by Kay Jennings
“It came up in the questioning of a potential suspect. Because that individual is still a possible suspect, we can’t divulge the name. The witness’s account of seeing your wife with Kenton was credible, and we checked it out. Again, I’m sorry to have to do this, but we are dealing with a child’s murder, Fred, and the family has to be investigated. Please try to understand.”
“I understand,” Fred said. “I just think you’re wasting valuable time to find out who did this.”
“We are following all leads,” Matt said. “The county crime team has met, and everyone has their assignments. We’re having our second meeting later this afternoon to update any progress. Our police department is deploying all of our resources to investigate the local Ocean Bend Road area, and any and all potential suspects. Plus, the Buck Bay PD and the Oregon State Police are pulling in what officers they can spare to help us. We’ve got the forensics reports from both the tunnel where Emily’s body was discovered, and from her bedroom, and I will personally go through those later today. I want to assure you that we are being completely thorough, and we won’t miss anything.”
“OK. I have to trust you . . . no choice. I hope to hell you know what you’re doing. Maybe you should bring in George Simonson to help you.”
Matt tried not to be insulted by that suggestion because he knew Fred was grasping at straws. But, still, it rankled.
“You don’t really know me yet, Mr. Mayor, but I can promise you that I do know what I’m doing. Solving a murder sometimes involves a little luck, but it’s mostly done by diligent legwork. If it turns out that your wife is having an affair and that, somehow, Emily knew, it might be a crucial piece of information.”
“I tell you, you’re wrong, and . . .”
“If I’m wrong,” Matt interrupted Fred mid-sentence, “then I’ll apologize, and it will go no further than this room. But if Marjorie is hiding something, don’t you want to know?”
Fred tugged on the collar of his shirt. “Yes, of course. But it’s not possible, I tell you.”
As they left the house with Marjorie in tow, Fern turned her head to look back, and saw Fred standing in the doorway, watching.
CHAPTER 23
Hideki Ikeda had been in charge of Port Stirling’s IT department for two months, and in that time the most exciting thing he’d done was order new software for the department heads. But he’d gotten a phone call from city manager Bill Abbott early Sunday morning, asking him if he could come into work ASAP. A murder investigation!
Ikeda took charge of all five of the Bushnell family computers seized in this morning’s search of their home, and started, as instructed by the new police chief, on Marjorie’s computer. Horning specifically wanted Ikeda to do a keyword search on “Craig”.
Boom! Ninety-two messages between Craig Kenton and Marjorie Bushnell dating back to the previous September popped up immediately—all in her “Trash” bucket. Some were relatively innocuous, but others painted a clear picture of blooming romance, or more bluntly, blooming sex. When Kenton’s laptop was brought in later, only the last four or five messages between them were saved; apparently, he wasn’t as much of a romantic as Marjorie.
Marjorie, having a few more little grey cells than Kenton, had, on Saturday evening at 11:23 p.m., deleted all of her messages between them. But, Ikeda noted in his report to the Chief, she didn’t empty her “Trash” bucket. Perhaps Marjorie and Craig were made for each other after all.
* * *
Sunday, 4:00 p.m.
Nine of the crime team members gathered back in the War Room; Dr. Ryder, having nothing further to share since her autopsy report, didn’t attend.
Matt began the meeting by sharing Ikeda’s report on Marjorie and Kenton’s computers confirming that they were indeed having an affair.
“So Ted Frolick got it right?” said Patty.
“He got it all correct,” Matt said. “Including seeing them talking in Goodie’s parking lot with Emily in the back seat. Marjorie told us that Emily was asleep, but I tend to believe Frolick’s version. And, Marjorie deleted all of the messages between her and Kenton last night, so she didn’t want that info discovered.”
“You identify your youngest child on a slab in the morgue, and you’re on your computer later that night deleting email?” said Fern incredulously.
