by Kay Jennings
“It can happen anywhere, Jay,” said Matt softly. “We have to keep open minds and follow the evidence. Both of you need to get rid of the tapes in your head, and listen to Lieutenant Sonders—he’s right.”
“My money’s on mom,” Ed said, his face deliberately impassive.
Fern reached out and lightly slugged him in the arm.
Matt pushed back his chair and stood up. “Let’s do this meeting, kids.”
* * *
Saturday, 4:00 p.m.
Even though it was only 4:00 p.m. on this gloomy January day, dusk was already approaching by the time Bill Abbott let in the team at the side door.
Matt had found the room earlier today, and knew it would work as their command center throughout the duration of this case. The large erasable white board, along with the big mahogany conference table and ten faux-leather chairs would serve nicely as his War Room. One rather sad, faded oil painting of the Twisty River lighthouse decorated one wall, like it was trying to make up for the lack of a view in this windowless, institutional room.
Standing to greet them, Matt said “I’m Matt Horning, Port Stirling Police Chief. I’m new,” he added in what he hoped was a droll, self-effacing tone.
“Did you bring this trouble with you from Texas?” said Chinook County District Attorney David Dalrymple, frowning.
OK, here we go, thought Matt, giving the DA a hard look. He ignored the rude question, and nodded to the other colleagues.
“Welcome, Chief,” the others chimed in, as they all took seats.
“Thank you. And thank y’all for coming on such short notice. This briefing will be unpleasant—I have to warn you,” Matt started. “We’re here because the body of four-year-old Emily Bushnell was found in a rock tunnel on the beach this morning. Emily is Port Stirling’s mayor’s daughter—Fred Bushnell’s little girl. She died of multiple stab wounds on her torso, and we’re dealing with a homicide by an unknown person or persons.”
“Have you even been sworn in yet?” interrupted Dalrymple, leaning forward theatrically with his hands clasped on the table in front of him. The DA looked to be in his early 50s, fit, with seriously thinning blondish hair. He was sharply dressed, and a slight fragrance emanated from him. There was a hint of scorn in his question, and he had what Matt would call a sneer on his face.
“Yes, sir, I have,” Matt replied matter-of-factly. “Bill Abbott gave me the oath this morning on the beach. Officer Finley here and Lydia Campbell, the lady who found the child’s body, were the witnesses. I’m legal.”
“Isn’t that a bit non-traditional?” Dalrymple said. “Shouldn’t there be a public ceremony so we all know you’re officially on the job? It feels a little too ‘fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants’ for my liking.”
“Mr. Abbott and I felt that, under the circumstances, there wasn’t time to do it the traditional way, plus, it wouldn’t be appropriate. I’m official, and this investigation has begun under my auspices.” Matt stared him down.
“So, Officer Finley, Lieutenant Sonders and I will brief you on what happened this morning after Emily’s body was found,” Matt continued on as if there had been no interruption. “I think you all know Jay Finley and Ed Sonders. This”—he indicated Fern on his immediate left with an upturned hand—“is Fern Byrne. For those of you who haven’t worked with Fern previously, she works for Chinook County as a crime victims’ advocate, and she was on the scene with us this morning to help with the mayor and his family. I was grateful to have her on site to comfort the family, and Fern’s insight as a psychologist will help our team with profiling suspects as we move forward.” Matt smiled at Fern, and she looked nervously around the room, trying her best to smile. To those who knew her, it was obvious that Fern was agitated.
“A case of this magnitude should be handled by the County,” DA Dalrymple cut in. “Especially since you’ve just arrived in town, Chief. I’m sure you have a strong resumé from your work in Texas, but those of us around this table know the area well, and you can’t be expected to be up to speed yet. It’s too much to ask of you, no matter how well-intentioned you are.”
Matt could tell by the smug look on Dalrymple’s face that the DA knew what had happened to him in Texas. Dead girl in Texas. Dead girl in Oregon. Maybe he did bring trouble with him.
