Shadow by the Bridge

by Suzanne Zewan

  “Do you see Junior?” I whispered to Valerie.

  “He’s not here?” Valerie asked and looked around, avoiding the casket.

  I leaned over to make sure I saw everyone seated and noticed a couple of men who were unfamiliar to me standing against the back wall. “No, he’s not here.”

  “He stopped over for supper last night. We talked about Flo’s service, and he acted like he was coming,” Valerie replied.

  “Your mother told us that he was really shaken by what happened,” I said. “Maybe it’s too much for him.”

  “I know, but that’s not a good excuse. He should be here,” Valerie said with anger.

  “It doesn’t look good for him, not being here and all,” I said, shaking my head.

  “Why? What do you mean?” Valerie asked.

  “I told you that Keller was asking questions about him.” I glanced over my shoulder to look at the two men who were still standing against the wall closest to the door. One was a sheriff and the other was in a suit. I could tell that they were there on business. “I’m sure the authorities are taking notes.”

  Valerie stood up, looked over at the two men, and scanned the two rooms again. She leaned over to her mother.

  “Mom, where’s Junior?” she whispered. “I thought he said he was coming.”

  Mertie gave a quick scan of both rooms. “I don’t see him.”

  Valerie leaned over her mother’s lap. “Dad, Junior’s not here. Don’t you think it looks bad that he’s not here? He worked for Florence for years, and he’s not attending her funeral?”

  “Well, yeah, I suppose so,” Senior replied, lifting his head and briefly glanced around. Senior’s eyes were fixed on mine. “I don’t see Anton either.” His eyes told me all that he couldn’t say out loud. There were two people’s absence that would not go unnoticed. I was sure of it.

  I nodded. “Yeah,” I whispered before looking back at the sheriff and the other gentleman again. I leaned toward Senior. He leaned toward me.

  “Do you know who the other gentleman is standing next the sheriff?” I asked.

  Senior coughed and turned around to see who I was talking about. “I think it’s the detective Keller hired. I ran into Charlie at the store yesterday and he said that Keller hired a detective out of Rochester. I think his name is Dawson, Detective Thomas Dawson. They needed someone with more experience in an investigation of this type.”

  The house had become uncomfortably warm by the time Pastor Daly began to address the people. He was standing just a few feet from the casket. During the readings, I watched the people occasionally turn their heads to look at Florence’s face and quickly turn away. Probably wondering, like me, why the casket was opened. I listened, waited, and wondered if he was going to talk about her gruesome death.

  “…as we allow Florence to leave us to be with God who has welcomed her with open arms into his kingdom of angels, let us pray,” Pastor Colton said, and he closed his eyes.

  I closed my eyes; the cries of the men and the women could be heard from both rooms.

  “Psalm 23, The Lord Is My Shepherd,” Pastor Colton Daly said, holding his Bible.

  The words of the psalm were slowly drowned out by the images in my head of Florence lying on the stretcher. “The Lord Is My Shepherd” didn’t give me any comfort. Daly’s words faded in and out. Then I heard him say: “though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil.”Ain’t that something? ‘I will fear no evil.’ We’re all shaking with guns by our beds.

  As we stood up to leave, the parlor slowly emptied, Willard closed the pocket doors to give the family time to say their private goodbyes to their beloved sister and aunt. Oddly, not a word was mentioned about the way Florence died. But by the condition of Flo’s face, did Pastor Daly really need to say anything? We were all left to sort through the tragic end of her life, and Daly’s unsuccessful attempt to soften the true horror of it all.

  I would have ended the service by saying, “Keep your doors locked and a weapon close by, because the evil that ripped away this life before you may be your very own neighbor who greets you every day with a smile and a friendly hello.”

  Thirteen

  After Florence’s burial, and after I arrived home from the farm that night, the late afternoon was on the edge of darkness. I parked my car in our driveway and headed over to Junior’s house.

  “Junior,” I called out as I knocked on the front door of his meager, one-bedroom house.

