Shallow Waters

by Kay Jennings

  “And, I told you quite clearly that I haven’t ruled out Frolick yet,” added Matt. “He’s just not No. 1 on our list currently. Marjorie is, because no one else on our radar has a known motive to want Emily dead, including Ted Frolick.”

  “What part of past child abuser don’t you understand, Chief?” the DA said in an aggressive tone. “Frolick has a history in this area, while the Bushnells are squeaky clean. Your focus is off-center. I don’t know how many times I can tell you this before I step in.”

  “You need to back off, David, and let us detectives do our jobs,” Matt said. “Marjorie is not squeaky clean. She’s having an affair with a man who’s at least 15 years younger, and she lied about it. Repeatedly lied about it to my face. I’m sorry if you don’t trust my judgment yet, but if you get in our way, it will only slow down this investigation. Is that what you want?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Then get the hell out of my way,” Patty said, her voice calm and unyielding. “The cops around this table know what we’re doing, and we’re making progress. Don’t make the team look foolish by stepping on our toes.”

  “I’ll stay out of your way only until I see you cops bungling this,” said Dalrymple. “Am I clear?”

  Matt understood that Patty knew he, being the new guy, shouldn’t take on the DA publicly. He also understood that Patty owned enough credits with the law enforcement community and with the public that she didn’t fear the DA’s wrath whatsoever. She was a tough, smart cookie, and Matt appreciated her more each day.

  In the dead silence that followed the DA’s threat, Matt got up from his chair and walked over to the board. He went through the facts of the case as of the current hour, and his questions. He drew lines through the names of Craig Kenton and Susan Bushnell, and briefly explained to the team why their alibis were solid.

  “Who does that leave us with, Chief?” asked Sheriff Johnson. “What did you think of Fergus?”

  “Fergus is still on the list, Earl. Jay and I are going out there with a search warrant after this meeting to see if we can prove or disprove his alibi for Friday night. My gut tells me he’s not our killer, but he definitely doesn’t have the mayor on his Christmas card list. If I can prove he wasn’t really home Friday night, he stays on the potential list of suspects.

  “And,” Matt continued, “We still have Clay Sherwin, the guy staying at Port Stirling Links. I talked to Sherwin this morning, and there is something off about him—his reason for being here is squishy. My department is running checks on him now, and I should have further info on him later.”

  Matt paused and turned to face the district attorney. “Even though Frolick told us the truth about Marjorie, and, in spite of how you think I’m handling him, David, he’s still a suspect. If nothing else, he had the means and the opportunity because of his close proximity to the crime scene, and because his alibi is that he was home alone reading, and we can’t prove or disprove it. And, while it’s a jump from slapping an out-of-control student in a classroom to knifing a 4-year-old, we can’t ignore Frolick’s history.”

  The DA sat motionless and expressionless. Flaming asshole.

  “So, that leaves us with Sherwin, Dunbar, and Frolick,” said Sonders, “plus Fred, Marjorie, Jack, and Gary—correct?”

  “That’s right. Plus, my department is still running license plates from Ocean Bend residences and hotels, and Ken’s guys are still following up with departed Port Stirling Links guests and checking Buck Bay hotels and motels for any fishy strangers. It’s possible we could still get a lead. I’ve created a spreadsheet with these seven names across the top, plus blank windows for any other suspicious people that may yet crop up. But, discounting the family, these three guys are the only possible leads we have at this point. I was hoping that someone might come forward this morning after last night’s TV interview, but not a single phone call so far.”

  “You did a nice job on that, by the way,” said Sonders. “The OSP sent out a bulletin state-wide with your plea on it afterward. We thought there could have been some tourists in town for the weekend from Portland or other points around the state that might have seen something Friday night. No response at our place yet either.”

  “The silence from the public is deafening. In Texas, we would have had 10 crank calls by now.”

  “The public is afraid,” said DA Dalrymple as he looked around

  the table. “And they’re going to want to see progress on this investigation soon.”