“I got this job because of my experience as a lead investigator with dozens of crime team operations, David,” Matt said, using the DA’s first name on purpose. “I appreciate your concern, but with the help of Dr. Ryder”, (Matt inclined his head in Bernice’s direction, across the table from her boss), “Jay, Ed, and Fern, we got through the initial investigative phase just fine this morning. This crime occurred in Port Stirling, and the Port Stirling PD will lead the investigation. We’ll be OK if I can count on all of you for your help as needed.”
The silence in the room was broken by Twisty River lead investigator Patty Perkins who said, “Alright then, let’s go. How can we help you, Chief?” She clicked her ball-point pen, and looked in the Chief’s direction.
Chapter 10
Matt shared the facts of the case with the county team, admonishing them upfront that the details were not to leave the room, and should only be shared on an “as needed” basis with other investigators they would bring in to assist.
“I know that tunnel,” said the DA, when Matt asked for their questions and comments.
“We all know that tunnel,” said Patty Perkins. She sounded brusque and a little dismissive of Dalrymple’s remark. “Is there any physical evidence?” she asked Matt.
Shaking his head, Matt answered, “No, none so far. Forensics is looking at fingerprints in Emily’s bedroom. There was blood at the crime scene, but it all belongs to Emily. No murder weapon. There was a high tide at 4:10am, and it looked like the tug of it had shifted Emily’s body some.”
“It was a modest high tide,” added Jay. “Not enough to carry her out to sea, but high enough to move her around, and destroy footprints or any other evidence.” He looked morose.
“How long had she been there?” Dalrymple asked.
“Dr. Ryder?” Matt said, looking at the ME.
“Based on the results of my autopsy,” Bernice said, looking at her boss Dalrymple, “I think she was killed sometime between 7:00 and 11:00 p.m. last night. Rigor mortis was almost complete when I first viewed the body this morning—she was stiff. The Rigid Stage takes eight-to-twelve hours. The lividity—gravity-pulled blood—indicates that she was killed where she was found. The impressions against her skin displayed as indentations from the surface of the tunnel. The details of how she died are in my report.”
Pin-drop silence around the table.
“And no one in her family noticed she was missing all night?” Dalrymple asked, incredulous.
“Based on our interviews with the family earlier, they put Emily to bed and thought she was there all night,” Matt said. “Apparently, neither parent checked on her before they retired for the night.”
“Unbelievable,” said Sonders shaking his head. “Four years old and you don’t at least poke your head in the door?”
“Yeah,” Matt said. His remark hung in the air.
“Why didn’t you call out the crime team before you interrogated the family?” demanded Dalrymple.
“Fair question,” Matt responded. “We felt it was crucial to secure both crime scenes—on the beach and Emily’s bedroom—immediately, which we did. And, in my experience, it’s important to interrogate the family right away, which we also did. We needed to arrange for the mayor and his wife to formally identify the body. Jay knew to call in Dr. Ryder and get her on the scene.”
Dalrymple glared at Bernice. “You should have called me at once.”
“That was my fault, David,” Matt said. “I asked Dr. Ryder to not notify anyone else until I’d had a chance to inform the family.” He paused. “I’m not sure it would have gone down any di
fferently if we’d had this meeting first.”
“Our protocol is to call out the crime team instantaneously,” Dalrymple said pompously, drawing himself up straight in his chair. “And, we’re dealing with a prominent family.”
“Well, I’m sorry if I’ve offended any of you,” Matt said, looking around the table. “But I didn’t want the family to get a head start on getting their stories straight while we waited around to assemble y’all.”
“Good Lord, Chief, we’re talking about the mayor of Port Stirling,” said Earl Johnson. It was the first time the county sheriff had spoken.
“No one knows that better than I do,” Matt said. “He’s my boss’s boss. Believe me, Sheriff, I understand the political ramifications.”
“You can’t believe that Fred is a suspect,” said the DA.
“Of course he’s a suspect,” huffed Patty. “And so is Fred’s entire family. The chief is right. Unless the girl was sexually assaulted, or witnessed something she wasn’t meant to see, odds are it was a family member who did her in.”