  The door swung open. “Hey, Fritzy, I’m on my way over to my parents’. What can I do for ya?” he asked as he placed his cap over his slicked-back brown hair and walked out the door.

  “Why didn’t you go to Florence’s service today?” I asked as I stepped off his porch and walked with him. “You told Valerie you were going.”

  “No, I never said I was going. And I don’t like funerals,” he replied casually.

  “Does anyone like funerals?” I asked, annoyed by his foolish answer.

  He shrugged his shoulders as we headed toward the bridge.

  “After working for her all those years, you couldn’t show up to pay your respects to her?”

  Junior shook his head and gazed at me, puzzled, and we continued on over the bridge. “Why’re you here asking me ’bout Flo’s funeral?” Junior stopped and stared me in the eye. “I went to the cemetery after supper last night to pay my respects.” His voice faded with undeniable sadness.

  I took a deep breath. “I’m glad to hear that youat least went to her grave site.” We stood there in silence for a moment while Junior gathered his composure. “I don’t know if your sister told you, but the District Attorney was over at my house the other night, asking me questions about who might have killed Florence. And you know who he was asking me about?” My eyes were locked on his.

  Junior stared at me, waiting for my answer.

  I pointed at his chest. “You! That’s who he was asking questions about.”

  “Yeah, I talked to him, too.” Junior casually turned and continued walking. “I ain’t concerned ’bout it. I ain’t the one who killed her.”

  “Well, I know you didn’t. But you not showing up today makes people think you’re guilty.”

  “I just told you; I ain’t concerned ’bout it.”

  “Well, I think you should’ve been there today, that’s all.”

  “The only funeral I ever went to was my mother’s. And that’s because I was seven and my father made me go.”

  “I don’t get you!” I said heatedly. “And I don’t know how I’m supposed to defend you to Keller. By not going, you made your situation worse! They will throw you in the can if they think youmight be guilty!”

  We walked past my house and the line of pine trees. I stopped at the edge of the road as Junior kept walking, apparently without any interest or concern in what I was telling him. At that moment, I clearly understood why people had a hard time liking him.

  Junior narrowed his eyes. “You ain’t got to defend me, Fritzy!” he said with irritation in his voice. “The word is that Anton is the one who’s goin’ to need defendin’!”

  Our eyes met with agreement, and then I nodded. “Yeah, you might be right, but still: justice isn’t always just. And it could turn on you. Guilty peopledo get away with murder.”

  “Like I said, I ain’t concerned about it.” Junior walked up the steps to Mertie and Senior’s front porch. “See you, Fritzy. And thanks,” he added.

  I nodded. The front door opened, and Mertie stepped out and waved. “Valerie is over at Mrs. Adleman’s for the night.”

  “Okay, I’ll stop over and see her.” I turned and headed back down the road.

  “Fritz!” Valerie called out as I approached Mrs. Adleman’s.

  The porch light was on, and Valerie was standing at the front door waving me over. I smiled, waved and swiftly headed over to her.

  I stepped onto the porch and kissed her.

  “I saw you walking with Junior over to my hou
se. I thought you were looking for me.”

  “After I got home, I headed right over to see him. It bothered me that he wasn’t at Florence’s funeral. I told him how bad it looked that he wasn’t there.” I shrugged my shoulders. “But he didn’t care much.”

  Valerie crossed her arms. “So, why—why didn’t he go?”

  “He doesn’t like to go to funerals.”

  Valerie rolled her eyes. “That was his reason!” She placed her hands on her hips. “Well, I didn’t want to go either! I even told my mother that at breakfast. She told me there’ll be a lot of things in life that we don’t want to do, but we have to do anyway.” Valerie scoffed. “Then, after seeing her face, I’ve been sick to my stomach since. After seeing her lying there, well, it was the last place I wanted to be.”

  “You know, some people around here already don’t like your brother. So by him not being there, it just gives people someone to point their finger at.”