  “You think I don’t know that?” Matt said, slamming his fist on the table.

  “Patty, I’ve worked with you for years now,” said Sonders, quickly changing the subject, “and I don’t think you’ve ever been wrong about a suspect. You seem to have a sixth sense about people, especially in regards to guilt or innocence. I’d take Frolick off our list based solely on the odds of you being wrong.”

  Patty smiled at the big state cop. “It’s bugging me that we can’t definitely prove his alibi. David and Matt are right; Frolick should stay on our list for now, but I will eat my laptop if he’s our killer.”

  * * *

  Driving the squad car north out of town, Jay said to Matt, “What are we looking for, beyond bloody clothes and a knife?”

  “I need to verify his alibi somehow that he was home alone Friday night, and I want our IT guy to analyze his computer. I checked his phone records and he didn’t make or receive any phone calls at home Friday, so that doesn’t confirm he was home. If he sent any email that night, I would be more inclined to believe his story.”

  “You know,” said Jay, “I was at that City Council meeting last week when Fergus went off on the mayor. He was pretty torqued. But then, one of the councilors told him to sit down, and he did. Didn’t make another peep the rest of the meeting.”

  “Did he strike you as a guy who would hold a grudge?”

  “Nope. As a matter of fact, when the meeting was over, Fergus stayed around for a while, drinking the punch and chatting with some other people who attended. I noticed him laughing with one group, and it seemed like he was already over it.”

  “Did he approach the mayor after the meeting?”

  “No. Fred was off to one side of the council chamber talking to a guy who testified on a potential expansion of Port Stirling Links—they want to add a second golf course. Fergus left while Fred and the guy were still chatting.”

  They pulled up in Dunbar’s driveway, and he grinned and waved to them from the front porch where he was drinking a beer. He was sitting in what looked like might have been a nice chintz-covered easy chair at one time, but had been ravaged by Oregon weather.

  Matt patted the search warrant in his inside pocket, just to make sure it was there if Dunbar wanted to see it. This guy was so laid back, though, Matt thought he wouldn’t care if they roamed all over his house. Unless he had something to hide, of course.

  “You’re baaaaack,” said Fergus in a sing-song voice, as Matt and Jay headed up the stairs to the porch.

  “Fergus Dunbar, you are a potential suspect in the murder of Emily Bushnell,” Matt said in his best chief of police voice. “This is Officer Jay Finley, and we have a warrant here that gives us permission to search your premises.”

  “Hi, Jay. Always nice to see you. This is a waste of your time, Matt,” said Dunbar in a friendly manner. “Is there anything in particular I can help you find?”

  Matt ignored him and went on. “We want to take a look at your computer and your laundry, for starters. If you have a bloody knife, you could save us all trouble and turn it over now.”

  “I don’t have a bloody knife, Matt. Is it alright if I call you Matt?”

  “Cut the crap, Fergus. This is a serious matter, and it would go down better for you if you respect that we have a job to do.”

  “I do respect you, Chief, and I’m trying to help. I can’t even kill my own chickens when
it’s time, much less harm a hair on that girl’s head. I’m more the ‘Imagine all the people living life in peace, you may say I’m a dreamer . . .’ he sang, in a voice that sounded remarkably like John Lennon’s.

  Matt cut him off. “OK, Dunbar, I get it. But your singing talents aren’t hard evidence, and that’s what I need.”

  “Knock yourself out then. Curious—why do you want my computer?”

  “We need to know if you sent any email Friday night when you claim you were at home, among other things. Until we can verify your alibi, you’re a suspect.”

  Fergus’s eyes lit up, he slapped his thigh with the hand not holding his beer, and grinned broadly. “Well, officer, I believe I did send email Friday night, now that you mention it. Probably about the time in question. I guess that gives me a gnarly alibi, huh?”

  “It would support your statement, yes,” Matt said, buttoned up. “Let’s go have a look, shall we?”

  “Door’s open. Help yourself. Computer password is ‘jerrygarcia’, all one word, no caps. I need to get more work done out here today.”