Patty turned to Dr. Ryder. “Was the poor little thing assaulted, Bernice?”
“No. And there wasn’t much sign of even a struggle. Here’s my autopsy report.” Bernice distributed her report to all team members. “My conclusion is that someone—probably someone she knew and trusted because there was no sign of a struggle—stabbed her before she barely knew what was happening. You will also note there were bite marks on Emily’s body.”
“Human or animal?” asked Dalrymple of his ME.
“Human, I’m afraid,” said Bernice. “I called in Lawrence Bush to have a look, and he confirmed. Dr. Bush is the county’s dental expert,” she clarified for Matt.
“Good God,” said Patty. She brought her hand up to cover her mouth as she skimmed Bernice’s report.
“What the hell are we dealing with?” said a stricken Sheriff Johnson.
“Was Emily fully dressed?” asked Dalrymple. It was clear that the DA was determined to remain calm, but he, too, had paled while glancing at the report.
“Yes,” Jay said. “When her body was found, she was wearing jeans, a white tee shirt, a pink sweater, white socks, and one pink shoe on her left foot—we don’t know what happened to her right shoe. It wasn’t on the beach, and it wasn’t in her room. Oh, and she also had a barrette in her hair. Her mother told Fern that Emily always insisted on wearing the barrette, even to bed.”
Matt struck a business tone. “Once you’ve all had a chance to read Bernice’s autopsy report, and our statements from the family, we’ll need to divvy up some investigative duties. My thinking is that Sheriff Johnson and Lieutenant Sonders should begin checking out their sources, and see what they can learn about any incidents or arrests in the past week around the county. Any new bad guys around? Buck Bay PD, could you guys begin checking area hotels and motels for any strangers in town that might be of interest. Fern tells me that because it’s January, there shouldn’t be that many tourists in town.”
“She’s correct, it’s a slow time,” interrupted Dalrymple. “Thank goodness for that, at least. But before you go any further, Chief, I insist that we reconsider running this investigation out of my office at the county. It’s nothing personal, and you seem to have a good handle on how to proceed, but we have more resources at the county level than Port Stirling has. It’s more practical.”
“Maybe,” Matt agreed. “But, in my view, we have all the resources we need sitting around this table. I’m confident I’ll have the help I need to find this killer. This is our town, this is my mayor, and this office will coordinate the investigation. We’ll meet in this room on an as-needed basis,” Matt said, his voice firm and professional. “If any of you have any pressing responsibilities elsewhere that will limit your participation on Emily’s case, please let me know now. Otherwise, I’ll count on you and the agencies you represent to assist.”
They went around the table and everyone indicated “we’re in”. Beaten, at least for the moment, Dalrymple nodded in agreement.
“OK,” Matt continued. “Sheriff, if your guys could work with the Buck Bay PD and canvas the county’s transient lodgings for suspicious strangers, I’ll have my department check out Port Stirling accommodations, out-of-state license plates and so on. Ed, Jay, and I will stay on the family and related issues—checking their alibis, their whereabouts and activities in the days leading up to the murder, etc. Fern, once we learn where we are on the family’s alibis, I’d like a psychological profile on any of the five who can’t be definitely ruled out. That’s probably going to be everyone but Susan, who either was or wasn’t at that slumber party all night.”
“OK,” Fern agreed.
“Patty, I’ve heard you’re an excellent investigator,” Matt said to the Twisty River representative.
“True,” she deadpanned.
“OK, then. How ‘bout you interrogate Lydia Campbell and see what you can learn about her neighbors. Anyone on Ocean Bend Road who may have seen or heard something last night.”
“In the interest of full disclosure,” Patty said, her voice now serious, “Lydia is a friend of mine. But she is an observant, intelligent woman, and knowing her as I do, she will do anything she can to help us get to the bottom of this.”
“I don’t have a problem with that,” said Matt. “As long as you stay objective and realize that the person who found the body is always a suspect until ruled out.”