“Yeah, in my book,” Matt said, “that’s highly suspicious behavior. Marjorie is now suspect No. 1, and, until we can check out his Friday night alibi, Kenton is suspect No. 2. Good work on Kenton, Ed. What’s your takeaway from your chat with him?”
“Kenton is a ladies man of the first degree. Pretty face,” said Ed. “But, in my estimation, he’s not a killer. He doesn’t have the balls for it.”
“I understand he’s a volunteer fireman—doesn’t that take a degree of bravery?” Matt asked.
“S’pose so, but manning a hose with a team is different than stabbing a little girl in the abdomen, even if her mother asked you to do it. Kenton cracked like a vase on a marble floor the minute I mentioned Marjorie Bushnell’s name. He fessed up to being intimate with her on several occasions over the past few months, but he wanted nothing to do with her daughter’s death.”
Matt thought if he was interrogated by the 6’4”, muscular Sonders, he’d probably crack too.
“You’ll read in his statement, though, that he thinks Mrs. Bushnell is, in his words, ‘a little whacked’,” Sonders continued.
“What does that mean?”
“I got the distinct feeling from Kenton that he thinks she’s a little off her rocker. But he screwed her anyway. Sorry, ladies. Nice work if you can get it, I guess.”
“What a charmer,” Matt said.
“Yeah, not my cup of tea,” agreed Ed, “but, hey, it takes all kinds.”
Matt said, “Patty, I haven’t ruled out Frolick yet, but I do agree with your characterization of him—he’s not crazy, and he has no motive to kill Emily. He may have had the opportunity, however, and we need to keep working to verify his alibi.”
Patty shifted in her chair. “Did you ask him about the slapping incident?”
“I interrogated him about it, and he didn’t have much to say on the topic,” said Matt. “Keep on him about his alibi and dig a little further on the incident. I don’t believe it proves a pattern with Frolick, but I don’t want to leave any stone unturned. Sheriff, can you fill in the group on Fergus Dunbar?”
“Wait a minute, Chief,” inserted the district attorney. “Don’t you think you’re skimming over Ted Frolick a bit too quickly? He was arrested for assault on a child, and you can’t verify his alibi?”
“Patty and I have both questioned him, and unless he’s a practiced psychopath, all of his answers add up,” Matt answered.
“I agree,” Patty said.
“I don’t agree,” said Dalrymple. “Frolick fits the pattern of a child abuser, and the two of you just rule him out because you like him? That’s unprofessional and sloppy police work.”
“Look, Dalrymple,” said Matt, “I didn’t say anything about liking Frolick. As a matter of fact, I do like him, but that’s not the reason I don’t believe he’s our guy. We have a record of one isolated incident in which he hit a child in full view of others. A pretty obvious heat-of-the-moment type thing, and a very far cry from what happened to Emily. That does not constitute a pattern of child abuse. Furthermore, he has no motive to kill Emily— none whatsoever. And he was right about Marjorie and Kenton. He’s not off my suspect list yet, he’s just not as high on it as Marjorie. Frolick told us the truth, Marjorie lied. Can we please move on now?” Matt stared at the DA.
“I want Jay to take another statement from Frolick,” Dalrymple said, not letting it drop. “There’s too much reason to suspect him, and you are glossing over him.”
Patty sat straighter in her chair. “You suddenly have a problem with the way I question suspects
? Because –“
Matt lifted a hand to Patty to stop, then turned his focus back to Dalrymple. “I have no problem with Jay talking to Frolick if that will satisfy you. But Patty and I aren’t done with him, I can assure you,” Matt said, his voice stony.
“He didn’t do it, David,” said Patty, and she stared him down. “I would stake my reputation on it, and I’m right more than I’m wrong. And I’m also right more often than you are. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Dalrymple had to laugh. “Yes, I suppose you are. But it doesn’t mean you’re right this time. I think you and the Chief have this one wrong, and we can’t afford to fuck it up.”
