A Corpse on the Beach

by Benedict Brown

  We were both standing in the doorway as Marco Romanelli burst from his room. He came to a sudden halt on seeing us there and nervously tried to explain. “My wife’s jewellery has been stolen and some other things too. She said there were two strange people inside the room yesterday. I’m going to tell the police.”

  He hurried off down the stairs and Ramesh grabbed my shoulders, overjoyed. “You know what this means, Izzy?” I did not know what this meant. “I’m a suspect again. Somebody is going to treat me like the criminal I know I have it in me to be!”

  Chapter Twelve

  I decided it would be a good idea for us to explain to the police that, despite Ramesh’s grand ambitions, we were not master jewel thieves.

  Marco Romanelli didn’t speak any Spanish and the officers who were not otherwise occupied had no English, so I was in the strange position of having to translate from Spanish into English for an Italian.

  “And was there anything else?” The skinny, middle-aged agent enquired when Romanelli had gone through the list of jewellery, tablets and a portable speaker that had been taken.

  Marco looked hesitant for the first time since I’d met him. “Well… In fact… Yes. We had a gun.”

  The officer raised one eyebrow suspiciously as you would expect from an experienced investigator. “A gun? You travel with a gun?” I didn’t need to translate that part, Marco understood immediately.

  “Not for protection. It was a present,” he sounded apologetic about this fact for some reason. “The leader of a German youth movement gave it to me. It was in a wooden case.”

  “Yep,” Ramesh confirmed. “It was there yesterday, we saw it when we were cleaning the room.”

  I stamped on his foot to get him to shut up. It didn’t work but it made me feel a bit better.

  The officer wrote down all the details and, as Kabir was in with Inspector Bielza, it was down to Ramesh and me to accompany the search of the occupied bedrooms.

  “Here, listen,” Ian Dennison said when we knocked on his door. “It’s one thing you locking us up when we could be out on the beach, but that doesn’t mean you’ve got the right to come barging in here going through all our stuff.” His grunting voice was as melodic as a snoring walrus.

  “There’s been a burglary,” I explained. “They just want to check none of the stolen items are in here.”

  He opened his mouth to complain but just then his wife came to the door. She looked distressed and in a barely audible whisper, said “I’ve just realised my watch is missing too.”

  “Not the Rolex?” Dennison’s jaw dropped. “Where did you have it last?”

  Her reply started quiet and faded into silence.

  “This is all we need,” her husband replied, before opening the door to us all the way. “I guess you’d better come in then.”

  By the time we left, they’d discovered that a phone, their camera, and two handheld computer games were also missing. “We had ’em yesterday. I put everything up in the room before dinner. Was probably those Frogs. I’ve never trusted the French.” He spat the last word out like he’d swallowed a fly.

  “It couldn’t have been them,” his wife timidly pointed out. “They left yesterday morning.”

  “Bloody marvellous,” he said, ignoring her entirely. “Bloody marvellous.”

  We went to Heike and Lio’s room next. It was easy to imagine that they’d been robbed as they appeared to have very few possessions with them. In fact it was hard to understand, going by their budget phones and limited possessions, how they could afford to stay in a place like The Cova Negra. Nobody had stolen their Primark t-shirts or unbranded trainers though and their passports had been locked in their safe.

  Makes you wonder why the Romanellis didn’t think of doing the same with the diamonds they were carting around.

  I suppose diamonds are pretty common possessions for rich people. Perhaps it didn’t occur to them to lock them up safely in a posh place like this.

  Celestino and Sagrario had also been victims of the unidentified thief. After we knocked on their door, they discovered that Sagrario’s rings were missing and Celestino couldn’t find his wallet. They couldn’t be sure when the items had been taken though, as their valuables had been left in the room when they’d attended the conference.

  We showed the officer to Álvaro’s room next.

  “There’s nothing missing,” he assured us. “You can come and look through my things if you like but I wouldn’t be a very good thief if I hid them in my own room.” There was a disgruntled tone to his voice and he curled his lip a little as the officer entered.

  He stayed behind in the doorway. “I still want to talk to you Izzy, but not with him here.”

  “Don’t mind me,” Ramesh said, completely missing Álvaro’s point. “I won’t tell anyone.”

  “I think he’s talking about the police officer, Ra,” I explained to my unimaginative friend.

  “It comes with my job that I never trust the police.” It was hard to know how to react to Álvaro’s increasingly combative persona. He was shifty and paranoid like a spy in a cheesy movie.

  “Well, let’s get a drink later,” I said lightly and the journalist kept up his mysterious shtick.

  “I need to talk to my editor but I’ll find you when I’m ready.” He glanced down the corridor then went off to check that no evidence was being planted.

  Ramesh was ecstatic. “This is so much fun. It’s like one of those murder mystery weekends where you take on a character.” He thought for a second as we walked towards the lift. “I’ll be Mandrake Carmichael, the international oil baron financier and you can be-”

  “I think I’ll stick with Izzy Palmer, thanks.”

  The remaining rooms on that floor had been empty since the French coach party had left. Most of their doors were open and I could see there were pillowcases and sheets strewn about the place.

