by Kay Jennings
“You might be surprised,” Bernice said.“Blood evidence is harder to destroy than you think. If any got between the blade and the handle, for example, we might get a good sample. It’s a longshot we’ll get anything usable in a court of law, but it’s worth having the lab take a look.”
Matt stared down the DA and said, “I’ll be right back.”
* * *
“While we haven’t ruled out Marjorie completely yet,” Matt started, standing in front of his big board, “I’ve moved Jack to the top of our list, and I want to go through my reasoning with you and get your feedback.” No one on the county team had moved a muscle in his absence.
“There are some inconsistencies with Jack’s first statement to us that, on follow up, put him squarely in our crosshairs.” He turned to his board and put a red star next to where he had noted ‘Was not at the movie Friday night’. “Jack’s best friend, Joey Hawthorne, on interrogation broke down and admitted that Jack had not stayed at the movies with him. Jack called Joey on Saturday morning and asked him to lie for him. Said he didn’t kill his sister, but he needed an alibi for where he was. Joey believed him, and so he lied for him initially.”
“That little shit,” said Patty.
“They’re best friends, Patty,” sympathized Fern. “Joey doesn’t believe Jack killed Emily, and he didn’t want him to get in trouble.”
“Still,” said Sonders, “kids need to understand that lying to the police is not acceptable. Shall I put Joey in the hoosegow for a night to teach him a lesson?”
Matt couldn’t tell if Ed was kidding or not.
“Let’s deal with Joey later,” Matt hurried on. “So, not only does Jack not have an alibi, he also told me when I asked about his clothing from Friday night, that he threw away his shoes.”
“Kids don’t ever throw away their clothes,” interjected Patty.
“Exactly! That’s what I said,” Fern said.
“This is circumstantial,” said the district attorney. “Kids lie for lots of reasons. This doesn’t mean Jack is a killer. C’mon, Chief, you need to do better than this.”
A knock at the conference room door spooked everyone.
In walked Mary Lou with a platter of food. “Just in case you’re here for a while,” she smiled. “We wouldn’t want starvation to set in for Chinook County’s finest.”
“Thanks, Mary Lou,” said Matt. “Very nice of you.”
After Mary Lou set down the platter and left, Matt said to Dalrymple, “I understand what you’re saying, David. My point is that Jack did lie, and while we don’t know the reason, I have to pursue it.”
Dalrymple asked “What possible motive could Jack have for wanting his sister dead?”
“That’s the question of the day,” answered Matt. “We don’t know the ‘why’ yet, only that we now know Jack had the opportunity and the means to commit the crime. It’s suspicious that he threw away his shoes on the night in question. And, asking his friend to lie for him at the least denotes that he is worried about something. If he didn’t stay at the movies for long, where was he?”
“All good points,” said Sonders. “It’s natural to overlook a youngster in this kind of situation, but we should hone in on Jack, in my estimation. Fourteen-year-olds do commit murder. It’s rare, but it does happen. What else did Jack say or do that creeped you out?”
“He suggested that Emily had a life-threatening illness, and that perhaps her parents had killed her so she wouldn’t suffer. But it came off as self-serving, like he was trying to throw suspicion off himself and shade onto Marjorie and Fred. It felt like he was trying to trick me.”
“Have you spoken to Emily’s doctor yet?” asked Bernice.
“No, he’s been with patients all day, and I’m waiting for him to call me back.”
“I would swear on a stack of bibles that there wasn’t one thing wrong with that girl,” said Bernice. “We did a thorough autopsy, and there was absolutely nothing else that showed up. I’m anxious to hear from her physician, though. Who’s spent the most time with Jack during this investigation?”
Fern and Matt looked at each other. “Both of us, I would say,” said Matt. “Why?”
“Is there a chance that Jack is schizophrenic?” asked Bernice in a hushed tone.
“Abnormal social behavior. A disconnect from reality. Delusional,” answered Fern. “Yes, there’s a chance. You think so, Bernice?”
