Secrets in the Shallows (Book 1: The Monastery Murders)

by Karen Vance Hammond

  Slightly startled at his outburst, the crowd leaned back and stopped immediately. A hush blanketed the crowd as John unlocked the car and settled Katy inside. As he walked to the driver’s side, he nodded to the people and said, “Thank you. Please, be that respectful of the family.” John got into the car and swiftly drove away from the parking lot..

  * * * *

  As John drove down Route 17 towards Katy’s home, Katy reached over and turned on the radio to a smooth jazz station and said, “I could use something soothing to relax a little.”

  “I know what you mean. It’s been a long day. I’m glad we picked up some Chinese food. I’m starving!” John exclaimed and then paused. Glancing at her briefly, he shifted his mood. “You know how much I love you, baby?”

  Katy looked over and smiled at him. “I think I have a good idea.”

  While grinning at Katy, John heard an announcement begin on the radio. “Hold on, please. Turn that up, Katy.”

  Katy turned up the volume as they listened intently to the news break.

  A female voice came over the radio. “We interrupt this program to bring you a late breaking WTIX news report. Thank you, Ken ... I am Becky Howell, reporting live from the Wattsville Memorial Hospital. Yesterday morning around daybreak authorities discovered a body floating on the St. Francis Monastery pond. It is believed to be the body of eighteen-year-old Timothy Fields, who attended St. Francis Catholic School located at the monastery in Wattsville. His body is being autopsied to determine the cause of death. Nothing has been released so far.”

  “Timothy’s parents recently filed a missing persons report when he didn’t return home from school just before the snowstorm last night. One of the last people to see Timothy before he went missing was Mother Superior Mary Ellen, principal of the school. Mother Superior stated she had no knowledge of the reason for the young man’s drowning and seemed very upset. This is what she had to say.”

  Mother Superior’s voice began speaking. “He was a bright man; I just can’t believe this happened to him. I will miss him very much. I pray for his family and friends. Anyone needing help in dealing with their grief from this tragedy, feel free to visit St. Francis for prayer or counseling.”

  The news reporter continued, “Standing with me is Sheriff Johnson of the Wattsville County Sheriff’s Department. Sheriff Johnson, you stated the autopsy is being done as we speak?”

  “Yes, the report should be finished by late tomorrow morning. As soon as we know the cause of death, we will release a statement.’

  “This has devastated the Fields’ family, friends, plus a number of students right here in Wattsville. Things that hurt those who live in our community, affect and touch all of us. If there is any indication of foul play, we will work day and night to find out exactly what happened,” Sheriff Johnson’s voice continued.

  “Sheriff Johnson, have you determined any foul play at this point?”

  “At this time, I can’t say for sure, but we’re looking at all possibilities.”

  “Thank you, Sheriff Johnson. We all know you have a lot of work ahead.”

  “Yes, we do. Thank you.”

  The reporter addressed the audience again. “We were only able to get a brief comment from District Attorney John Smith.”

  John’s voice came over the radio, “I’m not at liberty to discuss any details at this time. I’m sure the sheriff will give you a statement after the autopsy report is completed.”

  “Donations are being received on behalf of Timothy Fields’ family in light of the loss of their only child. Please contact St. Francis Monastery for more information if you are interested in donating to this cause. We will continue to follow this story as it develops. Remember to stay tuned to 1410 WTIX for up-to-the-minute news updates on this horrible tragedy. This is Becky Howell reporting live for 1410 WTIX from the Wattsville Memorial Hospital in Wattsville, Maine. Ken back to you.”

  Julie turned the radio down as the reporter closed her segment.

  John commented, “It seems we should know more tomorrow morning. I cleared my schedule for the rest of the day. I figured that this case may take a lot of my time over the upcoming weeks.”

  Smiling, Katy said, “Well, at least we can still enjoy this afternoon and evening before you get started. Let’s cuddle on the couch and watch a movie. We may not have too much free time for a while, since it is a murder case.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” John replied, continuing to drive towards Katy’s house as the early afternoon sunlight streamed through the window.

  * * * *

  Just as Sheriff Johnson was about to leave the office after the long day, the intercom blared out, “Sheriff, Dr. Grant is on the phone for you.”

  “Thanks, Deputy Williams,” the sheriff replied as he picked up the receiver. Pushing the line button, he greeted, “Hello Dr. Grant. Any news for me?”

  “Yes, I do, and it’s not good.”

  “So what did you find out, Doc?”

