by Kay Jennings
“Yeah. Plus, if he’s from Texas, he probably ain’t never seen the ocean,” Janey surmised, pushing her slightly greasy bangs back off her forehead. “Oops, customer. Gotta go.”
Chapter 11
Saturday, 5:30 p.m.
Once he’d received the written statements of the family members from Ed and Jay, Matt collated them with the write-up of his interrogation of Fred Bushnell, and made copies for the six-member Port Stirling police department, who had all been called in to work by their new chief.
One of his off-duty patrol officers told Matt that he’d just had a beer, and wondered if he should drive to City Hall.
“One beer?” asked Matt.
“Yes, sir.”
“How far away do you live?”
“Less than a mile.”
“Risk it. This is important.” Matt thought Officer Ralph Newman didn’t seem very excited about coming to work on Saturday evening. Tough.
Matt also made a call to brief Bill Abbott on the crime team meeting, and the city manager asked his new police chief if he should come back to City Hall and make the introductions to the rest of his department. Matt told him it wasn’t necessary, and that he could handle it with an assist from Jay.
The small assembled group was seated and quiet in anticipation of what had precipitated this sudden turn of events. Jay did the honors, introducing a somewhat tense Matt to his staff, one by one: Patrol Sergeant Walt Perret, Patrol Officers Doug Lewis, Rudy Huggins, and Ralph Newman. Only Sergeant Perret had on a department uniform; the officers were dressed in jeans, as only Jay was officially on-duty today. Officer Newman was wearing a Philadelphia Eagles sweatshirt, which offended Matt’s Cowboys loyalty. A lazy police officer who likes the Eagles? Matt would have to set him straight in more ways than one.
“And this is the department’s records clerk, Sylvia Hofstetter,” Jay continued, motioning to a silver-haired, petite woman dressed all in purple who was 70 if she was a day. Her hairdo would have been right at home in Dallas, and was bigger than her slim body.
“How do you do, ma’am?” Matt said, shaking her hand, as he had with the officers in turn.
“I’m doing fine now that you’re here, honey!” Sylvia said loudly as she pumped Matt’s hand in both of hers. Everyone laughed, and it broke the tension in the room. Matt could have kissed her.
Matt filled them in on the particulars of the case. He asked for their confidentiality, and only shared the bare bones of the homicide. At this stage, until he knew his staff better, the fewer investigators who knew all the grim details, the better.
He instructed Sergeant Perret and the officers to do a license plate search on every car parked along Ocean Bend Road, both residential and commercial establishments, and to gather all the hotel/motel registrations for last night. The chief requested that they start immediately, and no one objected, at least to his face.
“Do you think the mayor and his family are involved?” asked Walt.
Elephant in the room.
“We don’t know yet,” Matt answered honestly. “We took initial statements from the family and Lydia Campbell, who found the body. All of the Bushnells are accounted for on Friday night, but we haven’t started checking their alibis. That will happen soon. Please tell your families that there has been a violent crime, and that you have to put in a few hours tonight,” Matt commanded. “Don’t mention the victim at this point—word will get out soon enough, but I want to keep it within our circle as long as I can. Understood?”
Everyone nodded.
“For your ears only, the family disavowed any knowledge of the crime, and they all say they thought Emily was in her bedroom all night.”
“Did you call Patty Perkins from over in Twisty River?” asked Perret. “She’s really good at shit like this.”
“Language, Walt,” admonished Sylvia.
“Yes. Patty was in the county team meeting, and she’s going to help us investigate. I’ve asked her to start by interviewing Lydia Campbell in more depth than we did on the beach, and then to poke around at other Ocean Bend Road neighbors. Ed Sonders from the Oregon State Police is also helping us and will be one of the key guys, along with Jay here and Fern Byrne who’s helping us with the family.”
Sergeant Perret looked relieved. In fact, they all looked relieved. “That sounds good, boss,” said Perret. “We’ll do whatever you tell us to, but none of us ain’t never investigated a homicide before.”
