by Barb Goffman
“How do you know?”
“I used to work at the funeral home. Was Harlow’s assistant.”
“Yeah, I know. Harlow fired you about three months ago. Makes me question your credibility.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You want to hear my story or not?”
I nodded.
“One day last fall I forgot my phone in my desk, so after dinner, I drove back to work.”
Her breathing was becoming more labored, her voice raspy. God, please don’t take her before she’s finished.
“He didn’t know I was there. Harlow. I saw him carry…the Kinzell boy from the back. Dead. Put him in a casket. Then covered him up with padding.” She panted harder. “Then he set Judy Amblyne on top.”
I gulped. Could it be true? Kevin Kinzell was the last of the missing boys. He’d disappeared a few weeks before Judy died. Had Harlow really buried Kevin along with Judy? Had he disposed of the four other boys’ bodies in the same way? It would explain why we’d never had even a sighting of any of them.
“Damn it, Shirley. Why didn’t you call me right then?” If she hadn’t been at death’s door, I’d have arrested her for obstruction of justice. How could she have kept this monstrous secret?
“Don’t look at me like that. I was…too scared. Tiptoed out. Went home. Got drunk. Tried to forget. But I can’t forget. Had to tell before I die.” She blinked, wincing. “I would’ve written this secret down in a letter if I had the strength…so I wouldn’t have to talk to you. I hate you…and your whole compartment.” She wheezed. “Department. You could stand in a forest and never see what’s right below the trees. You’re a horrible—”
She started gasping, and the machines changed from beeping to ringing, as if we were in some bizarre version of Las Vegas.
“Shirley? What about the other boys?” I shook her arm. “Shirley!”
Doc Reid and a couple nurses hurried in and shooed me out.
Son of a bitch! I paced around the emergency room for a few minutes, kicking at the linoleum floor with my scuffed boots. I had too many unanswered questions. Finally, Doc Reid came out. I looked up, hopeful.
“I’m sorry, Ellen,” he said. “She’s gone.”
* * * *
I spent the rest of the night in my office, guzzling coffee, thinking things through. If Shirley had told the truth, chances were all those boys were buried in the county cemetery, hidden in other folks’ coffins. But which ones? There was no easy way to find out. Harlow could have kept those kids alive for weeks. Months even. Heck, one could still be alive, squirreled away somewhere.
Come eight a.m., I stood waiting outside Judge Nate Irwin’s office. I was thankful the judge was an early riser. He raised his gray, caterpillar-like eyebrows in surprise as he came around the corner.
“Morning, Sheriff. What brings you here so early?”
I followed him into his office, closing the door behind us. The judge offered me a chair, but I was too hyped up for that. He sat down behind his battered wooden desk. I leaned over it.
“I need warrants to search Harlow Springer’s home and business.”
“Springer?” He shifted forward. “What on earth for?”
I told him everything that had happened last night, finishing up with, “I also need a court order to exhume some bodies.” I handed him my applications for the warrants and the court order.
“Some?” He scanned my documents and looked up at me. “Are you kidding? You want a court order to dig up every single body buried in this county in the last two years?”
“No, sir. Just the ones handled by Springer Funeral Home. I believe I said that in my application.”
He scowled. “Which is nearly everybody, as you well know. Springer gets, what, eighty percent of the body business in these parts?”
“Yes, sir.”
I actually only wanted permission to exhume Judy Amblyne’s coffin, for now. But Judge Irwin never liked to give me everything I wanted, so I’d asked for more. A lot more. Besides, if things turned out as I expected, I’d be back here soon enough asking for all those coffins anyway. Might as well get him used to the idea.
The judge picked up his pen. Pointed it at me. “I sign this, and we both might as well start packing up our offices. The good people of Median County will hand us our hats come next election day.”
He was probably right. Greg had made that very point when I spoke to him on the phone an hour ago. Digging up the dead—especially so many of them—would be indecent. But this search had to be done.