  “You’re sure you don’t want to come in and observe what we do?” asked Matt. “You at least want to see the warrant?”

  “Nope. I trust you fellas,” smiling.

  With that, he rose from his chair and headed out to his garden. They watched him go, and soon he was back to weeding his potatoes, unconcerned about the cops.

  “I hate hippies,” fumed Jay, as they entered Dunbar’s house.

  “Now, now, Officer Finley, we are open-minded policemen in search of the truth, and we serve all the public equally,” admonished Matt with a smirk.

  Sure enough, ‘jerrygarcia’ allowed Matt to view the inner workings of Fergus’s PC, which they found on his kitchen table. He quickly scrolled down to Friday’s messages in his ‘sent’ box—there were fourteen in all.

  He started at the bottom and read up. The first message was sent at 8:36 a.m., and the last one at 11:42 p.m. There were six messages sent by Dunbar between 6:00 p.m.-midnight at various intervals. It looked as if he had been home all evening, as he stated. All six emails sent after 6:00 p.m. went to the same person, Buffy Dunbar, a woman who appeared to be his mother living in Honolulu. Fergus was helping her figure out how to load photos from her phone onto her computer, as there were detailed directions, followed by “Did that work?”

  These messages did not seem to be written by the same person who had simultaneously brutally stabbed a child and left her to die. Dunbar had been home Friday night, just like he told them.

  To be certain, they went through Dunbar’s closet, laundry room, and garbage looking for any blood-stained clothes or shoes. Nothing.

  Jay also checked all the knives in the kitchen. There was one plastic knife holder with six slots next to the cooktop, and all six knives were accounted for. He also had a drawer of silverware with some steak knives to the right of the divided tray, and, again, nothing looked out of order. In fact, the entire house looked tidier than one would expect a single male hippie to inhabit. All of Matt’s training and instincts, added to the hard evidence on his computer, told him that this was not the home of a deranged killer.

  Matt and Jay trudged back outside to where Dunbar was working. “Looks like we’re done here for now,” Matt said brusquely.

  “My mom’s great, isn’t she?” said Fergus.

  “Looks like she’s as technologically challenged as my mother,” Matt said. “Don’t be a smartass, Dunbar; there’s still that little matter of your unlicensed cannabis operation. We’ll be sending a crew to dismantle it soon.”

  “Aw, c’mon man, can’t you overlook it this one time?”

  “Do I seem like the kind of guy who will overlook anything? Do I?”

  Chapter 31

  Monday, 4:30 p.m.

  “I’m pretty good at talking to kids, you know,” Matt said to Fern as he steered his car out of the City Hall parking lot.

  “I never said you weren’t.”

  “You’ve been acting like you’re afraid I’m going to browbeat the kid.”

  “I am an advocate for victims, Matt, and Joey Hawthorne could be a kind of victim because of his association with the Bushnells. I’m here to protect him and his family.”

  “Joey could also be a perpetrator, or a co-perpetrator in this murder. You realize that, don’t you?”

  “I believe that to be unlikely,” Fern said, scratching the side of her left nostril with a pale pink fingernail.

  “Someone killed Emily.”

  “I’m just as aware of that awful reality as you are. But I’m with Ed—Marjorie is fitting the profile more than the kids.”

  “You know I agree with you, Fern, but we have to establish facts and collect whatever evidence we can. Some of it will eliminate suspects, and some of it will keep them on our list. As much as you don’t want it to be true, teenagers do kill, and they have to be ruled out just like other suspects.”

  “I’m here by your side, aren’t I?”

  Matt nodded. “And I’m happy about that.”

  Joey’s mom, Cheryl, was obviously upset and somewhat flighty, but welcomed them in.

  “I was happy when school let out today,” she said once they were all settled in the kitchen at their big square table. Ssomething smelled good on the stovetop, and the room was warm and homey. “I want to keep Joey close to me,” she said, rubbing her son’s head.

