Shallow Waters

by Kay Jennings

  “At this point, Chief Horning, I know Jack as well as you or anyone. I may not have known what full-blown schizophrenia looks like in a teen, but I recognized that Jack was off. And, yes, this case has scared the daylights out of me. But Bernice and I are the two people who should be observing him tomorrow at Emily’s funeral. I will be there.”

  “I appreciate your viewpoint, Fern, but I’m telling you this straight up: it’s not going to be good for your psyche and your own mental health to see this kid yet. And we don’t really know how he…”

  “Good night, Chief. Sleep well. See you in the morning.” And she hung up.

  Chapter 40

  Thursday, 7:00 a.m.

  Thursday morning, the day of Emily’s funeral, dawned slate grey and appropriately gloomy. It was dry so far, but ominous clouds were forming out to the southwest sea, and the granite ocean waves were beginning to churn and grow in height. Matt watched the black clouds move toward the shoreline. He drank his strong coffee, and scanned the water for Roger.

  Their eyes met, and not for the first time, he was sure that Roger was looking directly at him. Matt waved, and immediately felt like an idiot. “Hi, buddy. How are you doing today?” he said to the window in front of him.

  Roger the seal dived down into the waves and popped back up a couple of yards closer in, as if to show Matt that he was doing fine. “Lucky you,” Matt said aloud. “You don’t have to go to a funeral today and ruin a kid’s life.”

  Roger bobbed up and down, showing his friend that he understood. Matt finished his coffee and moved away from his window.

  He stood under the hot shower as long as he could, and then dressed in his one black suit and slipped on his black dress shoes. He would later be shocked at how casually some people were dressed at the funeral; where Matt came from, it was important to show respect for the dead. Jeans and flannel shirts at a little girl’s funeral? What the fuck was wrong with people?

  He met Jay at City Hall at 8:00 a.m. as they had planned. The lab still had the knife, and they had heard nothing so far. But the knife was undeniably part of the kitchen set in the Bushnell house—Matt remembered the gap in the set’s lineup where the murder weapon would fit. No question, they had the weapon that Jack stabbed Emily with. Nevertheless, he was relieved that the DA had come through with the new search warrants..

  Matt was also relieved to see Jay in a nice charcoal grey suit, white shirt, and black tie. As he was driving in, he worried that Jay might wear his uniform today, and it wouldn’t seem quite right to have uniformed cops at a child’s funeral. Jay was still holding the bag with Jack’s shoes, and Matt wondered for a fleeting moment if Jay had slept with them under his pillow. Normally, Matt would have sent the Nikes off to the lab, too, but he wanted them for effect later today, so he’d asked Jay to safeguard them overnight.

  “I just retrieved these from the safe,” Jay said. “I assume you want to take them with us?”

  “I’m glad you didn’t sleep with them,” Matt smiled at his officer. “Yes, bring them along. We’ll see how young Jack reacts. I suspect he thinks these are long gone. We’ll escort the family to the funeral like there’s nothing wrong. They deserve to bury their daughter in peace. Then, we’ll come back to the house, and confront Jack.”

  “Sounds like a plan, boss.”

  “After sleeping on it, I’ve also asked Ed and the sheriff to follow us back to the house in case we have any unforeseen trouble with Jack or any of the Bushnells. The whole team will be at the funeral to keep an eye on things, but I’m not expecting any trouble there.”

  “Do you expect trouble at the house?”

  “Jack stabbed his sister and left her body for the ocean to take away. No telling what he might do.”

  Jay stood silently.

  * * *

  Thursday, 9:00 a.m.

  “Oh, no,” said Matt, groaning, as he and Jay drove up in front of the Bushnell’s house—a powder blue beetle with a dead red rose in its flower vase was parked in the driveway, minding its own business, its driver sipping coffee.

  “This is not a good idea,” Matt growled as he approached the open VW window. “You don’t have to put yourself through this, Fern. I know you’re tough. You don’t have to prove it.”