“Sure, they’ll be mad at first, Judge. But once we find those missing kids, they’ll calm down.” I hoped.
“You certain those boys’ bodies are hidden in some of those coffins?”
“Yes, sir. I trust my source.”
Irwin harrumphed and settled back to read my affidavit, which I’d included with my applications. It detailed my conversation last night with Shirley. The judge knew that she’d worked as a funeral assistant for Springer till January, when they had their non-mutual parting of the ways. I hoped he wouldn’t hold it against me now.
He finished reading and looked up. “What makes you think you can trust Shirley Byerrum? She was meaner than a rattlesnake. Hated half the town, especially kids. And she could hold a grudge longer than anyone I know. She was probably making all this up about Harlow to spite him for firing her. And to set you up, too. Exhuming these bodies will make you oh so popular around here, especially if your investigation proves fruitless. Not to mention the cost to the taxpayers.”
I swallowed hard. I had considered Shirley’s bitterness toward Harlow and me all last night, but, ultimately, I had to follow this lead, no matter the consequences.
“I don’t think she was lying, Judge. It was a death-bed confession. People don’t lie right before they meet their maker.”
That may not have been true about Shirley, given her general nastiness. But I had a feeling she was right, that digging up those coffins was the key to finding those missing boys.
The judge shook his head. “I can’t do it. I can’t let you exhume all those folks. You’re probably talking about fifty people.”
“Judge—”
He sliced his hand through the air, cutting me off. “But here’s what I will do. I’ll give you your warrants to search Springer’s house and business. And I’ll let you exhume Judy Amblyne. If you find the Kinzell boy’s remains in her coffin, like Shirley said, then we’ll talk about expanding the search.” He modified my requested court order and signed it, as well as my warrant applications. “You best tell her husband first. Don’t want him finding out through the grapevine.”
“Yes, sir.” I grabbed the papers and hightailed it out of there before the judge could change his mind. Or figure out that he’d given me exactly what I’d wanted.
* * * *
We executed the warrants immediately. I searched Harlow’s house myself with part of my team. My deputy, Jackson, supervised the search of the funeral home. Neither search turned up anything. But they sure riled Harlow up. I’d never seen him so mad. I assigned two of my officers to follow him for the foreseeable future—one all day, the other all night—to make sure he didn’t dispose of any evidence or try to run away. More than a little discouraged, I returned to my office to eat lunch and discuss next steps with Jackson.
I could only recall one time a body had been exhumed in the county. It had been about twenty-five years ago, when I was on patrol, so I wasn’t sure about the procedure. Jackson hadn’t even been on the force then, but, thankfully, while I’d been with Judge Irwin, Jackson had been busy researching our state’s exhumation rules and had made a print-out of what we’d need to do.
“Okay,” I said, swallowing another bite of my turkey on rye. “Let’s go over the list. We need a backhoe, three diggers, and a coffin key from the cemetery.”
“Check.” Jackson sipped his water, keeping his brown eyes trained on me.
“A pickup with a hoist attached to haul up the coffin and vau
lt.”
“Check.”
“The medical examiner to take possession of Kevin.”
“Check.”
“The state health officer to…do whatever it is he does in these circumstances.” I finished off my sandwich.
“Check. Assuming we find Kevin, the health officer will assist with moving the coffin to the M.E.’s office so we can do a thorough search for Harlow’s prints and DNA and such, without causing a health issue. He’ll also bring all the protective clothing we’ll need. Um, boss, you have some mustard…” He tapped his upper lip.
“Thanks.” I wiped my mouth with my napkin, then tossed it and the brown paper sandwich bag in the trash. “We should set up a tent to shield the coffin from any gawkers.”
“Check.”
“Is that it?”
“I think so.” Jackson pushed away half of his tuna sandwich. “I’ll take care of all of this, boss, and arrange for the exhumation to occur ASAP.”
