Little Moments

by K. J. Emrick

  My nose is so close to the window now that my breath is fogging up the glass. This was it. This was…

  Thornton clears his throat and my excitement shatters. “I did not kill Jackson,” he says. “Yes, I was taking that money. You’ve the proof right there so no reason to deny that. I used it for… let’s just say, less than savory things. Our society is one of the most open-minded on the planet, certainly more so than the United States, but there’s still plenty of people who would look down their nose at an openly gay man in politics paying for the benefit of a night’s company.”

  I frown at that for a moment. What was he…? Ah. Male escorts. Titan’s Walking Escorts provided male escort company. Thornton was into men, which no one in Tassie would care about, despite what some people might tweet about to their fans. Thornton’s crime isn’t loving men. It’s paying for his pleasures with taxpayer monies. That had nothing to do with which team he played for. That was just plain thievery.

  But it might not be murder, after all…

  “I didn’t do it,” Thornton repeats himself, shaking his head for emphasis. “You’re obviously smarter than I gave you credit for, Senior Sergeant Powers, but there’s no way for you to pin this murder on me because I didn’t do it. Jackson hadn’t found out what I was doing. Not yet. Maybe I would’ve been sloppy at some point and maybe he would’ve found out eventually but until this moment, I was getting away with it.” He shrugs like it was no matter to him. “The thing about politics is that we keep each other’s secrets. We don’t want our own dirty laundry getting out, so we don’t rat on anyone else’s. I would’ve been quietly retired and sent off to obscurity if Jackson had found me out, but I would not have been outed. In any sense of the word.”

  Kevin taps the pages I gave him. “We’ve got all the proof we need. This, along with the fact that it was just you and Stephanie up on the second floor when Jackson was killed, points me in your direction, Mister Dunfosse. Why don’t you think real hard about what ya want to say next.”

  Still pale, Thornton nonetheless works up a wicked grin for Kevin. “What you have is enough to charge me with stealing from those mindless fools we call taxpayers, Senior Sergeant. Not enough to convict me of murder. Besides, I seem to recall there was your mother and sister up on the second floor, too. Maybe we should be looking at them for this crime? They had just as much time to commit it as I did. I was in my room for fifteen minutes or so before hearing Stephanie scream. How should I know who was or wasn’t out in that hall? All I can tell you is this. It wasn’t me.”

  Kevin studies the man sitting across from him, this criminal who had every reason to want Jackson Fillmore dead, but who still denies any involvement. Then he looks down at the papers I gave him. Then he looks over at the two-way mirror, and even though I know they can’t see me from their side, I have the feeling that he’s looking right at me. He’s wondering what I think about everything I just heard.

  The thing of it is, much as I don’t want to, I think I believe Thornton.

  Just like I believed Stephanie.

  One of them has to be guilty… but who?

  “There’s no way to know,” Kevin tells me an hour later while we’re sitting alone in his office. “I have a feeling I could go at Thornton for the next three hours and not get him to tell me anything more. And Stephanie’s just as guilty as he is. Or not as guilty, as the case may be. I don’t know. Maybe they did it together, or maybe one of them is better at telling lies than I am at finding the truth.”

  “I doubt that,” I tell him with a fond smile. “Nobody’s as good at finding out the truth of things as my Kevin.”

  “Nobody except my Mom. I really couldn’t have gotten this far without ya.”

  “Aw, ain’t you sweet?”

  “Just telling it like it is.”

  I cross my legs as I sit in my chair, across the desk from him, struck again by how cramped his office is. The wall of bookshelves, the filing cabinets, the beat-up furniture that has been in here forever. He’s got his feet up on the corner of his desk, pushing aside the computer’s keyboard with a boot heel, hands supporting his head from behind as he stares up at the faded ceiling tiles. He’s thinking about the interview with Thornton, same as me.

  “You know,” I say, “it couldn’t have been an accident.”

  “An accident? What d’ya mean?”

  “When you were talking to Thornton, you told him maybe the murder was an accident. It couldn’t have been. The killer had to bring that knife up from our dining room. This was a very premeditated crime.”