  “I thought you told your uncle you’d finished all the rooms?”

  “I have!” He looked a bit guilty. “I’ve finished starting cleaning and later I’ll start finishing cleaning.”

  We returned to the ground floor to see if Jaime Torres was back. He was already in the foyer when we got there and I could see from his expression that his visit to Maribel’s family had not been an easy experience.

  Inspector Bielza emerged from the conference room before I could speak to him.

  “You,” she pointed at Ramesh. “You might as well be next.”

  Without waiting for a reply, she turned around and disappeared once more through the large double doors. Ramesh glanced at me nervously and followed her into the room.

  “How did it go?” I asked Officer Brawny.

  Stay focused on his chin, Izzy. Whatever you do, don’t look him in the eyes. He’s like medusa, one glance and you’re dead.

  “It was terrible,” he explained. “Her mother’s devastated. I’ve never seen someone cry so much. I didn’t know what to say to her.”

  I didn’t want to appear insensitive, but he’d asked me to help him and perhaps the information he’d gained could lead us to the killer. “Can we go somewhere to talk?”

  He called across to his colleagues in slangy Spanish that I didn’t understand and motioned for me to follow him to the patio. Stepping outside into the heat, my ingrained British instincts desperately sought out shade, while he was happy to stand in full sunlight overlooking the gardens. I put my hand to my eyes to shield my poor, sensitive face from the sun. This had the added benefit of muting his vibrantly good looks.

  “I told you before, Maribel was just a normal girl. She wouldn’t have had anything to do with these Next Phase people. I asked the mother and she said that Maribel didn’t go to the conference yesterday. She was in the village all day and went out in Santander with her friends in the evening. A bunch of them were starting back at university this
week.”

  “You must know something.” I was using his impressive frame to hide from the sun and must have looked insane, ducking down like that. “Is there anything that could explain what happened to her?”

  “At the moment, all I can tell you is what the pathologist has been able to work out. She was hit with a hard object.”

  “You mean blunt?” Who was I to complain, I’d barely spoken a word of Spanish to him.

  Annoyed not to have remembered the word himself, he tipped his head back. “That’s it; a blunt object. But that wasn’t what killed her.” He paused to find the courage to get the words out. “She drowned when the tide came in.”

  I put this together in my head, still squinting into the sun the whole time. “So whoever killed her, knocked her out first then buried her in the sand and waited for her to die.”

  “Yes, there were rocks under her dress to keep her in place, that’s what told us for sure it was murder.”

  “But it’s still an odd way to kill someone.” I moved us on to the next topic. “What about her family, what do you know about them?”

  He shook his head like the whole thing was too much to dwell on. “I’m telling you, Izzy. They is all good people. She has cousins and aunts and uncles and they’ll be crying just like her mother.”

  “Is her dad still around?”

  “He died in an accident when she was a kid. I remember him a bit but no one really talks about him. My grandparents still call her ‘the widow Ruiz’ though.”

  I let out a sigh, feeling frustrated at the lack of progress. I should probably confess that I’d been staring at his chin for so long by this point that I was beginning to find it incredibly sexy. I had to keep reminding myself to focus.

  Izzy, focus!

  “Have you got any idea what might have happened?” he asked and it almost felt cruel to tell him how far from the truth I still was.

  “I’m trying my best, Jaime but it’s not easy to investigate like this. Your boss doesn’t want my help and, for the moment, I can’t talk to the other guests. If you have any idea what I should be doing, you have to tell me.”

  He looked even sadder than when I’d first seen him that morning. The weight of events was pulling him down. His shoulders were rounded, his head bowed and it looked as if he wanted to give up and lie on the floor where we stood. He was about to reply when a fellow officer knocked on the patio doors and signalled for him to come inside.

  Jaime started walking back towards the hotel. “All I can tell you is that the killer is still here. I know that will be enough for you. Bielza will do whatever she can, but you’ll get there first.” Pausing in the doorway he smiled shyly. “I’m sure of it.”

  He marched off and I wanted to stand on that pretty terrace peering out to sea. A bit of quiet reflection on the mystery I was facing would have done me the world of good. But I could feel my skin flaking off even as I stood there, so I bolted back into the hotel.

  Chapter Thirteen

  It was another couple of hours before all of the interviews were concluded and the guests were allowed out of their rooms. The two Dennison kids ran downstairs screaming their guts out and shot from the hotel towards the beach with unrestrained joy. Their mother ponderously followed after them, but Ian didn’t appear. I was sitting in the dining room when they thundered through.

  “Whisper whisper whisper nap whisper whisper,” she explained apologetically before chasing her kids through the floor-to-ceiling doors which had been opened to let the warm breeze in.

  Perhaps that’s why her husband stayed upstairs – he’s never trusted French windows!

  Nah. That’s not one of your best jokes, I’m afraid.

