by Becky Durfee
“So how did you stumble across this guy?”
“He responded when I found a gun that was used in a murder. When he asked me how I found it, I told him I had dreamt about it. Considering it was down inside a sewer where you’d only be able to find it by lifting up the man-hole cover, he realized I didn’t just happen to see it. I had to have known where to look.” Susan scratched Buddy’s head. “That gun was the key piece of evidence they needed to put their guy away. Bill was eternally grateful.”
“So does he use you regularly?”
Susan shrugged with her free shoulder. “Sometimes. I’ll call him if I have some insight, and a few times he’s asked me to look into some of his trickier cases for him. I’ve been able to help solve a few crimes, or at least provide the guys with the extra boost they need to get the investigation rolling.”
“So now do all of the people on the force believe in you?”
“I think most do at this point. There will always be a few who don’t, and won’t, under any circumstance. I’m not worried about trying to convince them. I’m more concerned with providing people with answers.” She turned her attention toward Buddy. “Seriously, dog. You need to get down. You weigh too much to be carried like this.” Susan plopped the dog down into the thick brush, clearly to the dog’s dismay. He looked up at Susan with sad eyes, wagging his tail slowly.
“So, what do you think is going to happen when Bill gets here?”
“I imagine he’ll take a peek inside the drums.”
“What if it’s what I think it is?”
“Then it stops being your concern and becomes a police matter.”
Jenny let out a nervous sigh. She wasn’t sure whether she wanted to be right or wrong about what was inside. She’d feel foolish if she were wrong, but she didn’t want to have to witness the unveiling of the contents if she were right, either.
“You know,” Susan began, “we don’t have to stand back here. In fact, we shouldn’t. Let’s go back to the car so we can flag down Bill when he arrives.” She directed her attention to the dog again, “Come on, Buddy-Boo. Up you go.” She bent down and scooped Buddy back under her arm and proceeded back to the parking lot.
Once they got back to the parking lot, Susan turned to Jenny and quizzically asked, “How did you get here?”
Jenny had almost forgotten. “Oh. Yeah. I drove here with my husband, but he left.”
“He left?”
“He had an appointment.”
“Come on. Let’s get in the car. It’s hotter than hell out here,” Susan declared. The ladies got into the car where Susan blasted the air conditioning. Buddy sat in the front seat this time, pressing his nose squarely against the vent, feeling a blast so powerful his ears blew backward. “So your husband just left you here?”
Jenny sighed, unsure how much she wanted to get into. “Well, I told him to leave. It was kind of ugly. We were both on our way to an appointment, and I was driving. I drove here instead of where we were supposed to go. He wasn’t happy about it.”
“Ah. I get it,” Susan said. “I’ve lost more than one friend that way. It takes a special kind of person to recognize, and accept, that all the plans they make with you are tentative. Some people just can’t stand the idea of their schedule getting constantly changed at the last minute.”
“But your husband is okay with it?”
“Yeah, but I think I told you, I already knew I was psychic when I met him. He knew what he was getting into. I usually call him and let him know if I have to cancel our plans or something, and he’s fine with it. A few times I haven’t been able to call. Some of the locations I end up in are so remote that there’s no cell phone service. But he understands that. He operates under the assumption that if I don’t show up somewhere, I’m busy working. I’m very lucky that way.”
“But you have lost some friends?”
“Yes, some. But most people are okay with it. They understand I’m not just forgetting to hang out with them, or I haven’t decided I’d rather do something else.” Susan laughed. “It actually helps that most of my friends are moms.” She turned to Jenny. “Do you have kids?”
“No, not yet.”
“Well, when you do, you’ll realize that every plan you make is tentative when you have babies. You can be on your way out the door with the baby on your hip, and suddenly the kid pukes everywhere. Either that, or the morning nap lasts for four hours, so you have to skip your lunch date with your friend. It just goes without saying among young moms that you can’t always deliver on your promises, and you can’t always call to cancel, either. Most of my friends understand that, and they aren’t upset with me when I don’t show up places. They’ve come to expect it.”