  “Oh, right. I know that. I was just trying to give him an excuse he could use. Something to take away his guilt so he’d feel okay about confessing to murder.” He rolls his shoulders in a shrug. “Usually works, but not this time I guess. So now I’ve got two people under arrest, back there in the holding cells, and in an hour, we’re going to have to take them both to the magistrate. Thornton for rorting all that money, and Stephanie for murder.”

  I’m actually surprised at that. “You’re still charging Stephanie with the murder? Are you sure she did it?”

  With a heavy sigh he drops his feet to the floor so he can sit up in his chair. “Honestly I’m not sure. Thing of it is, one of those two had to do it. I want them both charged with something for now, and hopefully that’ll give me time to do a more thorough investigation. There’s got to be something we’re missing. Just don’t know what.”

  “But if she’s innocent…?” I ask him.

  “Then I’ll figure it out before she gets convicted of anything. In the meantime, I’ve got three levels of government officials breathing down me neck to make something happen in this case. Well, I’m going to make something happen.”

  “Right or wrong?” I press him.

  “Sometimes that’s all I’ve got.”

  I have to disagree with that, because right is right, and wrong is wrong. Kevin’s in a tough spot, though, and I’m not sure what I’d do in his position. I have to agree with him that one of those two did this. I mean, who else could it have been? Certainly wasn’t me. Certainly wasn’t Carly. Danni would’ve noticed someone coming into the Inn and up the stairs, especially if they made a detour to grab a knife first! She always does.

  No. One of those two had to be the one.

  For now, his plan was the best one. Bring them both to the magistrate and let the legal system sort things out. I knew Kevin wouldn’t stop trying to prove what really happened. He just needed more time.

  Then again, Jackson Fillmore’s murder wasn’t the only thing going on in Lakeshore.

  “So, on another matter,” I say, figuring this is as good a time as any to bring this up. “I need to tell you something about that whole deal with Suzanna down at the Thirsty Roo, and her ex-boyfriend Harry Kewell.”

  He cocks an eyebrow at me, more curious than upset that I’m about to put more on his plate. “Got Constable Gerhard working on that case while the rest of us run around on this murder. She wasn’t too happy ‘bout being left out of the bigger case, but as junior officer here she really didn’t have a say. Did ya hear something might help us out?”

  “Yes. I certainly did.” I tell him everything Danni told me, about how Harry Kewell was actually the ex of not one, but two women here in Lakeshore, both of them scared enough of him to actually move back here and leave him behind. I give him the highlights as Danni gave them to me, painting a pretty rough picture of Mister Harry Kewell.

  Kevin nods along to the whole thing. “Yeah, that pretty much adds up with what Suzanna told us. Kewell’s bad news. Didn’t realize he’d been terrorizing two women in my town. Makes me wonder if Melanie Abrams got herself a new boyfriend like Suzanna did. Reading between the lines, I think that’s why Kewell is here now. He heard Suzanna got a new beau and his ego can’t stand it. He’s here to make trouble for Suzanna and her new man. Got Suzanna right scared, too.”

  “She still won’t tell you who that new man is, I take it?”

  “No.
Not yet, anyways.” He shrugs again. He seems to be doing that a lot. “Just said it’s someone who can take care of her. Some older guy, I reckon. I understand she wants to keep him out of this but comes a point she might have to tell us who he is whether she likes it or not. I won’t have two murders in my town in one week. Bad for tourism.”

  His little joke falls flat. Not a very funny situation to begin with, any of it. “I guess I’ll leave you to it,” I tell him, getting up from my chair. “You’ve got your work cut out for you today, what with bringing those two back there to the magistrate and then explaining all this to the Premier’s office, then you’ve got to look for this Harry Kewell guy, too.”

  “Yeah. That’s a lot for one day. And, now that I know Kewell is harassing two women, I’ll have me guys looking for him twice as hard. Could use your help with that, too, Mom. You see more people in a day than I do around town. Here.” He takes his mobile off his belt and flips through a couple of screens before he finds a photograph that he shows me. “This is a photo of Kewell and Suzanna. She still had it on her phone, and I had her send it to me. Think ya might keep your eyes peeled for this bloke?”