“Absolutely, Chief,” Patty said. She asked Jay, “Did Lydia indicate whether or not she’d seen anything last night?”
Jay related to Patty and the team Lydia’s story about seeing the light on the beach and the timing.
“So, if Lydia saw something last night, there’s a good chance that someone else on Ocean Bend Road may have, too,” said Patty. “I’ll start with her, and then go door-to-door and see if the chickens lay any eggs for me.”
Matt smiled at her. “Thank you, ma’am. I’ll find out if anyone locally had any grudges against the mayor or his family for any reason. If anything turns up there beyond what my department can handle, I’ll ask the county and the state police to assist—sound good, Ed and Earl? Mr. Dalrymple, can you stand by to help us with any search warrants we may need?” Matt said. “I want to proceed with one for the Bushnell residence now, and then we’ll wait and see what the rest of you turn up.”
“Don’t you think you should check in with Bill Abbott first and see if he agrees to a Bushnell warrant?” said the DA. “Your boss might not concur with you that that’s a good idea.”
“I have Bill’s full support to run this investigation as I see fit,” Matt said. “You can’t possibly be suggesting that we don’t need to search the family home, David. Get the warrant, please.”
“I hope to hell you know what you’re doing,” said the DA. “I’ll call Judge Hedges when I get back to Twisty River.”
“Is he local?” asked Matt.
“She,” said Dalrymple, impatiently shuffling the reports in front of him, and stuffing them in his briefcase.
“Oops, sorry,” said Matt. “I guess that’s my Texas law and order background showing.”
“You’re not in Texas any more, Chief Horning. Which is why I still feel that this homicide investigation should be handled out of my office.” Dalrymple’s voice was as icy as they come.
“Not gonna happen, David,” Matt said.
“Are you two finished comparing dick size?” asked Patty sweetly, as she looked between Dalrymple and Horning, and pushed her chair back. “Can we get started on this investigation?”
Matt stood up, too. “OK people, that’s it for now. We will stay in close communication. If anything turns up, or you have any doubts or questions, call me immediately. Here’s my mobile number. When word gets out, everyone’s likely to be scared to death, and we need to wrap this up quickly.”
Before they dispersed
to put the wheels in motion, the ten people in the War Room agreed to meet again Sunday at 4:00 p.m., and every day next week, if necessary, at that same appointed hour. Matt hoped no further meetings would be necessary.
He had passed his first test. But Matt had the distinct feeling that the next one would be along shortly.
* * *
Saturday, 9:55 a.m.
Janey Crawley, the checker at Goodie’s Market who sold Matt his coffee, immediately phoned her friend Sara after Matt paid her, and left through the store’s automatic double doors, a coffee in each hand.
“Either there is a lone tourist who only now arrived, or I just met the new police chief,” Janey reported. “Word is he’s single, ya know?”
“What’s he look like?” Sara asked her childhood friend.
“I would have to say ‘awesome sauce’. Oh, and kinda like a cop.”
“Are you telling me we replaced that old fart Simonson with a cute guy?”
“Yeah. He’s not that young, probably about our age,” said the 37-year-old checker. “He’s a sweetheart. Called me ‘ma’am’ when I asked him if he wanted his receipt. Has a sweet little Texas twang—that’s how I knew it was him.”
“Hello! It’s about time this poor old town got something fresh other than those douchebag golfers.”
“Wait’ll you see him. He looks like a movie star. Or some hot athlete. No shit. Hair that kinda curls around his ears, baby blues that look right through you, dimple in his chin, and he was rockin’ a suit.”
“On Saturday morning? In Port Stirling? Kinda weird, don’t you think? But he sounds yummy. Where do you think he’s livin’?”
“Well, I didn’t want to appear too, ya know, forward, so I, like, didn’t ask him. The two best rentals right now are the old Tatlock farm house out on the Twisty River road, and that Ocean Bend house that belongs to that teacher who moved to California. My bet is he wouldn’t want to be stuck out in the boonies, so he’s probably got the Ocean Bend house.”
“That little yellow one right on the bluff?” Sara asked.
