The strangest aspect of the case was the footprints were coming from Death Rock, but none going to it.
On top of that, there was no body, no evidence of violence and certainly no blood.
“So why?” asked Tomkins, the head investigator, “am I doing here looking at footprints. Surely the tide will wash them away?”
“The tide has been in sir, and the prints are still here,” replied a junior constable who had been there far too long, was ravenously hungry and knew when he returned home his dinner would be a dried up offering in the oven.
“What?” asked the head investigator, “How could that be?”
“We don’t know sir, that’s why we called you,” announced the junior constable thinking to himself I know I’m going to regret this I know I am.”
The Head Investigator, a man who dealt in facts and nothing but the facts, leant over the footprint closest to him and touched it with his index finger. The sand crumbled as he suspected it would.
“What size shoe might this person have worn?” he asked.
“Size ten,” replied the junior constable checking his notes. His faith in the intelligence of the head investigator diminishing by the second.
“So where might they be?”
“I’d guess he didn’t have any sir,” proffered the junior constable.
From that moment a verbal match began between the two men. The Head Investigator asking the obvious questions and the junior constable answering in his best official way trying hard to not sound derogatory in any way.
It wasn’t long before the tide began its creep up the beach and washed several times over the footprints not disturbing them in any way.
They called in four scientists, several podiatrists and a boot maker but all were flummoxed. The area was searched for bodies but none where found.
In the end, the area was cordoned off and declared a natural puzzle beyond belief.
The junior constable did go home and did find his dinner a dried up lukewarm offering in the oven.