“I have,” said Sylvia gruffly. “We had one back in ‘66, but it was a drug kill, not a poor child’s murder. This will be quite different, I presume.” She looked expectantly at Matt.
“It will be hard,” Matt confirmed. “I’m not going to sugarcoat it. Any time a young person goes before their time, it’s tough.” He paused and took a breath. “Let’s see what y’all can gather about who was in the near vicinity last night. I don’t have a department phone yet, but here’s my personal mobile number. Do not hesitate to call me for any reason.”
“I’ll get you a real phone, dearie,” said Sylvia, and she traipsed out of the squad room and headed down the hallway, trailing purple fabric behind her.
* * *
Saturday, 5:45 p.m.
Twisty River PD investigator Patty Perkins used the lions-head door knocker on Lydia Campbell’s front door. Looking through the door’s glass panel to the ocean beyond, Patty noted that off to the southwest, darker, more ominous clouds were forming as the last wisp of daylight disappeared below the horizon. The air had turned blustery.
Although the beach at Port Stirling was certainly dramatic and had its appeal to the senses, Patty preferred the more pastoral Twisty River valley. Her home on five acres just across the Twisty River Bridge from town—and twenty miles upstream from the Pacific Ocean - provided a tranquil respite from the rigors of her job. Warmer and less windy than Port Stirling, Twisty River felt more harmonious to Patty. She had lived there for over 30 years, the past six alone since her husband, Pat, died of a heart attack while trout fishing on the Hornbuckle River.
Patty and Pat had been happy throughout their marriage, but Patty didn’t mind being alone. She was good with solitude, and while she missed Pat, she was satisfied with her life now. She grew vegetables and flowers on her acreage, listened to classical music, and read every night. She had great friends in the area, and took advantage of her paid time off to travel the world. In the summer, she hiked throughout the county and swam in the river. In the winter, she watched that same river and prayed it wouldn’t flood over her backyard patio. Most winters, God did not listen to her prayers.
Patty’s main passion was her job. She disliked “the villains”, and was tenacious in pursuit. Chief Kramer had long ago designated Patty as his department’s representative on the county’s crime team. More often than not it was Patty’s legwork and smarts that lead to an arrest. Yeah, she could be a bit prickly, but it was a small price to pay for her job performance.
Lydia opened her front door with a puny “Come on in, Patty”, as she stepped aside to allow the detective to enter. Lydia and Patty played in the same bridge league, and had known each other for several years. Familiarity could only help in these circumstances; Patty knew that Lydia would try as hard as she could to recall anything that might help her friend and the crime team.
Mr. Darcy greeted their guest with enthusiasm, jumping up on Patty’s leg in the hopes of a petting. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Mr. Darcy,” said Lydia with exasperation. “You know better than to jump up. Go to your bed this instant.” She pointed at his bed near the fireplace, and he trotted off obediently.
“It’s been an unsettling day for both of us,” Lydia added. “Have a seat.” Patty went for one of the beige rockers near the window. Lydia took its mate across from Patty. “Can I get you anything?” Lydia asked. “Coffee?”
“A cup of coffee would be great,” Patty smiled. She took out
her tatty old notebook and fished in her bag for a pen while Lydia produced two coffees.
“This is a most unpleasant experience for you,” Patty said. “How are you holding up under the strain?” Patty thought the older woman looked pale and drawn. Lydia was usually rosy-cheeked and full of energy, especially for a woman well into her 70’s.
“I’m doing OK, I guess—better this afternoon,” Lydia said. “I won’t lie to you, Patty, this morning was difficult. I keep seeing that poor girl’s sad little face. I’ve been cold all day, just can’t get warm, and every time I try to drift off in a little nap, that damnable wind rattles the house and keeps me awake. Not a fun day.”
“I keep telling you to sell this pile of bricks and move to Twisty River,” Patty said warmly. “I don’t hear a sound in my house. Maybe some occasional frogs croaking.”