Jenny nodded, contemplating how wonderful it would have been for Greg to be that understanding. Once again a wave of regret washed over her; she wondered how different her life would have looked if she had done something as simple as sign up for a different World History class.
In an attempt to keep the conversation light, Jenny asked, “So, how many kids do you have?”
“Three. Two sons and a daughter. My oldest, Jake, is a junior in college. My middle son, Kevin, is a senior in high school, and my daughter Christine is a sophomore in high school.”
“I bet they keep you busy.”
“Yeah, that’s an understatement. See these gray hairs?” She pointed to the side of her head. “Each one of them has one of my kids’ names on it.”
After some more small talk, a police cruiser pulled into the parking lot. “Here’s Bill,” Susan declared, as both ladies, and Buddy, exited the car.
A middle-aged man in full uniform, including hat, came out of the cruiser. “Hi, Susan,” he said in a friendly tone. “It’s been a while.”
“Yes, it sure has.”
Bill bent down to scratch the dog on the head. “Hey Buddy. Looking trim as ever, I see.”
Susan snorted with laughter. “Bill, this is my friend Jenny. She’s the one who made the discovery.”
The officer stood up and outstretched his hand. “Bill Abernathy,” he stated, very matter-of-factly. His handshake was firm.
“Jenny Watkins. Nice to meet you.”
“So,” Bill said, clapping his hands together, “where are these drums?”
“They’re in the woods,” Jenny said, “Quite a ways back in there.”
“Well, before I go poking around back there, let me get official permission. I’ll go check with the people who work here and make sure they’re okay with it.” He headed off into the building.
A surge of nervous energy pulsed through Jenny, which Susan seemed to notice. Susan reached out and rubbed Jenny’s back, softly saying “It’ll be okay.”
Jenny ran her fingers through her hair, drawing a deep breath. “I’m just a little nervous, that’s all. I’ve got to admit I’m impressed by how calm you are.”
“I’ve been doing this for thirty years,” Susan said. “After a while, you get used to it. You’ll see.”
Bill came out of the building, walking with determination. “Alright, let me get my tools out of the car, and we’ll take a look.” He opened the trunk and selected a hammer, chisel and crowbar. Once he had what he needed, he turned to the ladies and said, “Okay, where are we headed?”
Susan picked Buddy up and once again tucked him under her arm, gesturing for Jenny to lead the way. Jenny shook all over as she led a now-prepared Bill and Susan back into the woods. This was one of the most nerve-racking moments of Jenny’s life.
They arrived at the drums, and Bill dropped his tools to the ground. He selected the hammer and a chisel to break the seal at the top of the first drum. Jenny found that she couldn’t watch, turning her back to the scene and placing her hands over her face. She took several steps away, bracing to hear what was inside.
After a minute of tapping and prying, Bill removed the lid of the drum. “Well,” he said, “This one looks like it just has some stuff in it.”
Relieved, Jenny
turned around to inspect the contents of the drum. The top layer had some clothes, which appeared to be t-shirts and jeans, but it was difficult to tell due to the passage of time. Bill pulled out a pair of white bucks shoes, held them up, and said, “These look pretty old. 1950’s, maybe?”
“Yeah, that would be about right.” Jenny felt, at the very least, validated. There was some legitimacy to her finding. She eyed the other drums with a sickened feeling, relieved for the moment to just be looking at belongings.
After removing the shoes and some more clothes, Bill pulled an old camping stove out of the drum. Jenny looked intently at the stove, feeling almost overcome with a wave of familiarity. She pictured a young Elanor and Steve fixing themselves meals over that very stove. She envisioned the laughter, felt the joy. The happiness disappeared quickly, however, when she snapped back into the present, glancing at the other two drums. Her nerves reemerged, and she once again found herself shaking.