  “Of course.” I recognize Suzanna right off, and then I take a good look at the guy she’s with. The two of them have their arms around each other’s shoulders, smiling and making goofy faces for whoever’s taking the picture. He’s tall, and his skin is browned from a lot of time outside, his dark curly hair blowing across his forehead, his teeth really white but crooked. His shirt’s a blue v-neck but of course he could be wearing anything if I happen to see him out and about. It’s that face that would be hard to forget. Young and handsome, a stud earring in one ear. Kind of like a younger version of that singer, Mika. Doubt I’d forget him, if I saw him.

  And then I realize, I already have.

  Oh, snap.

  I don’t just recognize Kewell. I see something else in the photo that I hadn’t noticed at first. Something Suzanna’s wearing… on her finger.

  “Kevin,” I say, letting the pieces fall into place in my mind, “I think I just solved your murder case for you.”

  He chuckles and takes the phone back from me. “Of course you did.”

  Chapter 10

  Here’s the thing about a small town like Lakeshore. Maybe we’re tiny, but there’s nooks and crannies everywhere that a person can hide himself in if he’s of a mind to. Harry Kewell obviously had hiding on his mind. If he was still in Lakeshore, he was doing a pretty good job of keeping himself hid.

  It was half an hour since I left the police station, and I’ve gone down every street in the town, twice, and now I’m beginning to wonder if I should walk the trails around the town’s three lakes to see if anyone’s hiding in the Monterey Pines out there. Yeah… no. I know that would be a useless waste of time. I could spend the next week searching all that area and still not be able to look behind every bush and tree and rock. If Harry Kewell is out there by the lakes, then he’s not going to be found in time to put this mystery to rest. Not by me, anyway.

  So, turning my car around, I head back toward the Inn. There has to be something else we can do to find Harry.

  Carly stayed behind at the police station to keep her brother company, or at least that’s what she said. I think it was more to keep Ben Isling company as he worked on the paperwork to get Stephanie Collette and Thornton Dunfosse arraigned before the magistrate. Might be time for her Mom—me—to have a discussion with Ben and ask if he’s leading my daughter on or if he really understands that my Carly’s falling in love. He’d better. Anyone with eyes could see it.

  Thinking about my daughter took my mind off the mystery for a moment. It came back to me abruptly when I rounded the corner on Biel Street, and have to slam on my brakes as hard as I can to avoid hitting the dear little thing marching his way across the road.

  You guessed it. That same King Penguin.

  When my car screeches to a stop, he stops too, flapping his wings and barking out a series of squawks at me.

  Well. Can’t find Harry Kewell, but I don’t have any trouble finding this guy.

  The penguin turns with a series of wobbling shuffles, tilting his head back and warbling at the sky. He starts across again but five steps closer to the other side of the road, he stops, and wobbles himself back to look my way once more.

  For a moment, I’m perplexed by his behavior. He starts forward again, stops, and turns to look at me. Then he does it again.

  Oh snap. He wants me to follow him.

  I know it just as sure as I know my own name. Maybe it’s something to do with this connection I have to the other side of life. I can see ghosts, and I can catch glimpses of the future in my dreams sometimes, and oh by the way I can talk to flightless birds? Yeah… no. I don’t think so.

  Still, I’m sure as sure can be that this bird wants me to follow him. Believe it or not, this isn’t even the weirdest thing I’ve seen here in Lakeshore.

  The streets in this town aren’t exactly wide enough for people to park on, but then again there isn’t much traffic on these side streets. It’s just shoulder-to-shoulder houses on this corner of Lakeshore. The few cars that are likely to roll down Biel Street in the next however long will be able to drive out around me. I park it, and pull my keys as I get out, and stand there staring down at a penguin.

  “All right, little fellow,” I say, feeling silly as I motion in the general direction he was heading. “Lead the way.”