  “This is not about you; it’s about me,” she said, unfolding her long legs out of the car. Her hair pulled back into a high ponytail, she looked more severe and drawn than usual, but it was right for a funeral. She was wearing a long, mid-calf black wool coat and black boots, over what Matt glimpsed as a royal blue turtleneck dress. “And, for your information, I’m tougher than I look.”

  For all her tough talk, she looked vulnerable to Matt, and he instinctively reached out and gave her a hug.

  “Don’t be nice,” she said softly. “We have a job to do. What’s our plan?”

  Jay came up to the beetle and also gave Fern a hug. The three stood close together, and Matt explained the plan.

  Gary opened the door, and walked them into the living room, where they would wait for the others to be ready to go. His eyes were red and his face was splotchy. Fred and Marjorie came in next, with Fred a couple steps ahead of his wife, Trump-style. Their marriage wasn’t going to make it, Matt thought. Marjorie still looked dry-eyed and calm—had she cried at all yet? Fred looked 80 years old, stooped and ashen-faced. His black suit looked too big for him.

  Jack was sitting on the living room carpet, leaning up against the wall near the fireplace. He was looking out the window, and didn’t acknowledge the cops when they came in.

  While they waited for Susan to come out of her room, Fern said “Excuse me, but may I pop into your kitchen for a drink of water before we head out?”

  “Help yourself, Fern,” Marjorie said coolly.

  Fern trotted off to the kitchen while Jay and Matt made uncomfortable small talk with the family. She took a glass out of the cupboard and turned on the sink faucet to complete the charade as she stared at the set of knives glaring at her from the countertop.

  The Clarksville knife, as Fern now thought of it, matched the set exactly. Rosewood handle, ‘ChefsPlus’ logo, and an empty slot precisely where the utility knife should be.

  “He really did it,” whispered Fern to the wall.

  * * *

  Thursday, 10:05 a.m.

  Port Cemetery was a bleak and windswept place. More than 150 years old, it looked every bit its age. The procession entered through a small gate with an overhead, weather-beaten, wooden banner that read ‘Port Cemetery’. The banner had a hokey rendering of a fish surrounded by fir trees to the right of the wording, and an inexplicable drawing of a tractor also surrounded by fir trees to the left. The gateway to fishing and farming in heaven, Matt surmised.

  The gravestones were placed far apart and randomly, and it appeared to Matt that there was plenty of available land. A few trees, all leaning inland from decades of tenacious ocean winds, sprinkled the grounds, but the overall effect was of a mostly flat, barren landscape.

  The procession pulled up at the end of a dirt, rutted road, and Matt could see a tent with a small coffin placed on a pedestal and rows of chairs ahead about 100 yards in the distance. Behind it, a freshly-dug grave inside a stoned-in enclosure was covered with a tarp.

  “Don’t take a seat,” Matt told his group, gathered inside the gate. “It looks like there aren’t enough chairs for all the cars with us. Be discreet and keep your distance, but try to position yourself where you will have a good view of the family at all times. Patty, you be on the lookout for any funny-acting strangers. We think we’ve got our killer, but we want to remain alert. Bernice and Fern, you stick close to me; we’re not going to take our eyes off Jack, OK? Jay, you keep Marjorie in your sights, and Ed, you’ve got Fred. Earl, I want you and your guys to position yourselves between the family and the exit . . .

  just in case.” To Walt, Rudy and his patrol
officers, their new boss said, “You guys keep your wits about you and survey the big picture for anything unusual. Everyone clear?”

  Somber nods all around.

  “I want to take this moment to thank all of you for your tireless work over the past five days. This is a tough one, and I couldn’t be more grateful for all your support. Jay, Ed, Earl, and I are going back to the Bushnell residence after the funeral and confront Jack. We will let y’all know later today how it goes.” Matt paused. “And, if you see my boss, Bill Abbott, be nice to him—I just realized I should have called him last night.”

  That brought a smile to most faces.

  “We’ll tell him that you’re a nightmare to work with, and what the hell was he thinking when he hired you,” Patty wisecracked.

  “Thanks, Patty, I knew I could count on you,” Matt countered. “This will be the worst day, folks, and then we’ll have some sunny skies ahead together. Promise.”