  Dr. Barry Grant cleared his throat and then replied, “We’re still conducting a few lab tests just to make sure about the cause of death, but it is definitely a homicide.”

  “How so?” the sheriff asked.

  “Seems there is definitely evidence of strangulation with a rope, as well as defensive wounds on different parts of his body. I just thought I’d let you know you what I have so far.”

  Sheriff Johnson dropped his head and took in a deep breath as he closed his eyes. “Thank you, Dr. Grant. Will you be able to still have the final report to me by tomorrow?”

  “Yes, Sheriff. I will try to have it first thing tomorrow.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Grant. I’ll talk to you then,” the sheriff said as he hung up the phone and shook his head in disbelief at the information he had just received.

  CHAPTER 13

  Casting beams of light from the heavens, the full moon’s amber image reflected on the monastery pond. Diamond crystals shimmered from the soft, fallen snow. As an owl hooted in the darkness of the forest, streams of red, green and pink danced off the lofty clouds from the north. The spectacular sight was a vision of beauty.

  Emerging from the tree line, a darkly dressed figure looked around to see if anyone was nearby before it cautiously crept into the garden by the pond. Vapors expelled out into the freezing cold as the shadow carefully trudged along in the deep snow. Burdened by weight, the lone person clutched a heavy, dark trash bag in one hand and a plastic jug in the other.

  Breathing heavily, the unknown assailant encroached upon the white marble figure of the Holy Mother Mary standing alone in the night. White snow clung to the black boots with every step taken toward the stone statue that silently recited her prayers.

  Tiptoeing in the snow, the voice whispered, “Now, I get to show them what I really think of them and their hypocrisy.”

  The dark figure finally reached the front of the Blessed Mary. Black gloved hands reached inside the plastic bag retrieving a severed head of the deer and held it up for her to see. The rotting flesh was already beginning to decay where something sharp had cleaved it from its body.

  Chaotic thoughts flew through the vandal’s mind. Maybe this will get their attention.

  Smiling with disdain, the figure laid the head gently in the arms of the Blessed Mother. One could almost hear her screams as the bloody head dripped onto Mary’s porcelain robe. Unscrewing the plastic jug, the dark robed figure leaned in holding it against the statue’s lips.

  “Want a sip?” Staring at the vacant eyes, the voice smirked, “I guess not.”

  Lifting the jug, the vandal slowly poured the thick, red liquid over the top of her head. Streams of blood slowly cascaded down the white marble headpiece, saturating the snow with a crimson stain. After emptying the contents, the dark one stopped suddenly. The eerie feeling of being watched overcame the intruder.

  In a pathetic whisper, the shadow asked, “Who’s there?”

  Staring down from the monastery windows, a ghostly woman with long
blonde hair watched the distasteful sight below her. Her eyes filled with anger as she recognized the one who was there.

  Glancing up to the window, the trespasser caught a glimpse of the spirit just as she disappeared into nothing. That couldn’t be her. She’s been dead for almost ten years. It’s just a trick of the moonlight. Wasting no time, the vandal shook off any concern and carefully held onto the plastic bag and empty jug before scurrying back into the dark shadows of the forest.

  PART 3:

  SHEDDING THE SHADOWS

  CHAPTER 14

  It was an unusually quiet morning at the Fields’ house. Margie could hear the clock on the fireplace mantel ticking as she sat back in her lounge chair. Her heart grieved for her son, as she cradled a recent photograph of Timmy against her chest. All she wanted was to wake up from this hellish nightmare. Her husband’s voice sliced the silence as he began to speak on his cell phone. She heard him speaking to their relatives one by one, and informing them of the tragedy that had taken place.

  Psychologically, the events were taking its toll on Margie. Almost every hour, she stood up and made her way down the hall. Each step brought her closer to the vacant room, as she could feel her heartbeat pounding in her chest. With trembling hands, she turned the doorknob.

  Opening Timmy’s bedroom door, Margie’s mind was flooded with memories. She saw her little boy playing with his train set looking up at his mother with a toothless grin. She could almost hear her son’s voice ask, “Mommy, do you want to play?” Margie stood silently as she looked around with tears welling up in her bloodshot eyes.

  Under the window, Timmy’s bed set just as it had when he left for school that last day. Margie could remember how he would lay there on the New England comforter and imagine being the quarterback on the football team. Timmy would often gaze at the football poster on the wall nearby as he daydreamed.

  Margie walked over to the chest of drawers in the corner. A small oak frame featuring a photo of Timmy and his dad caught her eye. She remembered taking the picture of them smiling while holding up their prize red lobsters on his boat.