  With a squawk, he turns and waddles across the road. I doubt I’m going to have any trouble keeping up with him. Each step is slow and plodding, his body swaying, his head bobbing back and forth. It was like watching one of those nature shows, up close and personal. I even had the monologue going in my head. Here we have the migrant King Penguin far away from his natural habitat, wandering the streets of a small Tasmanian town, being trailed by a crazy woman who thinks the bird is trying to communicate with her somehow…

  Well, in my defense… yeah, I’ve got nothing to say in my defense. That was pretty spot on.

  “You better not be a hallucination,” I tell the penguin. “I mean, I can see you, but Pastor Albright didn’t. Carly saw you, I think, but I’m not sure and if I’m the only one who’s seeing you then maybe I need to have my head checked.”

  The penguin twists his head around at me as he’s walking, and squawks once.

  “What’s that mean? I don’t speak penguinese. Penguinish? Whatever it’s called, I don’t speak it.”

  Another squawk is my answer.

  Fantastic.

  “Do you have a name, at least?” I say, trying to fill the silence so I don’t feel quite so foolish as I follow along behind the slowpoke. “I hate to keep calling you ‘penguin.’ Be like calling me ‘woman.’ I mean, Big Bird’s name is fine and all, I guess. Do you know Big Bird? Lives on Sesame Street? Big. Yellow. Anyway, I guess Big Bird is an okay name, but haven’t you ever thought that he’d rather be George, or Sean? Tell you what. You can be Sean now. Sean the Penguin.”

  The tall bird trills at me.

  “Glad you approve. So. Sean. Where’re we going?”

  Sean doesn’t say anything this time. Just keeps moving his feet. He’s walked us around to the backside of a couple of the houses, where there’s an overgrown stretch of plants that I think used to be a hedgerow before the residents of Fifteen Biel Street stopped taking care of it. Now they’re all scraggly with twigs going everywhich way and weeds growing up everywhere through it in a tangle. Can’t remember who lives here, but thankfully they’re not home to complain about the crazy penguin lady walking about their place.

  “Is it much further? I’ve still got a lot to do today. Gotta find this guy, you see, and it’s really important that I do, so if you could maybe hurry up…?”

  Huh. Makes me wonder if Sean knows about what I’m doing. You don’t suppose he’s trying to lead me to Harry Kewell, do you? I mean, maybe I’ve got some sort of connection with animals after all, and Sean here knows exactly
what I need and he’s trying to help. Wouldn’t that be just the best?

  “Lead on, Sean. I’m right behind you.”

  He takes two more waddling steps, and then stops.

  There’s nothing here but more unkempt greenery. Fluttering his arms and squawking insistently, he stares into the bushes, obviously upset. Apparently, this is the spot.

  Well, that’s a little disappointing, I have to say. If there’s a reason for us to be here, it’s lost on me. “Sorry, buddy, but I don’t get it. There’s nothing here… oh.”

  Then I see it. Or rather, I hear it. There is something there in the bushes after all. Not Harry Kewell, but something else. From just inside the bushes comes the high-pitched trill of a bird. Sean sways from foot to foot and bobs his head up, down, up, down, when he hears it. Whatever has him so upset, its here, in these bushes.

  With a frown, I kneel down and carefully push aside a few branches. In the bush, caught inside the pinching tangle of several thin, twisted limbs, is a fuzzy brown bird about half the size of my friend, Sean the King Penguin. Black beak, webbed feet, stubby wings covered in the same brown fur as the rest of him.

  It’s a fledgling penguin! Probably Sean’s baby. I don’t know much about King Penguins, but I do know the young penguins have this brown furry coat, almost like sheep’s wool to look at it. This one’s scared to death, trying to push itself out of the spot it’s got itself into and only managing to get more tangled up. If it doesn’t get free soon it’s going to get seriously hurt.

  “Okay, little fellow. You stand still, and I’m just going to reach in here and help you out. No biting me, hear? I’ve got enough to worry about today with this and that, without having to get bandaged up from having my hands pecked to pieces.” Sean blares at me nervously as he sees me reaching in. “It’s all right. I’m an expert at freeing birds from snarly branches like this. Well, not really, but then who is? Just gotta move this twig this way and pull that one up. No, wait, that one first, then this one.”