“We won’t,” Matt said. “Can we move on now?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Sheriff, can you talk about Fergus Dunbar, please?”
The sheriff explained why Dunbar was a potential suspect, and the plan to get a statement from him as soon as he left here. After he finished, Buck Bay’s chief told the group about a suspicious guy at Port Stirling Links, and Matt, jotting down the name, said he would talk to him first thing tomorrow.
He added, “Also, it will likely be tomorrow morning before we get anything from our PSPD guys on their local checks.”
“So, there’s still a chance we’ll have other suspects?” Jay said.
“Of course there’s a chance,” replied Matt. “But the one fact we have so far is that the mother of the victim lied to us and tried to cover up her cheating.”
“And, she’s not exhibiting typical motherly reactions to her child’s death,” added Fern. “This afternoon, she seemed almost detached. Cold. Yes, she was sobbing, but, in my view, the tears were more about getting caught as a cheating wife than Emily’s death. Could be a defense mechanism, but I think Marjorie warrants our close attention.”
There was a rap at the door, and Sylvia Hofstetter poked her head into the room. “You’re not going to like this, Chief.”
“What?” Matt replied.
“There’s a TV crew from KVAL in Eugene in the lobby. They want to talk to you about Emily’s murder.”
Chapter 24
Sunday, 5:00 p.m.
“Who is the reporter?” the DA asked Sylvia.
“It’s that woman, Tammy something,” replied Sylvia. “The blonde fluff-head.”
Fern turned to Matt and said, “She’s not so bad. She’s friendly and won’t ask the tough questions. I did a studio panel show with her last month on domestic violence, and she kept it clean and unobtrusive.”
“I think I’d better handle this interview,” Dalrymple said, looking at Matt. “You aren’t familiar yet with the nuances of life around here or the relationships involved.”
“Uh-uh,” said Sylvia before Matt could open his mouth. “The fluff-head specifically asked for Matt. She knows we have a new police chief, and she wants her viewers to meet him.”
“I appreciate the offer, David, but it’s my responsibility,” said Matt. “I’d rather be introduced to the community under different circumstances, but it is what it is. Jay, you and Fern come with me; I want there to be a team component and a couple of familiar faces. It will be important to reassure our town that they’re safe.”
“With all due respect, Chief, the town isn’t safe,” the DA said. “We’ve got an unknown killer on the loose. You will have to choose your words carefully, or you risk sparking widespread panic.”
“Agreed. I’ve been in this situation before, and I know how to calm people down,” Matt said with more confidence than he felt. “Carry on here as you need to. Fern, Jay, let’s go.”
* * *
Fern felt a butterfly doing the jig in her belly, but, Yeah, let’s say I’m OK appearing on live TV. The show she did in Eugene in the studio was taped, and that felt much more comfortable. But it was important to support Matt, and she had every confidence in his ability to handle Tammy.
“I will alert the family about your interview once we’re finished here,” Fern told Matt. “They shouldn’t be blindsided by the fact that word is out.”
“Good point. I’m thinking we should arrange for a guard detail at the Bushnell house, too, at least for tonight and tomorrow. Just a car in the driveway. Jay, can you make that happen when we’re done with the TV folks?”
Jay said, “Sure. Also, you should know that I’m an old hand at media interviews.” He grinned to make sure that his new boss knew he was bluffing. Hell, they were all bluffing.
Matt patted him on the back as they walked down the hallway toward the City Hall lobby.
Matt greeted Tammy whatever, and introduced Fern and Jay even though they all remembered each other. He gave the reporter an extra firm handshake to indicate he couldn’t be trifled with.
“I thought we would do this with the Pacific as a backdrop, but I’m afraid we’d blow away if we went outside,” Tammy smiled at Matt. “Do you have a good place in the building we could film?”
Matt turned to Jay. “Do we?”
“There’s the atrium between the two wings with that fountain.”
“Oh, that’s perfect,” enthused Tammy. “It’s covered with glass, right? I think I’ve been there before. Let’s go there.” She motioned to her cameraman.
