by Kay Jennings
And, with that, the two agents from the United States Department of State left the building.
* * *
Well, that was interesting, Matt thought, swinging his chair around to look out his window. He could see for miles up the coast today, with nary a cloud in sight. Two small craft were motoring down Twisty River, headed out over the bar. They don’t look like international drug smuggling boats. He watched them, caring that they made it safely across the rough patch where the river met the ocean. Catch me a fish for dinner, guys.
Matt dialed Fern’s number. “Where are you?” he asked.
“In your parking lot…just pulling in.”
“Stay there. I’m coming out.”
Matt opened the side entrance and waited for Fern to exit the powder blue VW. He noticed that the red rose was looking a little sad in its vase. Time for a replacement.
“Howdy,” Matt greeted her, as she walked toward the building.
“Howdy back,” she smiled. “What are you doing?”
“Talking to Jay and Walt about garbage. You?”
Fern looked quizzically at him, but replied “I’ve been in Twisty River. I went to talk to my buddy, Barbara. She confirmed that she went out with Craig Kenton Friday night. Then he spent the night at her place.”
“Yeah, Kenton appears to get around. Unfortunately for us, his alibi for Friday night is airtight, according to Ed. Everybody saw them—gas station attendant who knows Kenton, waitress at the restaurant, your friend’s neighbors. There’s no way he could have been in Port Stirling to kill Emily.”
“That’s what Barbara said, too, and I believe her. She was shocked to hear about what happened, but she said she knows for a fact that Craig was with her all night. I don’t even want to think about how she knows that,” Fern said, grimacing.
“But you said he was cute, if I recall,” Matt teased.
“That was before I knew he was sleeping with half the women in Chinook County,” she replied, indignant. “Ugh.”
“Did you tell your friend about Kenton and Marjorie?”
“Couldn’t quite bring myself to do it,” admitted Fern. “And, I also had doubts about whether we should be spreading that info around at this point in our investigation. So I kept my mouth shut.”
“That’s good. She’ll probably find out anyway—Kenton himself might even tell her. I would if I were him. But until we either arrest Marjorie or cross her off our list, the fewer people who know about their affair the better.”
“Why are we standing out here?” asked Fern.
“Before we go in, let’s talk about how we’re going to approach the family next. I don’t know if these walls have ears or not,” Matt said. He gestured at the building.
“Getting paranoid, are we?” Fern said.
“Maybe. Can you call the house and tell the mayor we’ll be
there about 1:00 p.m.? Tell him we want to talk to Jack just to tie up some loose ends. The rest of them can go for a walk or something, but we need Jack at the house when we get there. If you call and he knows you’re coming, he might be more relaxed about me talking to Jack again.”
“I’ll do it, but he probably won’t like it.”
“Tough,” Matt responded. “I don’t like it that his daughter was murdered.” He held open the door for Fern.
Chapter 34
Tuesday, 11:00 a.m.
Jay looked up the phone number for the local garbage transfer station, and, ashamed, realized he hadn’t once called it before today. It had never occurred to him on previous cases that a contact at the dump might be important. Leave it to his new chief to grasp that it might be an evidence goldmine.
Jay was patched through to the Port Stirling Transfer Station manager Russell Throckmorton. He explained who he was.
“What can I do you for, Officer Finley?” said Throckmorton in friendly fashion.
“We need to know if the Saturday morning garbage pick-up in town includes everyone in Port Stirling. Is it all residences, including local farms, and businesses like the golf course?”
“Yes, it is. Anyone with a garbage can within six miles of Port Stirling gets pick-up on Saturday between 7:00 a.m.-4:00 p.m.”
“And what happens to it after it’s picked up?”
“It’s brought here to the Transfer Station, about 20 miles up the highway from Port Stirling. And then, twice a week it gets loaded onto the transfer trailers that haul it to the Dry Creek Landfill in White City, down in southern Oregon by Medford.”
“Has the Saturday pick-up left your place yet?” Jay asked and held his breath, primarily because he didn’t want to drive the three hours to Medford.
“No, it will go out tomorrow morning. The transfer station is always closed on Sundays, and it usually leaves here on Monday. But because yesterday was the MLK holiday, we were closed two days.”
“Yes! I’m going to bring some officers and come up there,” Jay told Throckmorton. “Please leave everything as it is right now, OK? I’ll explain what we’re looking for when I get there. I’ve got to do a couple of things here first. Will you be there about 12:30 p.m?”
“I’ll be here, and I’ll help you in any way I can. Bring boots you don’t care too much about.”
* * *
Tuesday, 1:00 p.m.
Fred Bushnell answered the door with an extremely grim look plastered to his face. “Do you have any leads?” he asked Matt once he and Fern were inside.
“No, sir. In fact, we have eliminated several potential suspects during questioning and following up on alibis over the past 24 hours or so. I’m sorry,” said Matt.
“It feels like you’re spending more time on us than out there looking for the real killer,” Fred said with some defiance.
“Our investigation is ongoing, sir. We’ve got the county crime team and all of the area police departments focused on Emily’s murder. But you need to understand that much of our work is plodding in nature, following up on even the smallest leads and details.”
