Shallow Waters

by Kay Jennings

  He couldn’t fail again. It wasn’t an option. His mother didn’t say that, but he knew she was thinking it, too.

  * * *

  Matt hit ‘end call’, and immediately punched in Fern’s phone number.

  “Hey, could you do me a favor? I need Joey Hawthorne pulled out of school this morning so I can talk to him, and I think it would be better for the kid if you did it instead of me. Could you call the principal and find out how we do this with the least amount of trouble?”

  “I don’t know,” Fern said. “Everyone probably knows that he and Jack are buddies, and they certainly know why Jack is not in school today. I don’t think it would be fair to have Joey tagged as having anything to do with the murder if he’s innocent. Couldn’t you wait until school gets out this afternoon?”

  “I hate to be a bastard, but I don’t really care if Joey gets teased. Our obligation is to Emily,” Matt said. “Please call the school now.”

  Fern grasped the phone tightly in her hand and exhaled. “Look, buster, please don’t act like you’re the only one who cares about finding Emily’s killer,” she said angrily. “We’re all in this together, and I don’t need you ignoring my professional opinion and barking orders at me. If Jack did it, and Joey can help us, I’m all in on talking with him. I just believe we should have some compassion for a kid who might be scared about now.”

  “Buster?” Matt said. “Now I’m a ‘buster’? I called you because I respect your professionalism and I think you’re the right person for this job. But there’s only one leader in this investigation, and that’s me.”

  “I’m not questioning your leadership, Matt. I have to consider the child, too.” He could tell she was tight-lipped on the other end of the line.

  “OK, you’re right,” Matt conceded. “Let’s do it this way. Please call Joey’s parents and let them know we want to talk to him right away. Have them bring him home for lunch so I can talk to him then. He can tell his friends that he’s going home for lunch.”

  “I like that,” Fern said brusquely, still pissed off. “I can do that and still protect Joey’s privacy.”

  “Listen,” Matt started, reaching for the right words. “We’re all wound tight. I forget that you didn’t buy into this cop business like Jay and I did. If it’s getting to you and you want out, say the word.”

  Fern said crisply “It is getting to me, but I don’t want out.” She hung up.

  * * *

  While he waited for Fern’s call, he turned off the highway on the road that he hoped led to Fergus Dunbar’s farm. It wasn’t marked, but it was the direction he’d gotten from Sheriff Johnson. When this was over, he vowed to drive every road in Chinook County until he knew where in the hell he was at all times!

  After winding up two roads, the last one which ran adjacent to Twisty River, Matt found the farm, and sat in his patrol car in Fergus Dunbar’s gravel driveway. He checked his notebook for the sheriff’s notes on his first visit with the farmer. Although the farmhouse looked nice, Dunbar’s place was as bleak and isolated as they come.

  An aerial enforcement patrol conducted late yesterday confirmed Sheriff Johnson’s suspicion that Dunbar had a healthy pot crop growing on his acreage, along with his vegetables and fruit. Unless Fergus was a licensed grower in the state’s cannabis program, his crop far exceeded the legal limit of four immature plants per residence. The sheriff thought his crop canopy was so large, Fergus would be in the top tier of licensing, and Johnson seriously doubted that Fergus had paid that steep fee. The sheriff checked with the state, and he hadn’t. Doesn’t anyone follow the law around here?

  Matt rapped loudly on Dunbar’s door and waited.

  No answer.

  He tried again, and waited again. Still no answer.

  He walked around the side of the house, and saw Fergus Dunbar, who was weeding between rows of what looked like potatoes. Dunbar saw Matt at the same time, stood up, and shaded his eyes with one hand in order to get a good look at who was there. John Fogerty and Credence Clearwater Revival’s ‘Lookin’ Out My Back Door’ was playing loudly on the transistor radio in Fergus’ pocket.

  “Ah, another cop, I’m guessing,” said Fergus. “What do you want?”

  “Mr. Dunbar, I’m the new Port Stirling Police Chief. My name is Matt Horning. How do you do?” he said, and reached to shake hands with the farmer.

