggests that Roger may have killed your daughter. We have him in custody,” Larry responded. “Do you know of any reason he would want to hurt her?”
Joe went into a complete emotional breakdown, standing and excusing himself. Mrs. Wheaton continued to cry without leaving her seat. “He was madly in love with Sheila, but she didn’t feel the same about him,” she said.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Larry said. “I’ll do everything possible to bring the person who did this to justice.” Larry hesitated as the victim’s father returned to the room, offering his wife a tissue. “I will be in touch if I have any further questions. Your daughter is at the Plymouth County Medical Examiner’s office. They will contact you to have you come in for an identification. Is there anything I can do for you right now?”
“No. Thank you for coming to let us know,” Joe said, standing to show Larry out.
Larry idled at the curb before taking the driver’s license picture to the witness to identify the guy who bumped into her at the beach parking lot. He looked at his notes and programmed his GPS for her address. Driving deep in thought, he journeyed to her address halfway between Eagle Cove and Plymouth. Parking in front, he assumed it was the home of her parents. The upscale neighborhood told him he might be met at the door by someone other than the witness he hoped to speak with.
He was happy to see the young woman he had met last night come out the door to meet him as he walked up the sidewalk.
“Well, good morning,” he said, looking her up and down. “You look much better this morning. Are you doing okay?”
“Yes,” she replied. “That situation last night had to be one of the worst experiences of my life. You should have seen my mother’s look when I showed up at home in a hazmat suit.”
“I can only imagine. I have some pictures to show you. Would that be okay?”
“Sure.”
Larry produced copies of several driver’s license photos, including that of the suspect in custody, asking her to identify the guy last night.
A shiver went up her spine as she examined the photos, causing her to shake as she pointed to the image of Clark. “Did you catch him?”
“Yes, we have him in custody.”
“Did he hurt someone on the beach?” she asked.
“We believe he murdered his girlfriend.”
“That’s scary. Will I be safe?”
“Of course. When we prove he did it, he will be in prison for a long time. The evidence is strong, and it looks like I have a strong young lady as a witness that he was there,” he said with a confident smile. “I won’t take any more of your time. I appreciate your help,” he said, turning to leave.
Authors Note: This story was meant to be shared with Newsletter readers only. A glitch in the system caused it to be distributed to the entire readers list. I have added this note post edit. It is entirely a work of fiction for entertainment only. If you enjoyed the Detective Larry short story. Consider preordering the book at: https://books2read.com/MurderInEagleCove