“Yes,” said Bernice. “And it can develop in the teen years, particularly between 14 and 18. Withdrawal from family and friends. Irritability and depression. Some teens even have visual hallucinations or hear voices. Hostility toward others and a lack of restraint—what we call ‘no filter’. Tell me, does Jack make eye contact with you when you’re speaking to him?”
“Not really, no,” replied Fern. “He kind of looks at the wall behind me. Plus, he’s weird and disturbing. That may not be politically correct to say, but that’s the vibe I get.”
“Same here,” said Matt. “The first time we talked, he never focused on us, his eyes wandered around the room. Is that a symptom?”
“It can be,” Bernice said. “It’s tied to a lack of emotion, like an inappropriate emotional response to something.”
“Such as you’ve just been informed that your sister is dead, and your first thought is that you want breakfast?” Matt said, and felt the hair on his arms stand up.
“Precisely. Did Jack do that?”
“Yes,” Matt said.
Quiet.
“Schizophrenics can pose a danger to themselves or society,” said Fern, mainly to break the silence.
“They can,” agreed Bernice, “especially if they are undiagnosed. Treatment options have good results, but often, especially in teenagers, schizophrenia goes undiagnosed—parents think their kid is just being a typical teenager. But once we know what we’re dealing with, the outlook for the disorder can improve. Meds and a loving support network can help keep the symptoms under control. Whether or not Jack killed Emily, he should be evaluated by a mental health provider. My opinion is that you might have it right, Matt.”
“A delusional, paranoid, hostile kid hearing voices—that could make up for the lack of an obvious motive in this case,” said Sonders. “Yikes.”
“Yikes, indeed,” echoed Bernice. “We need to make sure that Jack is kept at home until we get to the bottom of this. Absolutely no school until we can examine him.”
“The family is having Emily’s funeral tomorrow morning,” said Matt. “Jack won’t be going to school. And, we need to have a presence at the funeral to see if anyone strange shows up, and to observe the family. Bernice, could you come and keep your trained eye on Jack?”
“Yes, that’s a good idea. Where and what time is it? I need to be there,” Bernice said. Firm jaw, unblinking.
“It’s at Port Cemetery in Mohegan. Starts at 10:00 a.m.,” Matt said. “Do you know where…”
The War Room door suddenly opened and in walked Jay grinning broadly. In his hand was a large evidence bag and a pair of what looked like Nikes.
“Yee-haw!” yelled Matt in Jay’s direction. “Are those what I think they are?”
“If you think they are a size 8.5 pair of silver and black, blood-soaked Nikes, then yes,” Jay said.
Matt stood frozen in position, the dry-erase marker in his hand poised in mid-air. Fern started to quietly cry and shake, and Patty put her arm around her. She was shaking, too.
Sonders was the first to regain his equilibrium. “Jumpin’ Jehoshaphat!” he exclaimed. “That’s nice work, Officer Finley. I presume they match the description of Jack’s shoes, Chief?”
Matt nodded, unable to speak for a moment.
“What’s more,” Jay piped in, “Russell Throckmorton, the transfer station manager who found these”—he held up the bag—“found them in with crab shells wrapped in newspa
per, and mail and circulars with the Bushnell name on them. It’s clearly their garbage. Oh, we also found a kids red sweater and a pair of jeans, also blood-spattered.”
Fern buried her face in her hands and her shoulders shook. Even crusty Sheriff Johnson surreptitiously wiped a wayward tear off his chin.
“Marjorie told us the family had a crab feast Friday before the kids dispersed,” Matt, regaining his composure, explained to the others. “So that would account for the crab remains. Please tell me you also preserved the pieces of mail with their name and the boy’s clothes?”
“Naturally,” said Jay. “I learned everything I know from you,” he grinned.
“Don’t be a smart ass,” Matt grinned back at his officer. He’d never been prouder.