  “I do just fine, thank you,” replied Dunbar as he shook the chief’s hand. “Welcome to town.”

  “Thank you. This is a nice place you have here. Peaceful, and a real good view of the river.”

  Dunbar stared at him with his hands in his overall pockets.

  “What crops do you grow here?” Matt asked, undeterred by Dunbar’s silence.

  “Just because I don’t like her daddy doesn’t mean I killed that girl,” said Dunbar.

  “I didn’t say you did, did I?” responded Matt.

  “The top guy wouldn’t come all the way out here unless you thought I had something to do with this. Am I right?”

  “This is routine, Mr. Dunbar. We’re talking to everyone who may have had a beef with Mayor Bushnell. It’s common knowledge that you had a squabble with him last week. I want to follow up on that.”

  “Ask away. Nothin’s going to change from what I told Sheriff Johnson. I told him the truth. I always tell the truth. Life’s too short to complicate it with lies, don’t you think? Am I right?”

  “I do think that, yes. Let’s start with where you were Friday night between the hours of 6:00 p.m. and midnight.”

  Matt walked him through the same questions the sheriff had asked, and, to his credit, Dunbar answered in a straight-forward manner without attitude. He was mostly polite and seemed genuine, and nothing in his responses jumped out at Matt. One would never call Fergus Dunbar smooth, but there was nothing egregious in his demeanor. But, until Matt could definitely rule him out as a suspect, he ruled him in.

  “Anything else?” Dunbar asked.

  “There is one more thing, Fergus. I have reason to believe that you have a substantial, unlicensed pot-growing operation on this farm, probably out beyond that row of trees,” said Matt, pointing towards the hills behind the farmhouse.

  “I grow a little weed,” Fergus admitted, wiping his hands on his overalls. “But I had nothing to do with the girl’s death.”

  Matt suspected that Fergus just uttered two true statements, but aloud he said, “I’ll be back. Stay home today, and that’s an order.”

  Chapter 30

  Monday, Noon

  Matt picked up some chili and cornbread from Dolly’s Café, a small restaurant he’d spotted in the older part of town, and took it back to his office. He took a few minutes to check out the view, looking out to the sea, deep in thought, while he ate alone.

  Unbelievably, this morning’s mild, benign weather was beginning to turn again. Matt was astonished at how the weather could turn on a dime. While it was still dry outside, scowling dark clouds were moving inland off the ocean, replacing this morning’s extravagant blue sky, and the wind went from zero to twenty in what felt like seconds. It was clear that another pounder was headed their way. The wind gusts made his windows quake, and the howl was impossible to ignore. The suddenly enraged sea was throwing up monstrous waves, and the jetty had all but disappeared. It was fascinating in its violence.

  Matt jotted notes while he finished his lunch, and made a mental note to give the café’s cook his mother’s chili recipe. Everyone in town would thank him.

  After he wrote down his thoughts on Fergus Dunbar (jury is still out) and Ted Frolick (facts point to him telling the truth), Matt found he could not stop reflecting on Marjorie.

  Would a mother actually kill her own daughter if she thought the child was going to rat on her love affair? Matt had been trained that all options were on the table when it came to murder, and not to discount tho
se that he might find objectionable. But this. This was beyond. What do I actually know is a fact where Marjorie is concerned?

  Marjorie and Emily home Friday evening

  Fred slept soundly—can’t confirm Marjorie there all night . . . alibi wishy-washy

  None of kids saw mom Friday night—Saturday AM

  Affair with Kenton

  Marjorie/Kenton talking parking lot—Emily in car day before murder

  What’s missing?

  Marjorie’s clothes/shoes, where are they now?

  Fred—Emily’s father? If not, who?

  Kenton search warrant

  Anyone see Emily and?? Ocean Bend Road/Wayside Friday

  Where two missing kitchen knives—Bushnell set?

