The body lay in the ocean break. The waves rocked it back and forth, making it undulate in the sand. It would have been seductive if not for the grotesque condition of the figure. The detectives stood a few feet away to protect their shoes from the saltwater as seagulls cawed loudly overhead.

The morning breeze coming over the Atlantic was strong. Detective Ramirez pushed her long wavy hair from her face. "Who found it?"

The junior of the pair, Detective Thompson jerked a thumb at a small group gathered by a black and white. "Those three."

"They together?"

"Not from what they told the uniform who answered the call."

Ramirez analyzed the trio; two men and a woman. A well-muscled man with long blond hair held a surfboard while looking infinitely bored. A second man wore shorts and a tank top and sweated profusely. He jogged in small circle while checking a black band on his wrist. The final person used the hem of her sun dress to wipe the telephoto lens of a digital camera. A wide brimmed hat shielded her eyes from the sun.

Turning back to her partner, she asked, "What's the story?"

"A ranger made a sweep of the park before it opened at six. The body wasn't there. The three stooges over there claim to have found it simultaneously at approximately seven. They were the only visitors to the park before it got shut down."

Ramirez squatted down to examine the victim who appeared to be a Caucasian female in her 20's or 30's with an athletic build. The head, hands, and feet were removed with surgical precision at the joints. No identifying marks or tattoos were visible.

"Could it have floated in?" Thompson asked.

Ramirez tucked a strand of hair behind her ear but it flew out immediately. "Look at it. No sign of predation or bloating. This kill is fresh."

"A boat?"

"There's a reef out there which makes it almost impassible."

"Looks like we have a locked room murder, I've only seen those on TV."

"You don't read Sherlock Holmes?"

"I saw the movie. And, the sequel."

"You're pathetic!"

Thompson blushed. "So, it has to be one of witnesses."

"At least one of them."

"Good point. So, what do you think the killer is doing with the body parts?"

She took out her a spiral-bound pad and scribbled down a note. "What do you think?"

"I think he's collecting trophies. He has a 'Mommy' complex, and he's using them to make some kind of puppet to keep in the attic. It tells him he's been a bad boy, and he has to get new pieces when the old ones start to smell."

She laughed. "That's quite a theory."

"Do you like it?"

'No. It's too theatrical. I think he or she is making the bodies hard to identify."

Thompson kicked the sand with a thick-soled shoe. "That's more logical."

Putting her notebook back in her jacket pocket, she scanned the deserted beach. "Come on, let's go talk to them."

The loud waves crashed rhythmically as the pair trudged towards their suspects. The woman and two men were lined up on the edge of the asphalt parking lot. They eyed their approach with the jogger in the middle of this unlikely group. The surf board now lay in the sand with its rear fin down.

As they neared the black and white, the uniformed officer's walkie squawked at his belt. He brought it to his ear, listening intently, then moved it to his mouth and uttered a quick response.

He stepped forward. "The ME and the crime scene techs will be here in twenty."

Ramirez nodded. "Thank you Officer ..."

"Officer Whitt."

"Thank you, Officer Whitt. We'll be questioning the witnesses one at a time. Can you ensure the remaining two don't contaminate the scene any further?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"All right, who's first?"

The jogger stepped forward. "I guess I'll go."

The surfer and photographer moved farther apart.

"Follow us," Thompson said as he led him to their unmarked sedan in the corner of the lot.

Thompson took down the basic information of name, age, and occupation. Ramirez stayed back to better study the suspect. For his part, he'd stopped sweating and appeared calm and collected.

Thompson clicked the tip of the pen repeatedly. "I find it hard to believe the three of you found the body simultaneously if you weren't together."

"I know. It's crazy. I was jogging along just as the surfer guy was riding in. The woman was snapping pictures of something in the water. We all caught sight of it, the body that is, at the same time. None of us touched it. Without a head, we knew she was dead."

Thompson tapped the pen on his chin. "Do you know who got to the beach first?"

"I don't know. I'm half asleep until I get my run in."

"You didn't see another vehicle in the lot when you parked."

The jogger shook his head. "Sorry. I can't recall."

Ramirez stepped forward. "So, you run here quite a bit?"

"Almost every day."

She pointed to his wrist. "I notice that you have one of those things."

"My fitness tracker."

"Do you mind if I look at it?"

He took it off a pale arm. "Sure."

"Does it work?"

"You bet. It logs your distance, pulse, and heart rate then downloads them to the web, so you can monitor the progress to your goals. I never take it off."

She handed it back. "Maybe, I should get one."

"The good ones are expensive. I got this one as a gift from Mother."

"Maybe not, civil servants aren't paid well. I think we are done for now, can you send the next witness over."

"Sure thing."