  Just then, a mammoth, exclamation point gust of wind blew Matt’s tie up over his shoulder, and the rain started pelting down on them.

  * * *

  The Bushnell family sat side-by-side in the front row with Emily’s casket immediately in front of them. Jack was on the end of the row, seated next to his mother. Gary was on the other side of Marjorie, with Susan to his left, and Fred on the other end.

  There were approximately 75 people in attendance. Matt was thankful for the relatively smallish, manageable crowd. As it was, they could all fit under the tarp, which was now rocking-and-rolling in the wind, with water streaming off the edges. Fingers crossed it held through the ceremony. Matt noticed that Jack’s chair was half in and half out under the tarp, and the right side of his head and body were getting soaked. He appeared not to notice.

  Matt watched as Bernice kept a watchful gaze on Jack. Her eyes seemed to follow his every movement, from the drumming of his fingers against his legs to the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. Matt could almost see the mental note she was cataloging in her mind.

  Fred, Gary, and Susan were openly crying, and Fred’s shoulders were violently shaking from his sobbing. Marjorie dabbed at her eyes once or twice, but it looked more for show than anything. Jack stared at the casket, impassive. None of the family touched each other. Not once.

  Thankfully, nothing out of the ordinary happened, and even more thankfully, it was a brief service. Only one friend of Fred’s spoke about Emily, and it was touching. Bernice whispered to Matt that he was Fred’s oldest friend and his regular fishing partner. None of the family spoke, which was also to Matt’s great relief.

  Marjorie placed a bouquet of white lilies on top of the casket, letting her hand rest briefly, and it was over quickly. After people paid their respects to Fred and Marjorie, a distinguished gentleman with a shock of black hair and dressed in a well-fitted navy suit approached Matt and Bernice, trying to control his umbrella.

  “I’m Dr. Paul Richards, Emily’s physician,” he said reaching out his hand to shake Matt’s, “and you’re the new police chief, correct? I’m so sorry I didn’t return your phone call yesterday, but I ended up with a first-time mother giving birth and I didn’t get home until quite late.”

  “I guess the good Lord gives Port Stirling a new baby to help us with our grief over this,” Bernice said, inclining her head toward Emily’s casket.

  “So true,” agreed Dr. Richards. “How can I help you, Chief Horning? Why were you calling me?”

  “Had you seen Emily professionally recently?”

  “Yes, about two weeks ago. She had a case of the sniffles.”

  “Nothing seriously wrong with her?” Bernice asked.

  “No. Common cold, and when I saw her she was on the tail end. It worked its way through most of the children in town around Christmas time. Much to the parents’ chagrin,” he added.

  “Have you examined Emily in depth in the past few weeks or months?” asked Matt.

  “No, not really. She was a healthy child for the most part.”

  “She didn’t have a brain tumor or anything serious like that wrong with her?”

  Dr. Richards gave Matt a funny look. “Why ever would you say a thing like that?”

  “We heard it around, and wanted to confirm with you,”

  Matt hedged.

  “Emily most certainly did not have a brain or any other kind of tumor, or any serious illness. She was a happy, healthy 4-year-old girl, healthier than most children her age. She was also a beautiful little thing, cheerful and perfect. It’s a terrible tragedy,” Dr. Richards said, shaking his head. “Did you perform the autopsy, Bernice?”

  “Yes, and my diagnosis completely agrees with yours, Paul. Emily was healthy at the time of her death. We just needed to be sure,” she said, reaching out to pat his arm.

  “Thanks, Dr. Richards, I appreciate hearing from you today,” Matt said. “Is there anything else about Emily or her family that you think we should know?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t add anything else. It’s a complete mystery to me.”

  “In that case, our day is not finished yet, so please excuse us. Thank you again.”

  “Of course. Good luck to you, Chief.”

  Chapter 41

  Thursday, 11:15 a.m.

  The procession of funeral cars back up Hwy 101 was slow, mainly because it was now raining so hard the drivers could barely see through their windshield wipers. Fern had left her car at the Bushnells and ridden with Matt and Jay. Matt asked her now: “What are you going to do when we get back to the house?”