  Matt knew that it was a long way from an extra-marital romance to plunging a knife into your child’s stomach. And how do those bite marks fit in? He would have to be careful in his next steps, and he needed to ensure that the crime team were all taking care of their tasks first, leaving no stone unturned. There was something uneven about Mrs. Bushnell, and on that point Fern, Jay, and Matt all agreed. But was she just an odd woman protecting her secret life, or was she truly unbalanced? One thing was for sure: If Marjorie was not the killer and Matt didn’t pursue all other leads, the mayor would have his head on a platter.

  And Matt already knew what that felt like.

  * * *

  Monday, 1:00 p.m.

  Matt was grateful that his crime team seemed persistent on following up on their assignments, and as he had that thought, his phone rang. Ed Sonders.

  “Hi, Ed. What’s the latest?”

  “Craig Kenton’s alibi checks out,” said Sonders. “He was with Barbara Allen in Twisty River Friday night. He got off work at the hardware store at 5:00 p.m., and was in Twisty River by about 5:45 p.m. He stopped to get gas at the Mobil station on the way into town. He and the attendant, Monte Wilson, know each other, and he confirmed the time. Wilson got off duty at 6:00 p.m., and he says that Kenton was the last customer on his shift. That’s why he remembers.”

  “How far is that from Port Stirling?” Matt asked.

  “It’s about 25 minutes, depending on which road he took and how fast he drives,” Sonders replied. “Barbara says Kenton was right on time for their 6:00 p.m. date. They went to the Twisty River Grill for dinner. Waitress said they had a couple of cocktails each and steaks. Says they were nice and polite, and looked like they were enjoying each other’s company. She told me they left about 8:45 p.m.”

  “And then what?” Matt asked, although he thought he already knew the answer.

  “What else with this guy? Barbara says they spent the night together at her house.”

  “Shocking!” Matt said sarcastically. “I need to learn this guy’s technique.”

  “I’ll pass that message along. Kenton’s out, Chief. His alibi is nearly foolproof.”

  “What if Barbara is lying?” Matt persisted. “What if he really left after dinner, and she’s trying to protect him? Women do seem to want to protect his ass.”

  “Yeah, I thought of that, too, so I talked to two of Barbara’s neighbors who confirmed that Kenton’s vehicle—a Ram cab truck—was parked out in front of her house. They both said it was parked in exactly the same spot all night. One of the neighbors saw him when he went out to get his newspaper. He said Kenton got in the truck and drove off alone about 7:00 a.m., and he identified Kenton to a tee. He was there all night, I’m sure.”

  “Did he work Saturday?”

  “Yeah, the hardware store manager said he rolled in about 8:30 a.m. for a 9:00 a.m. opening. Said he looked tired all day.”

  “I’ll bet. Well, shit, Ed, we’re running out of suspects,” Matt said, scratching his head.

  “No, we’re not, Chief, we have the Bushnell family. I’m perilously close to eliminating everyone but them, and I know you are, too. It stinks big-time.”

  “He’s the mayor, Ed. Could this get any worse?”

  “Rock bottom, agreed. But if he killed his little girl, I don’t care if he’s the fucking Pope, he’s gonna fry.”

  “We have to discover the motive, it’s the missing piece. The only person that we know of so far who had any reason to want Emily dead is Marjorie. The facts say it wasn’t financial gain or a sexual motive, so why is she dead? Why is she dead?” Matt repeated quietly the second time.

  “I don’t know yet. But we’ll get our man. Or woman. Count on it.”

  “I am counting on it. Thanks, Ed. Really appreciate your work on Kenton, even if it wasn’t the outcome I was hoping for.”

  Matt liked the resolve in Ed’s voice. Sonders was the real deal.

  * * *

  Monday, 3:00 p.m.

  Matt added the latest known case facts on the left side of the white board, along with his follow-up questions on the right side. Once he finished writing, he sat in one of the faux leather chairs, and stared at the board while he waited for the crime team to arrive.

  Jay was the first, about 15 minutes early.

  “I’m glad you’re here first,” Matt said, rising to greet him and placing his hand on the young officer’s shoulder. “Come on in. How’re you doing today?”

  “I would rather be fishing on the river, and I’m a little shell-shocked, but OK,” Jay replied. “You?”