“And leave this view?” Lydia motioned toward the window. Her view up and down the beach was spectacular, Patty had to admit.
“Your new police chief, Matt Horning, sent me to ask you a few questions about the case. Do you feel up to it?”
“Of course. I’m glad he sent you, although he seems like a nice young man.”
“He’s a good guy, I think,” Patty agreed. “Knows his stuff. Smart as a whip.”
“Certainly easy on the eyes, isn’t he?” Lydia smiled.
“I suppose he is, now that you mention it,” Patty smiled back. “I was so busy being impressed and relieved by his professional demeanor in our meeting this afternoon, I’m not sure I even noticed his looks. He really took charge. It was good to see. You should have seen him stand his ground with our gasbag district attorney. Shut Dalrymple right up.”
“I hear that’s not always easy to do,” said Lydia.
“Don’t you know it . . . but you didn’t hear that from me. I can’t count the times I’ve been in a room with him and bit my tongue to keep from saying ‘Put a sock in it’.”
Lydia laughed at her friend’s colorful language. “I’ve never said ‘Put a sock in it’ to another human being in my lifetime, but I’m not at all surprised that you might have.”
“We need to talk about last night,” Patty changed the subject. “Were you home?”
“Yes, I was here. Cooking and watching TV.”
“Did you go out at all?”
“Only to walk Mr. Darcy.”
“What time was that?”
“About 5:00 p.m.”
“Where did you go?”
“Well, it was a foggy, drizzly afternoon - it was already almost dark by then, if I recall—and neither he nor I were interested in a lengthy walk on the beach, so we walked down the road for a bit. He did his business, and we turned around and hustled back inside.”
“Were you home the rest of the evening?”
“Yes.”
“Can anyone attest to that?” Patty had to ask.
“Do you mean can anyone confirm that I was home? I’m not sure what you mean.” Lydia did indeed look confused.
“Did anyone stop by? Or phone? Did you talk to anyone at all Friday night?”
“Well . . .” Lydia paused to think. “No, I didn’t talk to a single soul. I cooked a stew, watched TV, and worked on my jigsaw puzzle.” She indicated the card table set up behind Patty’s chair at the other end of the big window. “Do I have a problem?” Lydia asked, staring directly into Patty’s eyes.
“No, of course not,” Patty assured her. “I just have to get all the facts down. It’s routine. This is important, however: Did you see anything on the beach Friday afternoon or last night? What can you remember about any activity, especially anything unusual or out of the ordinary?”
“It got dark early, as I mentioned. I hate this time of year when the days are so short. Depressing,” Lydia said.
“I hear you”, Patty sympathized. “I go to work in the dark and come home in the dark.”
“Before Mr. Darcy and I went for our potty walk, and before it got completely dark, there were a couple of people down on the beach, but they didn’t linger long. The fog was coming in, and it was damp and disagreeable.”
“Did you recognize anyone?”
“I think one couple was Fritz and Heidi Ericksen, who live down past the Pacific View Motel. They are die-hards and don’t seem to let the bad weather deter them. I’m not 100 percent positive it was them, though, as they were wearing jackets with hoods pulled up over their heads. But they often walk the beach in the late afternoon, and the size and shape looked like them.”
“Anyone else?”
Lydia thought. “There was one man walking alone shortly after I saw the Ericksens. He walked at a fast clip, and disappeared down around the promontory.”
“Do you know who it was?” Patty asked.
“No. Never seen him before.”
“What was he wearing?”
“Kind of a black tracksuit thing, or it might have been one of those waterproof golf outfits—pants and a windbreaker.”
“Short? Tall? Skinny? Fat?”
“I would say he was on the tall side, and slender. Dark hair—it looked black from here.”
“He wasn’t wearing a cap or hat?” Patty asked.
“No, of that I’m sure because I remember thinking ‘you idiot to go bare-headed in this soggy weather’. He didn’t look prepared for a January afternoon on Port Stirling beach.”
“Do you remember seeing anyone else?”