  “I know. But you know Junior, he doesn’t pay attention to what anyone thinks, and I don’t see him changing any.”

  “I don’t either.” I took a step closer to Valerie. “I should be heading home. My mother is probably wondering why the car is in the driveway, but I’m not there.”

  “Yeah, I better head back inside. I have to clean up the kitchen. We just finished supper.”

  “Where’s your gun?” I asked.

  “It’s by the door.” Valerie pointed behind her. “Don’t worry: I keep it with me all night.”

  I turned and looked around to make sure no one was walking by. “Just make sure you do! You don’t know who might be walking around here.” I looked over my shoulder again. The idea of someone walking past me or through my yard—especially if I couldn’t see them—made me anxious, even though I knew everyone in Linden. My gut told me that maybe I didn’t know everyone as well as I thought. “The other night, after I left you, I thought I saw someone standing in my backyard by the tree. But after I ran inside and looked out the window, I didn’t see anyone.”

  “Do you really think someone was in your yard?” Valerie asked. Her eyes were wide as quarters.

  “I don’t know. It only took me a second or two to get to the window, and I think I would have seen someone behind the post office or walking through the field, but I didn’t see anyone at all. It was probably just the shadows from the tree branches. Or my mind playing tricks on me.”

  “We’re all so afraid.Everything scares us now.”

  “I think you’re right.” I reached over and grabbed Valerie’s hand and leaned in to give her a soft kiss. “I better go.”

  “All right. I’m sure Mrs. Adleman is wondering where I am, too.”

  “Call me if you need me.” I stepped off the porch and headed toward my house. At the edge of Mrs. Adleman’s sidewalk, I stopped for a moment and turned back as Valerie waved and closed the door.

  As I stood in the middle of the road, just a little ways away from the bridge, I could hear the waterfall off in the distance. The hum of the water soothed my thoughts as I reached inside my pocket and grasped my watch.Dad, I sure hope you’re with me right now.

  I glanced up at the deepening blue sky as the day slowly slipped into a memory. Above the trees, smoke from the chimneys melted into the dusk. The aroma of burning birch swept past my nose. I took a deep breath. A feeling of warmth seemed to hold me for a moment.Dad. Then it was gone.

  As I walked up the road toward my house, scattered leaves carried by the wind skidded past my feet. Suddenly, from behind, I heard rustling leaves and snapping twigs. I gasped, looked over my shoulder, and stopped. There was a large doe standing completely still at the edge of the embankment. I stood motionless, captivated by her power and grace.

  Fourteen

  The People of

  the State of New York Plaintiff

  -against-

  John Doe Defendant

  As I walked up the steps to the Genesee County Court House, I felt sick to my stomach.What more could I tell them? When the phone rang shortly after last night’s supper, I had a strange feeling it was about the John Doe Proceeding that Joseph was telling us about, and sure enough it was the call. Keller’s secretary just told me when and where I needed to be. It was not an invitation that I could decline. I kept waking up every couple of hours thinking about the proceeding. What I said at the proceeding could help Anton be arrested. I only knew what he said, but that didn’t mean he killed her. Also, Joseph had made me paranoid about reading my behavior. Keller knew when he was being lied to. Being so nervous, I was scared that I was going to look like I was lying even when I was telling the truth.

  I reached into my pocket and grasped my pocket watch as I stepped into the court house. “I need you with me, Dad,” I whispered as I felt the sweat begin to bead on my forehead.

  The copper nameplate outside the door read “District Attorney Ronald Keller.” As I pushed the wooden door open with my sweaty hand, a young secretary with deep crimson hair and black, round-framed glasses glanced up from her typewriter. With a pencil grasped between her fingers, she looked down at a paper on her desk, and then over at the grandfather clock against the far right wall. 3:40.

  “Are you Fritzelle Reynolds?”

  I nodded nervously, recognizing her voice from talking to her on the phone. “Yes, I am.” My bones were trembling. I took a deep breath, trying to stay calm.