  “The same. I’d like to unpack my boxes, but otherwise doing alright.” Matt paused. “It’s always unsettling, but know that the first dead body is always the worst one. I was exhausted and slept, but that howling wind woke me up once. Man, it was a real three-dog night.”

  “Yeah, that never happens around here,” Jay smirked.

  “I’m thinking about the tides, and have a couple of questions. Do people around here know tides?” Matt asked. “How they work, timing, etc?”

  “Oh, yeah. You have to pay attention to the tides because you can’t get around the promontories at high tide, and you can easily get cut off. The tide charts are published in the paper every day, and all the beach-front hotels have a printout they give to tourists so they don’t get caught. It still happens, though. People are so pea-brained,” Jay said, shaking his head.

  “So a resident would know that the high tide floods that tunnel?”

  “Yes, everyone who lives around here would know that. We’re taught it as kids by our parents, and anyone who’s ever walked on this beach—even one time—would know it. It’s real obvious.”

  “Our killer figured Mother Nature would dispose of the body.”

  “Yeah. In my estimation, it was a pretty good, well-thought-out plan. In a strong high tide that we can get this time of year, her body easily could have been swept out to sea. Should have been, actually.”

  “And then we would have just had a missing child,” Matt mused. “Not a stabbed, dead body discovered by a barking dog.”

  “Correct-a-mundo.”

  “Hi, guys,” said Fern. She came in and sat next to Jay.

  “We’re talking about the tides’ impact on this case,” Matt said to catch her up.

  “The tides have come and gone, and that’s all she wrote,” Fern said.

  “Yep,” Matt replied. “It looks like the killer hoped the Pacific would take care of the evidence. And it nearly did.”

  Matt paused, and the three of them were thinking about that poor dead child in the dark, cold tunnel.

  He cleared his throat. “Ed just called, and Craig Kenton has an alibi for Friday night, and it’s strong. He was with a woman at a restaurant in Twisty River Friday night, and they stayed ‘in’ overnight,” Matt informed them. “Ed’s already verified it with a gaggle of people who saw him at various times during the evening and next morning.”

  “I presume it was not Marjorie?” asked Jay.

  “No, it was not. Ed says her name is Barbara Allen, and she confirmed Ken
ton’s story all down the line.”

  “Oh my God, I know Barbara Allen!” cried out Fern. “She’s in my yoga class. Is that man sleeping with every woman in Chinook County?!?”

  “If you know her, check in with Ed at the meeting, will you? He might want you to have a chat with her,” Matt said.

  “Will do.”

  “And please call Joey Hawthorne’s parents and tell them we’ve been delayed. Sorry. Jay and I need to go back out to Fergus Dunbar’s and do a search of his premises and computer right after this meeting. Tell them it will be about 5:30 p.m. at their house, OK? Are you still available then to go with me?”

  “Yes, of course, I will go,” Fern said briskly. “No matter what Joey has to say, this is liable to be an upsetting experience for both him and his parents. You’re going to need me. Does Dunbar live alone, or is there a woman or any children at his place? Should I go with you guys while you search?”

  “Not necessary. He’s a loner, as far as we can tell. Jay and I will handle him.”

  * * *

  “I took the liberty of following up on Ted Frolick,” DA Dalrymple started the meeting. “Both of your statements from him were thorough . . . as far as they went. But I wanted to know more about his background, so I talked to the school administrator who fired him, and I had a phone call with the parents of the boy he slapped.”

  “I wish you’d checked with me first,” Patty said. She raised both hands off the conference table and gestured toward Dalrymple. “I’ve scheduled a visit with the parents right after this meeting.”

  “That’s no problem, Patty. I’d welcome your input on their story,” the DA said, adjusting the knot on his gold tie.

  “Of course it’s a problem,” she fumed. “It makes us look uncoordinated and like we don’t know what we’re doing.”

  “Well, I thought you and the chief ruled out Frolick, and I don’t want him ruled out yet,” the DA said defensively.

  “Here’s my phone number,” Patty said, pushing her business card across the table in Dalrymple’s direction. “A simple phone call, David, it’s a simple phone call.”