Shallow Waters

by Kay Jennings

  “That was popular, no doubt.”

  “The next thing I knew there’s this crazy woman jumping on my back. I heard her scream close to my ear—and I will never forget this as long as I live—‘Leave us alone, you slimeball motherfucking cop motherfucker!’ Sorry, but that’s what I was dealing with. Along with her long fingernails gouging my neck and the side of my face. The force of her surprise attack made me stumble to the ground. I saw the glint of something that looked like a knife in her right hand.”

  “Oh!” Fern gasped.

  “Yeah, I remember how the knife stood out against her blood-red fingernails. I wrestled with the woman, finally getting an upper hand. And I could feel that Jessica was fighting with her behind me. I thought we almost had her subdued, but Alicia wasn’t quite finished with me. She somehow broke free of my grasp and lunged for my gun just as I was bringing it out of its harness. It went off.”

  Matt stopped his story and took a long drink of coffee.

  “Was she the first person you’ve ever killed?”

  “No. But she was the only accidental killing. Much worse.”

  “I’m so sorry this happened to you, Matt.”

  “Life’s not always fair, right? And just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, it did. Turns out that Alicia wasn’t only a cocaine-sniffing, vodka-drinking cop hater with anger management issues. She was also a leader of the African-American student union at Collin College. And her parents are a well-connected and high-profile couple in the Dallas area. They went after me big time.”

  “Did you try to talk to them and tell them how bad you felt? That it was an accident?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Matt snorted, “I tried. My encounter with her father didn’t go so well. I quickly learned where Alicia got her cop hatred and her language skills. Let’s leave it at that.”

  “And the police department didn’t support you even though you were cleared by the Grand Jury? I find that difficult to believe.”

  “They tried to hang in, especially my boss, but the pressure from the Johnsons was too much. It was obvious they weren’t going to drop it until they ran me out of town. Which is what happened. Irony is that before that night, I was headed for a promotion to Assistant Chief. And what nobody knows is that four years ago I was given a statewide medal for my work in community policing within the African-American community. I was stronger on race relations in Plano that anyone else in my department, and everyone in the department knew it. We had a lot of redneck boys who didn’t like dealing with blacks, but I wasn’t raised that way. I was just the wrong guy in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “That really sucks.”

  “Look on the bright side—I’m here, aren’t I?”

  Fern smiled. “It is most definitely the bright side for us. And, you’ll think so too, soon, I promise.”

  “Thanks for saying that—it means a lot. And, really, thanks for listening. I probably do need to talk about it.” He paused. “But right now, I have to see a non-golfer about why he happens to be staying at a golf resort.”

  Chapter 28

  Monday, 10:00 a.m.

  After asking one of his officers for directions to Port Stirling Links, Matt turned his car onto Hwy 101. The apparently world-class golf resort was a few minutes north of town.

  He stopped first at registration, and asked the desk manager if he knew Clay Sherwin.

  “Yes, I was on duty when he checked in.”

  “He’s still here this morning, right?”

  “Yes, he’s staying until Wednesday.”

  “Can you tell me if Mr. Sherwin booked any tee times when he checked in or before he arrived?”

  “He did not.”

  “So why is he here?”

  “No idea. He has a rental car and takes off after breakfast, and we may or may not see him again during the day. Some nights he has dinner here, but some nights he goes elsewhere.”

  “Did he eat here Friday night?”

  “As I told the sheriff, I’m not sure. I checked the books, and he wasn’t in them. But that doesn’t mean he didn’t pop in to the restaurant. It’s not like we’re fully booked or anything.”

  “Did he give any clues what he’s doing here?” Matt asked.

  “He didn’t say anything specifically, and we certainly don’t ask our guests, but I got the idea he is some sort of creative type—writer, artist, something like that. He carries around some sort of big notebook, like a portfolio.”

  “How old a guy is he?”

  “Again, I’m not sure, but I would say he’s in his late 40’s.”

  “Do you know where he is right now?”

  “No, sir, I do not. You can drive around to his Lily Pond cottage and see if his car is there. It’s a black BMW with California plates. He’s in number 304. He didn’t have anything to do with that little girl’s death, did he?” Wide-eyed, he stared at Matt.

  “Don’t know yet. Can I count on your discretion . . .”—Matt peered at the manager’s nametag—“James?”

  “Of course. And we will count on yours.”

  As Matt drove around to Lily Pond cottage 304, a haunting vision of Emily’s sad little body played on his psyche. Goddamitt!

  He rapped on the cottage door with vigor. After a few seconds, a man who he assumed was Clay Sherwin opened the door. Matt’s first thought was “Ahh, the cliché stranger-in-town”. Sherwin was tall, fit, handsome in a rugged sort of way, but with a cool, mysterious air about him

  “Yes?” was all he said as he opened the door to his cottage.

  “I’m Chief Matt Horning of the Port Stirling Police Department, and I’d like a few minutes of your time.” He fished out his badge that had been laying on his desk when he arrived this morning, and held it up for Sherwin to inspect.

  “I already told the sheriff everything I know about the child’s murder, which is nothing.”