A minute later, the surfer sauntered over. Flipping his hair to the side, he leaned against the hood of the sedan. "What'z up?"

Thompson clicked his pen. "What's up is that you're a suspect in a murder investigation. And, if I were you I'd take this interview seriously."

"Dude!"

"Yeah, dude. Now, let's start with your name."

The surfer straightened up, literally and gave all the vital information and repeated the basic story of finding the body that the jogger had given.

Thompson frowned. "Do you know who arrived to this stretch of beach first?"

"I think I did. I like to get here at daybreak when you can be one with the ocean. There's nothing like it. I have such a respect for water and Mother Earth. Have you ever tried it?"

"No. Maybe you could teach me. You any good?"

The surfer nodded. "Dude! I can kick, flip, slide, snap, and carve if I can find the right wave."

Ramirez stepped forward. "Do you use Sex Wax?"

"What?"

"You heard me."

"No. I don't use the stuff. I'm enough man that the honeys don't need any extra assistance."

Ramirez rolled her eyes. "I thought so. We're done for now. Could you send the final witness over?"

He sauntered back to send the photographer to be interviewed. She arrived still clutching the camera with one hand. The other, the one with the wedding ring, flattened her sun dress over a smooth hip.

She eyed the detectives nervously. "Am I a suspect?"

"Everyone is a suspect," Thompson replied.

"Maybe, I should call my husband. He's a lawyer."

Ramirez gave her a reassuring smile. "We're only trying to establish the timeline. We'd have read you your rights if we were going to arrest you."

"OK, good. He's really busy anyway."

The pen clicked open. "How about we start with your name?"

Thompson collected the essentials, and her version of the story matched the other two. She confirmed that she had arrived at the beach last.

He asked, "Do you come to this location regularly?"

"No. I travel around. I like to get pictures from all over using different scenery and lighting."

Ramirez took the lead. "Do you have a favorite subject?"

"I like all the sea life; the gulls, the terns, the crustaceans. But, I think my favorite is the sea lion."

Ramirez smiled. "Thanks. You've been a big help."

"Am I free to go?"

'Not quite yet, but if you could return to the group. We'll join you in minute."

She left. Thompson turned to the senior detective. "You were very quick with all of them."

"I heard and saw what I needed."

"So, who is the murderer?"

"What do you think?"

Thompson clicked his pen. "The surfer. I got the feeling he was lying."

"They were all lying."

"No way."

"Sea lions don't live in the Atlantic. Sex Wax is not for romantic enhancement. It's what real surfers use on their boards for traction. And, that jogger has never ran a day in his life. He didn't have a tan line."

"You're good."

She pointed at his hand. "Pay attention and stop playing with that damn thing, and you might know who did it."

He looked down at his shoes as he placed the pen in his breast pocket. "If they're all lying, were they all working together?"

"No. There was only one killer."

"Who?"

She headed back towards the group. "Come on, let's go arrest somebody."

With Thompson trailing behind her, she stopped in front of the trio. All three shifted nervously, waiting for her to speak. She approached the photographer and held out her hand.

"Can I see you camera?"

The photographer clutched it to her chest. "Why?"

"I'm a big fan of wildlife. I'd love to see what you shot this morning."

"The sea lions weren't out today."

"I bet, but I saw plenty of gulls. So, may I?"

She handed it over. "I guess."

Ramirez activated the digital camera and scrolled through the latest pictures. "Just as I thought only pictures of the surfer boy. Does your husband know that you are having an affair?"

"What? No! I'm doing no such thing."

"Then why are you wearing an outfit that would make it difficult to crawl around and take nature shots. Besides, Ma'am, you're not even wearing underwear."

Her hand shot to her smooth dress line.

The surfer smiled widely. "Dude!"

Ramirez shook her head in disgust. "And, you do know he's not a real surfer. It's just a rouse to pick up bored housewives."

The photographer smacked the surfer across the face. "Jerk. That's why you paddle out, bob around for a while, and then paddle back in."

He rubbed his reddening cheek. "I never found the right wave."

After their exchange, Ramirez drew her weapon and aimed at the jogger. "Officer Whitt, handcuff this man. He's under arrest for murder."

The jogger tried to make a run for it, but Whitt grabbed him tightly by the shoulders. He struggled as the silver bracelets were snapped on his wrists. Whitt read him his rights.

Ramirez holstered her revolver. "It's a shame their lover's tryst interrupted your body dump. The jogging act could've worked if you actually had a tan from running on the beach every day."

The jogger struggled under Whitt's grasp. "You have no proof."

"You do know those fitness trackers have GPS. We'll have enough evidence to lock you up and throw away the key."

"No. You can't. Who will take care of Mother? She'll need new parts soon."

Ramirez pinched the bridge of her nose. "Get him out of here."