After inspecting the rest of the items--some silverware, a pot, a few cans of old food, and some toiletries--Bill declared it was time to look in the next drum. Jenny turned back around to protect herself from the potentially disturbing images, but she listened as she heard Bill pry open the drum. “Okay,” she heard Bill say. “It appears we have ourselves a body.”
Jenny sat doubled over on the steps of the maintenance building with her arms wrapped around her mid-section. She looked intently at the ground, not crying, but not able to conjure up any meaningful thought. She heard Bill and Susan talking near her, but it just sounded like buzzing to her. She remained motionless as Bill approached her.
“The forensics team will be here in a little bit. They’ll have some questions for you, but it shouldn’t be too intense. This guy apparently died before you were even born, so you’re certainly not a suspect. Now who did you say this guy was again?” Bill took out a notepad and a pen.
“Steve O’dell,” Jenny whispered.
“And what were the circumstances around his death?”
“He was murdered.”
“The ones found in drums usually are,” Bill said, but not in a condescending way. “Do you have any idea how he was killed? Or by who?”
“He was shot in the back of the head by a gray haired man on his construction crew. I believe his name was Arthur Larrabee, but I can’t be sure. The man apparently was in cahoots with Luther Whitby, but both men are long since dead by now.”
“And nobody reported this guy missing?”
“He was a drifter.” Jenny’s eyes were still focused on the ground, her voice barely audible. “People assumed he just left town, especially since that’s the story the gray-haired man was giving.”
“Do you know of any relatives we could use to provide us with some DNA comparison?”
Jenny shook her head slightly. “I know he had some siblings, but he left home at a young age and never looked back. I wouldn’t even begin to know where to find them now.”
“Did he have any kids?”
“No, sir.”
“Okay, thanks,” Bill said. His tone then went from professional to sympathetic. “I know this isn’t easy. The first one never is. I appreciate your help, Jenny.”
Jenny curved her mouth into a feeble smile. “Thanks.”
As cars from the forensics team began filing into the parking lot, Bill excused himself to greet his reinforcements. Susan, with a panting Buddy in tow, took a seat next to Jenny. “You doing okay?” she asked.
“I think so,” Jenny replied meekly, reaching down to scratch Buddy under the chin. For the moment she was jealous of Buddy’s blissful ignorance, wishing her primary concern was a simple token of affection. “I think what’s upsetting me most about this is how terribly Steve got treated. It’s strange…he died long before I was even born, and I never actually met him, but I’ve really grown to care about him over the past few weeks. Through what I’ve seen and the accounts I’ve heard from Elanor, he seems like he was a great guy.” Jenny brushed her hair out of her face. “I hate that he’s been out here for sixty years, tossed away like trash. I want more for him than that.”
“I know,” Susan confessed. “It’s easy to become attached to these people. They become such an integral part of your life for a while. You really do start to care about them.” She rubbed her hand up and down her leg. “But you can take satisfaction in knowing you are the reason he was found. Thanks to you, he can get a decent burial and be treated with the respect he deserves.”
“But nobody will be there. That’s the sad thing. Even if he had been found right away, nobody would have gone to his funeral. He had so few people who cared about him. Life dealt this guy such a crappy hand.”
Susan spoke solemnly. “You’ll get a lot of that, I’m afraid. Sadly, the people who had perfectly happy lives and died peacefully in their sleep aren’t the ones who contact you. You’re going to be hearing from the people who have been wronged in the most horrible ways. You’ll be shocked by what some of these people have gone through. Eventually, though, you learn to distance yourself from it a bit. You can find that middle ground where you still care, but you don’t own what you’re seeing. It takes a while to get there, though. I know from experience that the first few are tough.”
“I felt him get shot,” Jenny whispered.
“I’ve been shot,” Susan remarked, smirking at Jenny and playfully leaning into her. “A few times, actually. I’ve been stabbed. Strangled. Ooh…I was held under water once.”