  “Can I come in?”

  “I don’t know anything,” Sherwin repeated, not budging from his solid stance blocking the entrance.

  “We’re investigating a murder, and we’re talking to all transient guests in town. That includes you, and I have some further questions of my own. We either talk here, or you will have to come down to City Hall with me.”

  That got Sherwin’s attention and he stepped aside, motioning for Matt to come in. The suite was nice; beachy Oregon in tone, with high-end finishes and natural colors like forest green, sea blue, and sand. A nice fire was going in the corner fireplace, and it was comforting against this chilly morning.

  Sherwin walked to a small table over by the glass doors that did, indeed, overlook a lily pond. He sat down in one of the chairs in front of a laptop, and Matt took the chair across the table, feeling the welcome warmth of the fire on his back.

  “To confirm,” started Matt, “you are Clay Sherwin, is that correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “How long have you been in Port Stirling?”

  “Since last Wednesday. I’m staying for one week.” His tone was cordial, not overly-friendly, but polite enough.

  “Why are you in town?”

  Sherwin hesitated. “Why is that important to your investigation?”

  “You don’t appear to be playing golf, so it’s curious that you’re staying at a golf resort. We’re trying to establish why any tourists are in town, especially since January isn’t exactly our best month.” Matt smiled, which got him a smile of sorts in return from Sherwin.

  “It’s a good month if you’re trying to avoid crowds, and get some peace and quiet. That’s what I’m trying to do.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m overworked and underpaid, and I needed a break. Golf resorts are usually nice places, and offseason they can be tranquil.”

  “What is it you do for a living, Mr. Sherwin?”

  “I’d rath
er not say.”

  “Why not?”

  Sherwin looked out the window, and then back at Matt. “Unless you believe my line of employment is relevant to your case, I’d rather remain private.”

  Standoff.

  “So, you’re here for a little R & R, correct? Why Port Stirling Links? Why not a cabin on the beach if you wanted quiet?”

  “Because the service in golf resorts is usually top notch, and

  this place has an excellent reputation. I didn’t want to have to do anything myself.”

  “Are you married?”

  Sherwin made a show of looking at his watch. “What time is it? My divorce should be final just about now.” His face looked resigned, and not terribly upset.

  “Sorry to hear that.”

  Sherwin shrugged. “It happens”.

  “Where were you Friday night between the hours of 6:00 p.m. and midnight?”

  “Was that when your murder happened?”

  “Yes. Where were you?”

  “Let’s see. Wednesday night I ate here at the resort because I arrived after dark and didn’t know my way around. Thursday, too, I think. Friday night I recall going to that seafood shack down by the harbor. Yes, that’s right. I had fish and chips, and coleslaw, and it was delicious.”

  “Are you talking about “The Crab Shack”? What time were you there, do you think?”

  “Yes, that’s it. I had a cocktail in the bar here first, and then went to dinner. I was probably in the bar about 6:30 p.m.—the bartender and I talked about the Kapalua golf tournament on his TV, so I’m sure he’ll remember me. Then I went downtown and ate. I read a book at a corner table in the restaurant, and was probably there about an hour.”

  “What did you do after you left the restaurant?”

  “Came back here and read until I went to bed. Exciting, huh?” Sherwin said, smiling.

  “What time do you think you got back here?”

  “Not sure. I probably got to the restaurant about 7:30 p.m., and left an hour or so later, so it must have been about 8:45 p.m.. Does that sound about right?”

  “You tell me.”

  “See,” said Sherwin, growing agitated, “part of the deal with being on vacation is that you’re not married to the clock. I don’t know what the hell time it was. I had a drink, I went out for dinner, I read my book—that’s it.”

  “Where do you live? And, can I see your ID, please?” Matt agreed with the sheriff’s assessment; something felt off here.

  Sherwin walked across the room to a padded shoulder bag sitting on the floor near a closet. Reaching into a zippered pocket, he drew out his wallet.

  “I live in La Jolla, California,” he said formally, handing Matt his driver’s license. The photo and description matched Sherwin, although he looked a little heavier than the 180 lbs. his license read. But the stated height of 6’2” fit the man before him.

  Matt jotted down the license number, along with Sherwin’s La Jolla address, and then asked “Do you know Fred Bushnell?”

  “No,” Sherwin answered immediately. “Who is he?”

  “He’s the mayor of Port Stirling. It was his daughter who was murdered Friday night.”

  “Wow.”

  “That’s right. You’re sure you don’t know the mayor, or have any business with him on this trip?”

  “No and no. I’m here to start getting over my divorce, and to think about my next steps in life. Is that so hard to understand?”

  “Why are you getting divorced? Did your wife find out you’re a pedophile, and she’s bolting? Is that your secret?”

  Clay Sherwin looked hard at Matt, and then spoke calmly. “I am not a pedophile. I did not kill the mayor’s child. I am here to relax and think about my life. End of story.”

  “Why are you getting divorced? You didn’t answer that question,” Matt said, bulldog-like.