  ““Mo-om,” Joey protested, like every teenager throughout time, but didn’t pull away from his mother’s reach.“Is it alright if I stay here while you talk to Joey?” she asked Matt. “His dad’s not home from work yet.”

  “Yes, of course,” Matt allowed. “We have a few loose ends to clear up, and we think Joey can help us.” He smiled broadly at the boy. “OK, Joey?”

  “Sure thing, Mr. Horning.”

  Fern thought Joey sounded brave, but he sure didn’t look it. His eyes were open wide, and he appeared to be frozen in his chair. His mother put her arm around his shoulders and said “Everything is fine, honey, just answer the Chief’s questions.”

  Joey remained mute and waited for Matt to begin.

  “We want to talk about Friday night, Joey. Do you remember what you did that night?”

  “Yeah. I went to the movies with Jack.” All three adults could tell the boy was nervous.

  “What movie did you see?”

  “We went to Star Wars. The new one.”

  “Did you like it?” smiled Matt.

  “Yeah, it was cool.”

  “Oh, yeah? What you’d like about it?”

  “The new droid was awesome,” Joey said confidently, getting

  more comfortable.

  “What was awesome about it?”

  “He was funny and so big. I think he was seven feet tall. I also liked the combat walkers—huge!” At that, Joey threw his arms in the air above his head to demonstrate.

  “What does Rogue One mean?” asked Matt. “What’s it stand for? Do you know?”

  “Well, duh, it’s the spaceship that the Rebels take from the bad guys. It’s nifty, too.”

  “Did you like how the movie ended?”

  “Yeah. It was fun seeing Darth Vader again. He’s so ridiculous.”

  “What did Jack think about it? Was he with you at the end of the movie? When Darth Vader comes on?”

  “Uh, I can’t remember,” said Joey. Fern noted that he blinked quickly several times.

  “Think hard, son, it’s important,” Matt urged. “Did he go to the snack bar or the bathroom? Did he miss the end of the movie?”

  “We got popcorn and red sticks on the way in,” Joey said and then clammed up.

  “Did you talk about the ending on the way out?”

  Pause.

  “I don’t think so. I can’t remember.”

  “D
id you go into the other movie, Deadpool?”

  “Huh? What’s that?” Joey, genuinely puzzled.

  “There were two movies playing Friday night,” Matt said. “Jack told us the two of you went back and forth to both movies. Is that right?”

  “If he said that, it must be right,” Joey, fidgeting.

  “Joey, I need you to concentrate here, are you with me?” Matt asked gently.

  “I can’t remember,” Joey whined.

  “Did you leave Star Wars at any time and go see the other movie? Yes or no?”

  “Uh, no. I didn’t leave.”

  “Was Jack with you the whole time? Yes or no?”

  Joey looked at his mom, pleading. “Tell Chief Horning the truth, Joey.” She moved to put her arm around Joey’s shoulder, and Fern quietly placed her hand over Cheryl’s on the table.

  Silence of the ‘hear-a-pin-drop’ variety.

  “Jack left and I watched the movie alone.”

  “Did he come back?”

  “No.”

  “Did he tell you to lie about him?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Have you talked to Jack since Friday night?”

  “Yeah. He called me Saturday afternoon and told me his little sister was dead.” Joey looked queasy.

  “What else did he say?”

  “He told me he didn’t do it, but if the cops knew he wasn’t with me Friday night, it would be bad for him. Said I should say we were together.”

  “Did he tell you where he went after he left the movie?”

  “Nope. He said he felt like being alone. I didn’t ask.”

  “Was that normal behavior for Jack? To want to be alone?”

  “Yeah. He doesn’t like people all that much. ‘Cept me.”

  “With everything that’s happened, Joey, where do you now think Jack went Friday night?”

  “Don’t know. He wouldn’t kill Emily, though. He wouldn’t.”

  “Do you think Jack went to the other movie?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Have you and Jack ever climbed out of his bedroom window?” said Matt, changing subjects.