  Ramesh had been cornered by his uncle and made to help get ready for lunch and I had some research to do on my phone. Once I’d checked just how long it would take to swim from the next bay to The Cova Negra, I got busy reading up on Next Phase on my phone. My search only served to back up what Dean had told us about the Romanellis’ organisation. I dug a little deeper into the reports of violence that the movement had inspired, but there was no solid evidence to lay the blame at Marco’s feet.

  On the Next Phase website, a list of past conferences revealed they had already been through the major capitals of Europe, barring Madrid where they were due to finish three days later. Santander struck me as a rather small destination for their roadshow, but perhaps they wanted some time on the beach before heading home.

  The thing that surprised me most was the gallery on their Facebook page. There were shots of Marco with important politicians from various countries and the fans who came to his rallies. There were hundreds of photos in all, and Heike and Lio appeared in several of them. There were at least five pictures of the girls with their hero. A few were in crowds with other people, but there was one shot of the three of them together. Their hesitance on approaching him for a photo two days earlier suddenly didn’t ring true.

  “Izzy?” someone called to pull me out of my rabbit hole. “Why don’t you come to the beach with us?”

  Timing it to perfection, Lio and Heike had appeared in the dining room.

  “Yes. It is a good idea that you come with us,” Heike said in her slightly robotic voice. “The police have given us permission. So long as we do not leave the hotel grounds.”

  I had no reason to say no and every desire to find out more about them, plus I was still in my beach gear from that morning.

  “Yes,” I replied, accidentally mimicking their unnatural tone. “It is a good idea and I will come with you.”

  As we walked along the path to the beach, they spoke of that morning’s events.

  “It’s terrible what happened,” Lio lamented.

  “We heard she was about our age.”

  “Yes, terrible.” I didn’t sound very sincere as I was busy trying to work out what was up with the two of them. They kept looking at one another in that suspicious way they had and I could tell I was being tested.

  “We searched for West Wickham on the internet maps.” Lio made this sound as if it was a very serious issue.

  “That’s right,” her friend added. “We did not understand why you mentioned it because West Wickham is a truly small and unimportant town.”

  “It’s not that small.” I suddenly felt protective of the place I’d been desperate to get away from my whole life. “It’s got a Dominos and a Pizza Hut.”

  They looked deadly worried about me, but then a smile broke out on Lio’s face. “We finally put it down to the famous British sense of humour.”

  “We do not find the same things funny at all.” Heike still looked concerned. “In fact, British comedies are not popular in Austria.”

  “That’s right.” Lio shook her head sadly. “They are not popular at all.”

  Suddenly feeling rather protective of British comedy, I stepped onto the beach and my worries disappeared. A zing of joy passed through me as I remembered that the world is not all murder and darkness and it’s hard to be glum when confronted with such beauty. It didn’t last long as I soon spotted the sole remaining officer who was standing next to one of those “An incident occurred here…” signs. At least the body had been removed and the forensic team had returned to the station.

  Heike and Lio wanted to place their towels right by the waterline with no shade or protection from the sun. While they coated every inch of their deep brown skin in cooking oil, I got to work on my own routine.

  Applying sun lotion for me is practically a workout. I get two big handfuls of the stuff and then go crazy slapping it on all over myself. Even with my ridiculously long limbs, I can’t reach my whole back though. So, like a window washer who’s running out of soap, I squirt some on my shoulders and shimmy and jump up and down in the hope it will cover that bit in the middle that’s impossible to get to. I’m a seasoned pro now and it only takes me a quarte
r of an hour to do my whole body. Of course, twenty minutes later I’m back at it again.

  Glistening prettily, Heike and Lio watched my performance in stunned silence.

  Those maniacs! Haven’t they heard of skin cancer?

  “You know, it’s Mr Romanelli I feel sorry for,” the blonde beauty explained as I collected two parasols and stuck them in the sand to claim my territory.

  “Yes, that poor man.” I think I’d moved past sarcasm by this point and perfected just the right tone of voice to sound as earnest as they constantly were.

  “When this is reported in the news, those awful journalists will start saying horrible things about him again.” The two of them clearly shared some kind of hive-mind as they were capable of continuing one another’s discussion with barely a pause.

  “They always do.” Heike sounded particularly unnerved by the issue. “They treat Mr Romanelli so cruelly.”

  “So you don’t think there’s anything in the rumours then?” I was tired of going along with them and decided to stir things up. “I mean, there were some pretty bad things connected to his old organisation.”

  The pair looked up at me like I’d just insulted their grandmother. Lio was the first to snap back. “That had nothing to do with Marco.”

  “He was just a…” The brunette turned on her side to ask her friend a question. “How do you say-”

  “Scapegoat,” Lio interrupted. “Mr Romanelli was a scapegoat. It’s not his fault if people do crazy things.”

  Heike blinked in agreement. “If anything, his ideas would put an end to conflict like that.”

  The two girls nodded back and forth to one another, showing that a consensus had been formed and any other opinion was now irrelevant. I could see that challenging them would not help my cause.

  I picked my words more carefully this time. “No… You’re absolutely right. I meant to say that it was terrible that people abused his name in that way. The last thing a beautiful movement like Next Phase needs is extremists messing everything up.”