  “I’m going in with you boys to confront Jack,” she said matter-of-factly.

  “Not a good idea,” was all Matt said in reply.

  “I appreciate that you’re worried about my mental health,” she offered. “But don’t you see? It’s more important that I face up to my fears and see this through to the end. My fear of Jack is probably far worse than the reality of being in his presence will be. I can handle it, Chief.”

  Matt turned his eyes from the road and looked at her. “Alright, but this is liable to get nasty,” he said. “If Jack took that knife from his kitchen, stabbed Emily and left her to die, and he still had the smarts to get rid of his bloody clothes, that’s one fucked-up boy. I’m not implying you can’t handle it, Fern, or that you’re any more fragile than the rest of us. Hell, I’m scared, too. I’m just saying that you have a choice in this.”

  “Understood,” she said.

  Jay snorted from the back seat.

  * * *

  Matt’s patrol car, with Ed and Earl in Ed’s state police car following behind them, turned into the Bushnell driveway behind the family car. Gary was driving, and pulled their vehicle into the garage. The four officers, plus Fern, went into the house through the unlocked front door.

  Fred was shuffling through the foyer into the living room. Matt approached him and said: “On behalf of all of us, Fred, we’re so sorry for your loss.” The compassion in his voice was real.

  Fred croaked out a weak “Thank you”, and he collapsed onto the living room sofa.

  “Can I get you anything, Mr. Mayor?” Lieutenant Sonders asked Fred. “A glass of water? A shot of bourbon?”

  Fred looked up as if he were seeing the others in the room for the first time. “Why are you all here?”

  “We need to talk to Jack, sir,” Matt said softly, as the other Bushnells came into the room.

  “Why are you here bothering us?” Marjorie said in an icy tone. “Why aren’t you out there catching whoever is responsible for me burying my baby today?”

  Matt said to her, “I’m trying. I need to talk to Jack.”

  “What do you want?” Jack said, barely audible. He was standing in the arch between the living and dining rooms, hands at his side. His teeth were clenched. His eyes were glassy and his pupils looked dilated. Matt felt Fern, at his side, take a small s
tep backward.

  “Jack, did you kill Emily?” Matt asked.

  “That again?” Jack smiled. He pointed at Matt. “You think I killed Em!” His pointed finger stabbed the air again. “You do, don’t you? I don’t want you to come into my room ever again! I don’t like you, Tex.”

  “Calm down, Jack,” said his mother, and she went to his side. He stood stiffly beside her and continued to smile at Matt.

  “You need to leave my son alone,” she said to Matt. “In fact, you all need to leave my house right now. We’ve had enough of you.”

  “I’m afraid we can’t do that, Marjorie,” said Matt. He turned to Jay, motioned for the evidence bag, and approached Jack.

  “Are these your shoes, son?” he said, holding up the bag in front of Jack’s face.

  Jack’s face became expressionless. “No, they’re not. Shark!” He was passive and almost lethargic.

  “I think they are,” Matt contradicted. “And they’ve got blood on them. We believe it’s Emily’s blood, and it sprayed on your shoes when you stabbed her in that tunnel and left her to the sea.”

  “Those are Joey’s shoes,” said Jack. “Go talk to him.”

  “Why did you just say ‘shark’, Jack?” asked Matt.

  “Didn’t. Dunno. Didn’t.”

  Fred rose from the sofa and came rushing up to his son.

  “Jack, baby, these look like your shoes. Tell daddy if they are, please,” Fred pleaded, and put his arm around Jack’s shoulders.

  “Why should I tell you anything, old man?” Jack asked, his voice still low. He slowly turned to look at his father. “Shark”. He began rocking back and forth on his heels. “Am I dead? Are you dead? Is this real?”

  Fred staggered and backed away. Fern moved to prop up Fred, and seated him back on the sofa. Then she turned toward Jack.

  “Jack, I know you loved your sister, didn’t you?” she said in a serene, safe voice.

  “Loved Em. Hated Em. Bite! Shark!”