So glad we found a scenic location to talk about the homicide of a little girl, thought Matt.
The cameraman mic’d up the three of them, and Tammy sidled up close to Matt. Fern gave her a look, but then put on her serious face, as did Jay.
“We’re in Port Stirling talking to the city’s new police chief, Matt Horning, who just arrived yesterday from his home in Texas,” Tammy began. “Welcome to Oregon, Chief.”
“Thank you, Tammy. I wish I’d met you and your viewers under different circumstances.” He looked directly at the reporter and ignored the camera, as if they were having a personal conversation.
“Chief, is it true that Mayor Bushnell’s daughter was found murdered on the Port Stirling beach yesterday morning?” started Tammy.
“Yes, I’m afraid it is true. Emily Bushnell’s body, aged four, was found yesterday in a rock tunnel outcropping on the beach. We are treating her death as a homicide.”
“How did she die?”
“Because this is an ongoing investigation, we’d rather not
divulge those details yet. I’m sure you understand.” He looked into Tammy’s eyes.
“Is the public at risk?”
Matt had, of course, considered this question in the middle of the night when he lay awake, but he had come to the conclusion that it was unlikely Port Stirling had a serial killer on its hands.
To Tammy, and for the viewing audience, Matt said “We believe this is an isolated case and there is no risk to the public at large,” trying to sound as calm and reassuring as he could.
“Do you have any suspects?” Tammy asked.
“It’s far too early in the process for that,” Matt answered. He was firm, yet pleasant. “The county’s major crime team is meeting. We began our investigation immediately after the body was found, and we will continue around the clock until we apprehend whoever did this awful thing. Port Stirling and area residents should feel assured that it’s only a matter of time until this case is solved, and they should go about their business.”
“Our viewers don’t know you, Chief Horning,” Tammy said, moving in even closer to Matt, and turning up her face toward him. “Can you tell us how long you’ve been a policeman?”
“I’d rather keep the focus on the case than on me, but I have over a decade of experience investigating homicides as a police officer. We also have an excellent county team. We’ll get our killer.”
“Ms. Byrne, you’ve seen some nasty domestic violence cases in your job as the Chinook County Advocate. Is that what you’re dealing with here? Is the Bushnell family involved?”
Matt visibly paled at that question, but the cameraman was focused on Fern.
Matt stepped up closer to Tammy and the mic. “I would also like the community’s help. If anyone saw anything suspicious—anything at all out of the ordinary—on Friday night in the vicinity of Ocean Bend Road and the Whale Rock Wayside, please contact the Port Stirling Police Department right away. We’d really appreciate it. That’s all we can offer today,” Matt said, his voice commanding. Tammy took the hint.
“This is Tammy Parsons reporting live from Port Stirling, where the mayor’s daughter has been found murdered on the beach. Keep it tuned here for ongoing updates in this terrible, frightening case.”
* * *
Sunday, 8:00 p.m.
Fresh from a fragrant bath and wrapped in her favorite pearl pink terry robe, Fern curled up on her sofa with her laptop. As much as she had come to like and respect Matt in the past 36 hours, she realized during the TV interview that they were all putting their trust in this man about whom no one really knew much.
She went to Google and typed “Matt Horning”. The first result that caught her eye was a Dallas Morning News item headlined “Plano Detective Suspended after Teenage Shooting”.
She clicked on the article and was startled to see a one-third-page photo of Detective Matthew Michael Horning, identified as 41 years old and a 12-year veteran of the Plano Police Department. Staring at Matt’s photo dated last September, Fern thought his body looked even more ripped than it did now. There was no question the new police chief was a hunk. Chiseled body. Cheekbones and startling blue eyes. Curly hair a smidge too long for police regulations. Handsome smile that unfolded slowly, and needed to be earned. She hadn’t seen many smiles on his face yet, but the few that had come her way were worth the wait.