  She wrote something on the paper and set the pencil down. “Let me see if they’re ready for you.” She rose from her chair, knocked on the wooden door, and then gently clutched the tarnished gold doorknob, and opened it.

  “All right,” she said in a quiet voice while nodding her head. She then turned toward me and stepped away from the door. “You may go in.” She smiled pleasantly.

  I entered District Attorney Keller’s office and was greeted by a faint haze of smoke that filled the large office. My heart sounded like a galloping horse that was trying to get away. Thoughts of jumping on its back and riding away crossed my mind. I did not want to be there.

  Keller and the detective that Senior had told me about both stood up from the rectangular table. There were two tin ashtrays that were already filled to the brim with ashes and finished cigarettes. Keller stepped toward me and extended his hand. I shook it firmly.

  “This is Detective Thomas Dawson,” Keller said, gesturing to the man sitting next to him.

  Dawson extended his hand, and I shook it. “I saw you at the service the other day.” The words tumbled out of my mouth.

  Dawson nodded and stared at me for a few seconds. He scrutinized me. “I think I remember seeing you there.”

  “This is Justice of the Peace William Taton, and this is Francine Whittle, our court stenographer.”

  The gray-haired woman glanced up from her small recording machine, smiled, and nodded.

  Keller looked over at Justice of the Peace Taton, who was standing in front of the bookshelf that covered the wall, and waved him over.

  “Fritz, would you please place your hand on top of the Bible?”

  I walked over to the Justice of the Peace and set my shaky, sweaty palm on top of the tattered black leather book. I noticed that the pages were trimmed in gold.

  “Repeat after me,” Taton said. “I, Fritzelle Reynolds, being duly sworn under oath, avow under penalty of perjury and pursuant to the laws of New York State that the following statements are true and accurate to the best of my knowledge.”

  I nodded, and repeated the oath.

  “Fritz, please have a seat.” Keller pointed to the black leather chair at the end of the table.

  I sat down, as did Keller and Dawson. Taton sat down in the chair across from Keller’s large desk. It was a good thing they asked me to sit down, because I was starting to feel light headed.

  “There’s been a lot written in theDaily News about people of interest, and there’s been a lot of talk. I want you to understand whatever you say here is confidential. We will not tell anyone about it,” Keller said.<
br />
  After Keller told me that all I had to say would be just between the people in the room, I felt my bones relax a little. “As you probably recall, last week, I met with you and a number of residents of Linden regarding the murder of Miss Florence Kingsley. The information that Detective Dawson and members of law enforcement collected has led us to this John Doe Proceeding so we can determine who committed this murder.”

  I nodded.

  “Detective Dawson and I will be asking you a number of questions. If you could just answer each question to the best of your ability, we will move on to the next question.”

  “I-I will do my best to answer your questions, Mr. Keller.”

  “Any questions?” Dawson asked.

  “No, I’m ready,” I said as I wiped my palms on my trousers.

  “How old are you?”

  “Sixteen.”

  “Where do live?”

  “4820 Linden Road, Linden, NY.”

  “Are you a farmer?”

  “I guess you could call me a farmer. I work on our family farm with my Uncle John.” I could hear Francine Whittle tick, tick, ticking, typing every word I said.

  “How far from the Kingsley farm do you live?”

  “I’d say about a half a mile. Maybe a little more, but not much.”

  “What direction?”

  “West. Well, more northwest.”

  “Do you live near the railroad tracks?”

  “Heading in that direction. Our house faces the bridge, and the tracks are up the hill.”

  “How long have you lived on Linden Road?”

  “All my life. Sixteen years.”

  “How many are in your family?”

  “It’s just my mom and me living there. My father died about six years ago.”

  I didn’t know what Keller was trying to discover with all these simple questions. They didn’t have anything to do with who committed Flo’s murder. Keller knew where I lived, and I was sure he knew it was just me and my mother living there.