Bernice cleared her throat. She was also distressed at the violence, now obviously in front of them and impossible to ignore. “Jack Bushnell,” she began to speak, “is suffering from undiagnosed schizophrenia, he takes a utility knife from their kitchen, talks Emily into climbing out her window and going to the beach with him, kills her in an acute schizophrenic episode, and leaves her to die, figuring the night’s high tide will take her body out to sea, lost forever. He tosses the knife into the ocean. He then comes back to the house, throws his bloody shoes and clothes in the garbage, knowing it will be picked up Saturday morning, and goes to bed.”
Silence around the table while everyone contemplated the truly heinous violence.
“You’ve got it right, Bernice,” Matt said quietly. “The one thing that’s always bothered me in this case was the bite marks on Emily’s body. An acute schizophrenic episode often involves hearing voices. It makes some sense that Jack’s voices told him to eat Emily.” He paused and looked down at the floor, taking a deep breath. “We’ll try to get a confession. I’d like to get the lab results on the knife and clothes, and get our evidence neatly tied up before we confront Jack. Are we all agreed on that?”
“Yes, that’s proper procedure,” said the DA. “I’m not sure you’ll even need a confession if the knife can be proved to come from the Bushnell home, and if these shoes and clothes can be identified as belonging to Jack. It’s strong physical evidence on its own. Especially with his alibi blown to smithereens by Joey.”
Ed Sonders asked, “I’m wondering, Bernice, is there a chance that Jack might not remember killing Emily?”
“There’s a chance,” she nodded. “But the fact that he asked his friend Joey to lie for him likely means he remembered Saturday morning what he’d done, and was determined to cover it up. This poor kid is really sick. I mean, I guess that’s obvious if Emily’s death went down like we think it did, but this is an especially acute episode that’s more closely associated with full-blown schizophrenia. Jack needs help and he needs it now.”
“We’ll make sure Jack gets the help he needs,” Matt assured Bernice, “and I appreciate your legal take, David, but first I want to try for a confession. Once we’re sure the knife came from the Bushnell set and not from Ted Frolick’s – David, can you get us new warrants to check?”
Dalrymple nodded, and Matt continued, “Even if the lab can’t give us much, it’s a strong piece of evidence based solely on the fact that someone threw it in the ocean. I agree with David that coupled with Jack’s shoes and clothing, I’d say we’ve got ‘beyond a shadow of a doubt’, but if we can get him to confess, it’s a lock. I’ll allow the family to get through Emily’s funeral tomorrow morning before I confront Jack.”
“My grandmother is buried at Port Cemetery,” Sonders said. “I’ll join you. You might need some extra hands.”
“Ed’s right,” Patty said looking around the table and getting confirming nods. “We’ll all be there, Chief.” said Patty grimly.
Fern sat motionless.
“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen,” Matt said. “While we wait for lab results and search warrants, let’s go through everyone’s tasks for tomorrow,” Matt said.
Chapter 39
Wednesday, 8:30 p.m.
Matt pulled into his driveway, switched off the engine, and sat for a minute with his forehead resting on the steering wheel. Overhead, a billion stars glittered in a black sky that never ended. The full moon’s reflection on the water appeared to reach all the way from the horizon to the shore. It produced enough light to clearly see the rocks and sand on the beach. In his worn-out state, Matt stopped to appreciate the glassy, calm sea lit up like fireworks on the 4th of July.
He knew it wasn’t quite over yet, but Matt felt as calm as the vast Pacific in front of him. Lots of emotions were going through him on this night, the night after he was originally scheduled to begin his new job, his new life. Relief. Accomplishment. Gratitude. Mostly gratitude, because the rag-tag crime team that had been thrown together out of necessity had pulled off an amazing feat under adverse conditions. One of the big unknowns when Matt decided to take a new job in an entirely new place and situation had been ‘would there be anyone he could count on?’ Now, with no misgivings whatsoever, he could answer a resounding ‘yes’ to that question. He’d led the investigation—did his job—but his team did everything he told them to do, and their dogged persistence helped him get results.
Jay Finley was a rock: dedicated, smart, and hard-working. In just five days’ time, under pressure-packed circumstances, Matt now knew in his heart that he and Jay would be a terrific team going forward. The quarterback and his top wide receiver; joined at the hip forever after this successful Hail Mary pass.