I stood, pulling my keys from my pocket. “Thanks. I guess that leaves the fun part for me.”
He grimaced. “Give my regards to Mr. Amblyne.”
“And the Kinzells. They’ll be my second stop. I can’t let them hear about this from anyone but me.”
* * * *
John Amblyne lived in the northeast part of the county, on about twenty-five acres of land, mostly fields, with a large stand of ponderosa pine behind the house. While I drove out to his place, I planned how I’d approach him. I needed him to agree to Judy’s exhumation. If he decided to fight it in court, Lord knows how long the delay would be. I had to find those kids now. They deserved a better resting place than they’d received from Harlow Springer.
I’d only been to the Amblyne house once before, the day Judy died last fall. I’d been about ten minutes away when the ambulance call went out, so I drove over to see if I could help. Unfortunately no one could. Judy’s heart attack had been massive. She’d died before she hit the floor. I’d found John kneeling over her body in the living room, whispering to her. He’d appeared completely lost. They’d been married about forty-five years, and I doubted he knew how to live without her. Now, as I drove up the driveway, it seemed I’d been right. Weeds had sprouted around the porch. The yard was full of their dog, Buster’s, waste. And the paint on the front of the yellow house was peeling. John had clearly been letting things go. I parked by his dirty pickup and went to the door.
I knocked, and barking erupted from inside. When John opened the door, Buster stood slobbering, happy to see me. John smiled, too. He looked older than I remembered. And far older than I knew him to be. He’d retired from the postal service a couple years ago, when he turned sixty-five, but he appeared at least ten years older than that now. His beard, formerly grizzled, had turned all gray. The bald spot on his head had grown. And he had deep lines etched into his forehead. He and Judy hadn’t had any kids, so now it was just him and the dog and a whole lot of time on his hands.
“Sheriff,” he said. “What can I do for you?”
“Hello, Mr. Amblyne. I’m sorry to bother you, but we need to speak about something important. May I come in?”
He paused a moment, then pulled the door open wide. “Me and Buster don’t usually have visitors.”
I stepped inside onto a sisal rug and went into the living room. The interior of the house seemed better cared for. Things were tidy, if a bit dusty.
“Can I get you something to drink?” he asked. “Or some cookies?”
I desperately wanted coffee, but I shook my head. “No thanks.” I needed to get through this.
I sat on the couch, the cushion sagging beneath me. A framed photo stood on the scarred end table to my left. John and Judy, all smiles, having a picnic. The picture must have been taken a while back, before Judy started having so much trouble walking and taking the stairs. John sat beside me, and Buster curled into a brown ball by our feet. “Mr. Amblyne, there’s no easy way for me to say this, so I’m just going to say it.”
His eyes widened a bit.
“You know about those five missing boys?”
He nodded. “What about them?”
“I have a witness who says that the body of one of those boys has been hidden in your wife’s coffin.”
“What?” His Adam’s apple bulged.
“I need you to keep this between us for now. But an accusation has been made—a credible accusation—that someone at the funeral home put one of the boys into Judy’s coffin, under some padding, and then set Judy on top. We need to know if that’s true. So, I’m very sorry, but we have to exhume your wife’s body. To find that boy. To give his parents some closure. I’m sure you can understand. We’ll treat her with the utmost respect.”
“You want to pull Judy up out of the ground?” He shook his head. “No. No!”
I scooted toward him, grasped his hands. They felt leathery and worn. “I know you don’t have any children of your own, Mr. Amblyne, but I’m sure you can understand how this boy’s parents have been suffering and why we have to do this.”
“Who are they?”
“The Kinzells.”
John pulled away, turned, and gazed out the window. A bunch of Canada geese were flying in a V formation over his grove of trees, heading back north. He sat quietly for a few moments before he faced me, paler than he’d been before.