Jenny couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, God, that’s awful.”
“It was awful. Every bit of it was awful. But you have to remember, it’s not your pain. You’re just a voice for this person, and I’m quite sure they’re grateful to have you.”
The commotion from the parking lot grew so loud both women stopped talking, instead looking up at the buzzing crowd. A flurry of people were milling about, each apparently with a unique role. Most of them headed out into the woods, but one gentleman approached Jenny and Susan.
The man posed a series of questions similar to the ones Bill had asked earlier. Jenny felt foolish answering them, realizing she was claiming to know things about people she’d never met and who died before she was even born. She hoped the man interviewing her wasn’t a skeptic.
As Bill had predicted, the interview didn’t last long. The man took the information back to his car and began filling out a report. Before long a few of the people emerged from the woods carrying white plastic bags, apparently with Steve’s belongings in them. They loaded the bags into a truck with the word Forensics written on the side.
Shortly after, three men emerged carrying a drum which, Jenny assumed, contained Steve’s remains. She shielded her eyes from the sight and felt Susan’s hand on her back. She didn’t want to remember Steve this way, but somehow she knew this moment was going to be etched into her memory forever.
She could hear the sound of the drum being loaded into the truck, and she uncovered her eyes to see two more people appearing from the woods with additional white bags. Bill followed closely behind them, approaching Jenny and Susan as he emerged from the trees.
“We found an ID in the third drum,” he proclaimed. “The name was Steven O’dell. Good call, Jenny.”
Jenny wanted to know what Steve looked like when he was alive and whole. “May I see the picture?”
“I’m afraid that’s evidence. Once we’re done with the investigation we can release it, but not before.”
Jenny nodded with understanding.
“So you say there’s no next-of-kin we should notify?” Bill continued.
“He had a girlfriend, who’s still alive. I’ve been in contact with her. She’s helped me piece all of this together.”
“Might she be able to identify this gray-haired man you spoke of?”
“No, I’ve already asked her about that. She wasn’t sure who he was.”
“Well, we’ll speak to her briefly,” Bill added, “but the reality is that we probably won’t spend too m
uch time on it. If the man had gray hair in the 1950s, he’s clearly deceased now. Unfortunately we don’t have the resources to spend time tracking down killers that we know don’t exist anymore. We want to catch the criminals that may reoffend.”
“I understand.”
Bill took out his pad again. “Can you tell me this woman’s name? I’d like to speak with her.”
Jenny gave the man Elanor’s information, but then added, “Do you mind if I talk to her first? I’d like to be the one to tell her we found Steve’s remains.”
“That’s fine,” Bill said. “This isn’t a pressing investigation. When you talk to her, please let her know we’ll be coming by to ask her a few questions. And since she’s the only one who seems to know him, we can find out if she’d like to claim the body and handle the funeral arrangements.”
“Okay. Thanks,” Jenny said solemnly. “I’m sure she will.”
Jenny heard the back door of the forensics truck slam shut and the engine rev. She watched the truck as it began to drive off, paying her respects to the promising young man whose life had been cut way too short. She continued to keep her eyes on the truck until it could no longer be seen, at which time she blinked away tears and looked back at the ground.
She heard the remaining forensic technicians pile into their cars and drive off. Soon she once again sat with just Bill and Susan.
“Well, Jenny,” Bill began, “I appreciate everything you’ve done for us today. Thanks to you we were able to solve a missing person’s case we didn’t even know we had.”
“Glad I could help.”
“Let me give you my number,” he added. “That way you can call me if you ever have any insight again.” Jenny programmed his number into her phone. They exchanged pleasantries, Bill gave Buddy one last scratch on the head, and he drove off.
“Well, I suppose you need a ride home,” Susan commented.
“Ucch. Home,” Jenny replied. “I don’t even want to go home.”
“Well, we don’t have to. We can go grab a bite to eat or something.”