And Fern. She had kept him honest, and her skill set on profiling Jack and Marjorie had been indispensable. She’d done a great job on Day One uncovering the first hints of a dysfunctional family. Methodically, Fern had examined some of the weirdness which might turn out to be at the root of Jack’s illness.
Beyond work, he enjoyed Fern’s and Jay’s company as well. When this was all over, he would also thank them for their friendship. He’d held back on doing that in the first few days, even though their immediate acceptance of him had meant so much when he first arrived; better to keep it all business during an investigation.
Patty, Ed, Bernice—they were all way better at their jobs than this remote part of the country had any right to hope for. Even David Dalrymple—while he would never be best friends with the district attorney—had done his job. Matt hoped they wouldn’t be put to the test again anytime soon, but he knew where to turn if trouble struck Port Stirling.
Finally, Matt hauled himself and his briefcase out of the car, walked around the side of his cottage, and stood on the bluff staring out to sea on this tranquil night. The only sound was the gentle burst of the waves hitting the shore. There was not another human being in sight. He knew he wanted to be here in this quirky small town with its astounding natural beauty. Tonight, he was not afraid to look down the beach toward Emily’s tunnel, just beyond the promontory. I still don’t know why your brother did this to you, Emily, but we’re going to find out, and we’ll try our best to let you rest in peace.
As he entered his front door, the weight of the past five days pushed down hard on his shoulders. He dropped his briefcase inside the door and rubbed his bleary eyes. No more work tonight, Matt needed a good night’s sleep.
He went to his frig and peered inside, and first popped the top off a Deschutes beer—his new go-to brand—chugging it while he looked over his potential dinner choices. It was after 8:30 p.m., so he didn’t want to stuff himself, but the hunger pangs were real and he knew he wouldn’t sleep with his stomach growling at him. When all else fails, cheese omelet. He pulled out three eggs, some Port Stirling cheddar cheese—made right here in town according to his market check-out girl—and some mushrooms. Matt didn’t know it, but the delicious shrooms were also local, picked in the forest between Port Stirling and Hornbuckle River.
Sitting at his dining room table in what tonight was a soundless cottage, Matt thought about how to handle his two big
gest problems tomorrow: how to wrangle a confession out of Jack, and how to tell Fred and Marjorie that they were about to lose a second child. As he ate his omelet and washed it down with the beer, he was, however, having trouble focusing on the task at hand.
Fern kept jumping into his mind. Smart and committed, yes, but she was fragile, as evidenced by her reaction to Jack’s apparent violence and how close she had been to it. Natural, of course; it even gave Matt the shivers to recall his interaction with Jack in his room yesterday.
He knew that Fern had relished being part of his team, although that excitement might now be tempered by today’s turn of events. He could use someone with her advocate’s resume in his new department. Or, was he trying to find a way to justify the fact that maybe, deep down, he wanted Fern closer?
It’s not that. People can become close at work during intense periods like this one, and that’s all it is between Fern and me. That’s all this is, the strain and immediacy of this case.
He walked his dirty dishes over to the sink and rinsed them off. Whether it was personal or professional, he wanted to protect Fern while she was in this delicate, breakable state—he didn’t want her at the funeral tomorrow morning, even though her job called for it. He dried off his hands on a dishtowel with sea gulls on it, reached for the phone, and dialed Fern’s cell.
“You OK?” he asked when she said ‘hello’.
“I’m OK. I’ve stopped crying, that’s something.”
“Yeah. That’s something alright.”
“You don’t have to check on me, Matt, I’m a grown woman.”
“I’m not checking on you. I want to talk about tomorrow. I don’t want you at Emily’s funeral.”
“Why not?”
“Look, Fern, you’re not used to this level of violence, and it can bring down even hardened police officers—I’ve seen it happen more than once. I realize it’s your job to be there for the family, but until you have a chance to catch your breath, it’s not a good idea for you to see Jack.”