  “My wife fell in love with her personal trainer. A woman.” He looked out the window, and was suddenly intrigued by the lily pads floating on top of the pond’s surface.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Sherwin. I’m sure that was a shock.”

  “Yes. Although it is a California thing,” he said with a sardonic smile.

  “So, you didn’t take out your anger at the female sex by stabbing Emily Bushnell Friday night?” One more try.

  “No. I don’t know these people, and I don’t know anything about your murder. Please talk to the bartender here and the restaurant people. They’ll confirm I was where I said I was.”

  “Oh, we’ll do that, you can count on it. But we don’t know where you were the rest of Friday night, do we? I assume you had no guests in your room? No visitors?”

  “I was alone, and I turned in early. I woke up at dawn Saturday, and walked the golf course before anyone was out there playing. You’ll have to take my word for it.”

  “That’s not how I roll, Mr. Sherwin,” said Matt. “We’ll be checking out every aspect of your alibi and your life. Things like, where do you go when you leave the resort and don’t come back all day? We’ll know if there is any link at all between you and the Bushnells. We’ll learn why you’re really here.”

  “Good God, man, I’ve told you the truth. What more can I do?”

  “Where do you go when you drive out of the resort?”

  “I drove to Buck Bay one day to buy a new battery for my computer. I went to their history museum—interesting collection. I wanted to see a cranberry bog, so drove out there one day. Just sightseeing and looking around. Takes my mind off my troubles.” He stared at Matt, daring him to contradict him.

  “Do you have any kids of your own?”

  Sherwin stood up. “That’s it, Mr. Horning. I’m finished answering your questions. I’d like you to leave now.”

  Matt stood up, too. “Please don’t leave town until you hear from me that it’s OK. I’ll need a day or two to check out your story, and I want you to stay put until then. Understood?”

  “Are you ordering me to stay? I just want to be clear.”

  “Yes, I am. Until we dismiss you as a suspect, you are not to leave Port Stirling.”

  “Do I need a lawyer?”

  “That’s your call, Mr. Sherwin.”

  “This is unbelievable,” he said and appeared truly flabbergasted by this turn of events. “If I had killed this girl, wouldn’t I have left town immediately afterward? And isn’t it much more likely that it’s someone the kid knew?”

  “Both good points. But while we’re gathering information in this investigative phase, I’d really appreciate you sticking around.”

  “I’ll be here until Wednesday. After that, you’re going to have to arrest me or let me go,” Sherwin said. He walked to the door and opened it.

  Matt walked through the door, turned to face Clay Sherwin, pointed his index finger at his face and said, “Stay put.”

  CHAPTER 29

  Driving back to town, Matt’s cell phone vibrated in the clip on his belt. It was his mother.

  “I’m calling to check in on you,” said Beverly Horning. “And to say we’ll all be thinking about you this afternoon during your swearing-in ceremony.”

  Oh, shit, he hadn’t called home since he’d arrived at the Buck Bay Airport Saturday morning. His family had no idea what was going on.

  “Actually, mom, there was a change in the plan—I was sworn in Saturday. On the beach at the Pacific Ocean. In the rain. There’s been quite a few changes since I spoke to you on Saturday.”

  “Changes? Already? What?”

  “The mayor of Port Stirling’s 4-year-old daughter was found murdered on the beach Saturday morning just before my plane landed. We don’t know who did it yet, and we’ve launched a big investigation. I started my job Saturday morning instead, and it’s all hands on deck. You can imagine.”

  “Oh my God,” Beverly excla
imed. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine, mom. But I’ll be better when we figure out who did this. It’s a bit of a tight spot, being it’s the mayor’s family and all. Just my luck, huh?”

  “Is the family involved?”

  “We don’t know yet, and I really can’t talk about the details.”

  Dead air on the phone.

  “Mom, are you still there?”

  “I’m here. What if you don’t catch the killer? This couldn’t be any worse for you, Matthew. You’re going to be in the news again. I’m worried.”

  “It’s gonna be OK. I’ll solve this case, and I’ll be a hero,” Matt joked in an attempt to placate his mother. “Please don’t worry, mom. Everyone here has been real nice to me, and it’s starting to feel like home already. I’m going to get through this, you’ll see. I do have some investigative skills, you know.”

  “Of course you do, dear. It’s just . . . the mayor’s daughter. So unfair.”

  “What’s unfair is that a child was murdered. I’ll try to keep you posted, but please understand that I’m up to my eyeballs right now.””

  “Do your job, Matthew, and don’t worry about us. Everyone here is fine, but the drought is showing no signs of letting up.”

  “We’ve got plenty of water you can have,” he laughed. “You would not believe the storm we had yesterday and last night. I bet it rained two inches.”

  “Have you met any nice women yet?”

  “Lots of pretty women here, mom, the place is literally crawlin’ with them. I can barely turn around without running into one.”

  “Now you’re being sarcastic,” Beverly chided. “No need to be a smarty-pants, I was just asking the question.”

  “There’s no point in me even looking at a woman right now. If I don’t figure out who killed the mayor’s daughter, I won’t be here long enough to have a date. Gotta run, mom. Give my love to dad.”