“A nice family,” he said. “They were on my route. I saw their boy sometimes. On Saturdays he’d run down their driveway to get their mail straight from me. He always had such a spark about him.” He paused. “You won’t hurt Judy, will you?”
“No. We’ll be as gentle and careful as we can.”
“You’ll just check if that boy’s under her and then rebury her right away?”
I nodded, feeling guilty. That was only true if we didn’t find Kevin. If we did, the whole coffin, including Judy and Kevin, would have to be removed for investigation. But I feared he’d go to court to try to stop the exhumation if I told him that.
He sat quietly for a good half-minute. “Do I have to be there?” he finally said.
“No.”
“Good. I don’t think I could stand seeing that. Will you let me know, though, when it’s scheduled for, in case I change my mind?”
“Of course.”
I squeezed his hand once more, patted the dog’s head, and left. I was so glad he wasn’t going to put up a fight. And even happier that he didn’t want to attend the exhumation. As much as he couldn’t stand watching it, I didn’t think I could stand seeing him go through that. The poor man had already been through enough.
* * * *
Three days later, I sat in my office as the first rays of dawn shone through my window. For the past hour, I’d been staring at smudged photos of Timmy Garmer, Kevin Kinzell, and the three other missing boys. I knew every sandy hair on Timmy’s head. Every freckle on Kevin’s sunburned cheeks. I’d looked at Timmy’s picture so many times in the last two years, it was hard to believe that finally, finally, we had a break. Timmy had been ten when his parents reported him missing. He was the first one to disappear.
“Boss.” Jackson knocked on my open office door. “I just spoke to the health officer. She’s driving straight to the cemetery with the medical examiner. They should be there shortly. And the diggers and equipment are already on site. You ready to go?”
“Yep.” I set the photos back in my file and closed it. Then I stood, my left knee creaking as it often did ever since I tackled a fleeing suspect a few years back. “Is the tent up?”
“Yeah, I checked last night on my way home. Mrs. Amblyne will be afforded the most privacy we can give her.” Jackson stepped into the room, his pants sagging off his lean frame.
I smiled. I could always count on Jackson to do things right.
“Boss,” he said as I grabbed my jacket. “Why didn’t you question Harlow first, before going through all this?”
“What’s he gonna say? ‘Oh, yes, I abducted all those boys, did unspeakable things to them, and th
en stuffed their bodies in other folks’ coffins.’ No. I want the evidence first. Then we’ll watch him try to squirm out of it.”
He nodded. “Plus, Shirley mighta been lying.”
I exhaled a big breath. “Yeah, there’s that.”
Jackson and I drove south on Route Eighteen separately in case we each needed to attend to different matters after we dug up Judy. I rolled down my window. Spring had come. The air smelled fresh and green, and violets lined the countryside on both sides of the road. Their beauty made this whole business feel even more unseemly.
I wished there’d been a way we could have kept the exhumation a secret, in case we were wrong. But by yesterday, word had gotten around, as I’d feared it would. The whole county was upset all over again, especially the parents of those missing kids. If we found Kevin’s remains today, they’d all be devastated. One couple simply wanted closure, and would, sadly, welcome knowing what likely had happened to their son. But the rest, including Kevin’s parents, still believed their boys were alive somewhere and one day they’d come home.
Sighing, I turned into the gravel lot beside the cemetery. Jackson pulled in behind me. About fifty yards in, a large white tent covered what I assumed was Judy Amblyne’s grave. Several people stood near it, looking out toward my rig. The Kinzells and the Garmers and four of the other parents. And Harlow. He definitely shouldn’t be here. And there was a reporter from the local paper, too. Dang. I had really wanted to keep this from turning into a circus. I couldn’t identify the others standing by the tent because they all were wearing white coveralls, surgical masks, and gloves. I assumed they were the diggers, the M.E., and the state and cemetery officials, though considering the location, they could’ve been a bunch of weird-looking ghosts.
I steeled my shoulders and opened my vehicle door. Show time.
* * * *