“Who have you talked to?” Fred demanded.
“At this point it’s inappropriate to name suspects,” Matt stood his ground. “We have looked at people who may have a grudge against you, local ne’er-do-wells, and transients in the area last Friday. We have already ruled out some people who were potential suspects because they have airtight alibis, so you can see that it’s pointless to name them until we have fully investigated.”
“I suppose that’s true,” said Fred, glumly. “Is there anything I can do to help you? Sitting around here is getting old.”
“The only thought I had is that you might want to start planning Emily’s funeral,” Matt said. A hush fell over the room. “The medical examiner has completed her investigation, and has released the body.”
Fern moved closer to Fred and said, “Do you know what your family wants to do?”
“We talked about it this morning, and we’ll have a service. Emily will be buried in the family plot at the Port Cemetery in Mohegan. Always thought I’d be the first one in this generation to make it there.” Fred teared up, and withdrew a ready handkerchief from his pocket.
Matt put his hand on Fred’s shoulder. “Perhaps you, Gary, and Susan might go for a drive and a walk on the jetty on this sunny afternoon, and discuss plans. Fern and I want to talk to Jack to clear up some loose ends, and Marjorie might want to stick around while we do that. Does that sound OK to you, sir?”
Fred nodded silently. Marjorie appeared behind him. “You again.” It was a statement directed at Matt, not a question.
“Marjorie, we have some follow-up questions for you and Jack,” Matt said. “OK with you?”
She frowned. “Yes, Jack is waiting for you in the living room, as Fern instructed.” Snide tone.
“Thank you. Your husband, Gary, and Susan are going for a drive while we talk.”
“Why? Is that necessary?” Marjorie was on alert.
“Just to get some fresh air, and they’re going to talk about arrangements for Emily’s body. I’m so sorry to trouble you with this,” Matt said.
“It’s alright, Marjorie,” said Fred. “We’ll clear out for a bit while you and Jack talk to Chief Horning.” Matt detected a note of coolness in Fred’s voice directed at his wife. Not surprising, really.
Matt broke the tension by heading off toward the living room, and saying “I’ll go find Jack then.” Fern trotted along behind him.
The three remaining Bushnell children were in varying degrees of slouch as Matt went into the room. Jack was laying on the floor, holding up a comic book in front of his face; Susan was curled up in a club chair with Vogue magazine; Gary was stretched out on the sofa, and looked to be asleep.
“Hi, Jack,” Matt leaned over him and greeted him. “How’re you doing today?”
“OK, I guess.”
“Let’s go in your room and talk for a while, shall we?”
Jack sat up quickly. “Why do we have to go in my room?”
“I’d like to see where you live, if that’s alright with you,” Matt smiled.
“I guess. Still don’t see why,” he grumbled, getting to his feet and moving into the hall. Matt followed behind the 14-year-old, while Fern said a few words to Susan. Gary didn’t wake up.
Matt turned around in the hallway and said to Marjorie, “Do you want to come in Jack’s room with us?”
“You go ahead. I’ve got some cleanup to do in the kitchen.” She flapped one hand in the direction of the kitchen.
“I’ll help you,” Fern said to Marjorie, on her heels, and not giving her a chance to object.
Jack’s room was fairly typical for a teenage boy, thought Matt. He had a nephew, Andrew, about Jack’s age, and their bedrooms looked similar. Jack’s room was a little neater than Andrew’s, but they had some of the same stuff.
“Whadda you want?” Jack asked.
“I just want to get to know you a little better,” Matt started slowly. “Why don’t you tell me again about what you did Friday night? I’m not sure I’ve heard the whole story yet.”
“Do you think I killed Emily?”
“I don’t think anything yet, Jack,” Matt answered the boy’s question honestly. “But the only way we’ll find out who did this to your sister is by asking questions. OK?”
“Makes sense.”
“So, you ate dinner with your family Friday night, and then you went to the movies. Have I got that straight?”
“Yeah, me and Joey—he’s my best friend—went to the movies.”
“And you saw the new Star Wars and Deadpool, correct?”
“That’s right.” Not offering anything to Matt.
“Did you tell me the ending of Star Wars is good? I haven’t seen it yet.”
Jack looked puzzled for a minute. “You know, it just kinda ended. Like the other ones.”
Matt leaned back into a small chair, trying to appear casual as he studied Jack. “You also snuck into Deadpool, right? How did it end?” Matt made it a point to keep smiling at the boy.
“Uh, I don’t remember exactly what happened in that one. Oh, yeah, wait . . . we went back to Star Wars. That’s why I don’t remember much.”
Matt scribbled a note in his notebook. Jack watched him, right leg bouncing up and down, and didn’t say anything.
“What did you do after you left the movies?”
“I walked home and went to bed.”
“What time was that, about?”
“Couldn’t tell you.”
“Didn’t you look at a clock when you went to bed?”
“Nope.”
“Was your sister’s light off?”
“Yeah, her room was dark.”
Matt got up from the side chair he’d been sitting in, and moved around the room. Jack eyed him.
He fingered a throw pillow at the foot of his bed and said “Did you like Emily?”