“Not before it got dark,” Lydia answered. “But there was one strange thing later on; it must have been between 7:00 and 8:00 p.m. because The News Hour was on. Probably closer to 8:00 p.m. because I was ready to eat. Anyway, I saw a light flickering on the beach. You see that sometimes in the summer when the kids are partying after dark, but I rarely see anyone down there after dark in the winter.”
“What kind of light was it?” Patty asked, sitting up straighter and clutching her notebook.
“I’d say it was a flashlight of some sort. I first saw it flickering in close to land a couple of times. Then I went into the kitchen to get a glass of wine, and when I came back to my window, I saw it flicker again, this time closer to the shoreline.” Lydia paused and gazed out to the sea. “I think it was close to the tunnel.”
“How long did it last?”
“Only a few moments, and then it went dark and I didn’t see
it again.”
“Did you keep looking out the window?” Patty asked.
“No, I can’t really say that I did. As I mentioned, I was working on and off in the kitchen, and not really paying attention to the window. I was watching TV mostly.”
“Could you see who was holding the light?”
“Heavens no. It was black as molasses, and foggy as all get out.”
“What did you think when you saw the light?”
“I thought ‘Another idiot’. Who would be down on the beach on a dark, foggy night like this one?” Lydia said. “And then, I thought ‘I hope it’s not crazy old Ted Frolick’ . . .” Lydia’s voice trailed off and she sat mutely with her hands clasped on her lap.
“Who is Ted Frolick?” Patty asked gently, so as not to agitate
her friend.
Lydia didn’t immediately answer the question. Patty didn’t press her, but held her gaze until Lydia finally spoke.
“Ted might be a little bit off his rocker, but he’s just old and has lived alone too long. Probably will happen to me, too,” Lydia attempted a smile. “There’s no way Ted could ever do something like this. He’s very sweet. He just gets a little confused at times.”
“What made you think of him first when you saw the light?” asked Patty.
“Well, I guess because I’ve seen him down on the beach in nasty weather before. And because he walks around here a lot.”
“Where does he live?” Patty asked as she jotted down notes.
>
“He lives next door to Fauntleroy Restaurant’s parking lot. His property abuts the lot.”
“You mean that shack with all the driftwood and glass floats out in front of it?”
“That’s his house, yes,” Lydia replied. Her left thumb was busy working her old wedding ring, twirling it around her finger. Patty pressed forward.
“How long has he lived here?”
“I don’t know. Probably forever. I really don’t know him well; we stop and chat when we see each other out walking. He loves to pet Mr. Darcy, and Mr. Darcy loves him, too. I take him some leftovers occasionally, an extra loaf of my banana bread—that kind of thing. I like to give him something hot to eat once in a while.”
“That’s nice of you, dear,” Patty said.
“He can be a little muddled at times, and I worry that he doesn’t always remember to eat a balanced diet. And, he often brings me flowers from his back garden. You can’t see it from the road, but he’s got a beautiful garden behind his house.” Lydia nodded to a vase of rose hips and dried hydrangeas on her kitchen table. “He brought me those last week.”
“Very nice.”
“Everyone around here knows Ted, and we all watch out for him. He’s a lovely man, and it’s the neighborly thing to do. It’s not possible that he could have hurt that child. Just not possible,” Lydia said shaking her head.
“I’ll have to talk to him—you know that, don’t you?”
“I suppose that you will do what you will do,” Lydia replied.
The two women sat staring at each other for a moment.
“Let’s talk about this morning,” said Patty.
“No doubt you’ve seen plenty of dead bodies,” Lydia said, staring out to the ocean, “but I’ve only seen two. My Harold the morning he didn’t wake up, and this poor little girl. Emily. I remember thinking that I hoped she wasn’t cold, laying there in the wet sand.”
“Dr. Ryder said it happened fast, and that she wouldn’t have felt much,” Patty told her.
“Still. She would have known that whoever it was wanted her dead. That’s got to be a bad last thought no matter how old you are.”