“She was OK, I guess,” he said flatly. Not much emotion today.
“She wasn’t a pain-in-the-you-know-what?” he smiled at him. “I have a sister, too, and growing up she used to annoy me all the time.”
“Sometimes. But mostly, Em was OK.”
“What were you wearing Friday night?”
“I dunno. Probably jeans and a sweater.”
Matt moved to where Jack’s letterman jacket was hanging on the back of his desk chair, and stroking it, he said “You weren’t wearing this cool jacket?”
“Please stop touching my things!” Jack said, growing agitated.
Matt stopped. “I need you to think hard about Friday night and tell me what you had on. Imagine you’re sitting in your seat at the movies—can you remember?”
“Jeans, and a red, no, black, sweater. That’s it, a black sweater. I’m sure.”
“What were you wearing on your feet?”
“My old Nikes.”
“Can I see those clothes now?”
Jack moved to his closet and pulled out a pair of jeans and a black sweater. No signs of blood.
“You have several pairs of jeans. Are you sure these were the ones you were wearing Friday night?”
“I think so.”
“I don’t see a red sweater. Do you have one?”
“No. No red one.”
“Then why did you start to say you had on a red one?”
“I used to have a red sweater and I wore it a lot, but I outgrew it. I guess that’s why I thought of it.”
Matt nodded as if in agreement. “Where are your Nikes?”
“Well, funny thing. Mom said I needed new shoes, they were getting too small. So I threw them in the garbage Friday night after I got home. We were going shopping on Saturday for new shoes. Until, you know, Em.”
“What day is your garbage picked up, Jack?”
“Saturday, I think.”
Shit, call Jay ASAP!
“Why did you walk home? I thought the plan was for Joey’s parents to pick you up and bring you?”
“I felt like it. I like fog. It’s cool, don’t you think?”
Matt, who, so far, hated fog, smiled and nodded. “How long a walk is it from the movies to your house?”
“I ran most of the way—I’m pretty fast. Probably about ten minutes.”
“I hear you’re fast. On the track team, right? Is that how you got this letterman’s jacket?” he asked, rubbing it again.
“Please leave that alone!” Jack said, and moved to take the jacket out of his hands.
“Oh, right, sorry. I forgot you don’t want me to touch your stuff. Was Emily always touching your stuff?”
“No. She knew better. My room is off limits to everybody.”
“Are you hiding anything in here?” Matt asked. “Something you don’t want anyone to see?”
“No. It’s my room and my stuff, and it’s private. Are you done?” Jack looked at Matt with a blank, bored look on his face.
“Did you kill Emily, Jack? Did you?”
Jack’s face was blank. “Why would I kill my little sister? Don’t you need a reason to do something like that?”
“Maybe she made you really mad, and you lost it and stabbed her. Is that what happened? You can tell me, son.”
Jack fidgeted, but looked directly at Matt and said “It wasn’t me. She’s my sister and I didn’t hurt her.”
“Did you ever walk on the beach with Emily? Have you been in the tunnel where we found her body?”
“Yeah, we all walk on the beach, and everybody goes in that tunnel. There’s nobody in town that doesn’t walk through that tunnel at low tide. Why do you think it’s me?”
“I think that with Emily out of the way, you would be the baby of the family again. Maybe
you liked that, and resented it when she came along. You weren’t the baby anymore. Weren’t special anymore.”
“I’m no baby. That’s crazy,” Jack said. He was considerably calm and mature, especially under the circumstances, thought Matt.
“But you were the special child for almost ten years before Emily was born. Didn’t it make you angry when she arrived and started getting all of the attention you used to get?” Matt persisted.
“No. I didn’t give a shit.”
“It would be normal if you reacted badly to a sister stealing your thunder. Are you sure you didn’t hate Emily from the minute she was born?”
“I already told you. I didn’t hate her. I didn’t hurt her.”
“You keep saying ‘I didn’t hurt her’ not ‘I didn’t kill her’. Which is it?” Matt said in his toughest voice.
“I didn’t kill her. There. Are you satisfied now? Leave me alone.” He glared at Matt.
Ignoring his plea, Matt said, “Did you hide the knife, Jack, or did you throw it in the ocean?”
“There’s no knife. There’s no reason. I was at the movies. You need to find out who really killed my sister and stop bothering me. Now.”
“OK, you win. If you say you didn’t kill Emily, I believe you,” Matt told the boy. He gave him a deliberate smile. “Someone killed her. Do you have any ideas on who might have wanted to harm your sister?”
Jack screwed up his face, and Matt could tell he was thinking hard. He waited.
“Do you know Em was sick?” Jack said finally.
“What do you mean?”
“I think she had something big wrong with her, like a brain tumor or something. Mom and Dad have been acting weird, like something bad was wrong.”
Matt sat, stunned, and looked at Jack. “Have your mom or dad said anything to you about Emily being sick? Why would you think such a thing?”
“Nobody’s told me anything. But mom has taken her to the doctor a lot lately. I just kinda figured it out. Maybe mom killed her because she knew she was going to die anyway, and she didn’t want Em to suffer.” Jack looked directly at Matt, unblinking.