  Another photo of Timmy and his girlfriend, Lisa, almost brought her to tears. The young couple stood posing for their junior prom photo with their arms around each others’ waist. There he was smiling, and as happy as she had ever seen him. As she caressed the photo, she could hardly keep from letting the tears go. Squeezing her eyes tightly, she could still hear Lisa’s wails when she received the news of her boyfriend’s death.

  Several college applications from the entire area still lay incomplete on Timmy’s computer desk, waiting to be finished. Blank signature lines stared back at her from the stark white paper.

  Margie’s voice quivered, “You can go wherever you want.” Her hands trembled as she wrote her son’s name on the application. “Now, it’s complete, darling.”

  Picking up her son’s tee-shirt from the back of his chair, Margie held it closer to her face. Timmy had worn it recently, and she still smelled his cologne. Snuggling it up against her face, she began to cry while holding it tightly to her aching chest. Margie laid down on his pillow, sobbing uncontrollably.

  Still clutching his t-shirt tightly, she wasn’t ready to let go of him and say good-bye. Putting her hand up to her chest, she felt as if a sharp knife penetrated her heart leaving an empty hole. Her thoughts drifted back. She could see her son laugh aloud for the first time, as she slightly bounced him on her lap while singing I love you more today… More today than yesterday. And I love you less today ... Less than I will tomorrow. Margie felt completely lost, realizing that her son would never come home again.

  A knock at the front door jolted Margie from her sorrowful trance back to reality. The moment was stained with the anguished tears that flowed down her cheeks.

  Sitting in his usual spot on his recliner in the living room, Herbert quickly said good-bye to his cousin before he hung up the phone. Standing up, he made his way to the door to find out who was there.

  “I’ll get it, Margie,” Herbert called out.

  As he reached the door, Herbert peeked out the small window and saw the sheriff and his deputies on the front stoop. They were carrying laboratory cases by the handles. Herbert opened the door, and reached out to shake the sheriff’s hand.

  “Morning, Sheriff Johnson and deputies. Come on inside. Can I fix you some coffee?” Herbert offered.

  Sheriff Johnson grasped Herbert’s hand in a firm handshake, and then removed his hat. Lowering his head, he replied, “I appreciate the offer, but I can’t stay very long. I’ve got some news, Herbert. My deputies need to search Timmy’s room.”

  Herbert’s eyebrows became one across his forehead as he squinted. “Search his room? What for, Sheriff?”

  Sheriff Johnson pulled a search warrant out of his pocket and handed it over to Herbert. “We need to see if we can find any possible reasons for foul play. It’s standard procedure if it is suspected.”

  Herbert furrowed his brow while scanning it over. “Foul play? So you do think someone killed our boy,” he said, shaking his head slowly.

  “I need to talk to you more in just a moment, but I wanted my men to get a head start on sweeping Timmy’s bedroom. I’m sure you can appreciate that.”

  “I understand. Whatever you need, just ask,” Herbert offered.

  “Herb, would you please show my men where Timmy’s room is?”

  “Of course,” Herbert said, pointing down the hallway. “Just please be careful not to break anything, all right? Everything means a lot to us; especially now.”

  Sheriff Johnson glanced back at his deputies, “I don’t want you to miss anything. Be thorough, but make sure you put whatever you can back the way you found it. Okay?”

  In unison, both deputies said, “Yes, sir.”

  Recognizing Sheriff Johnson’s voice, Margie walked into the living room. She looked up at the sheriff and her husband then inquired, “What’s happening?”

  Herbert wrapped his arms around her and said, “Sheriff Johnson wants his deputies to search our son’s room.”

  Instantly, she pulled away. “Why? What for? Sheriff, have we done something wrong?” she asked, furrowing her brow.

  “Nothing we know of,” he assured her. Stopping himself suddenly, he continued, “I’ll explain more in just a moment.” Turning towards his deputies, he instructed, “You can go ahead and get started now.”

  Herbert led the men down the hallway and to the left. Margie followed closely behind them, almost in a daze. The door was wide open, revealing the room that had been barely touched since the Timmy’s death.

  “Okay, let’s do this,” one of the deputies said to his partner.

  Sheriff Johnson turned to Herbert and Margie then said, “You both need to remain outside of Timmy’s room until after we clear it from the investigation. It’s important that you do not go in there at all, not even to get a pen or pencil. You understand?”

  Herbert and Margie looked at each other and nodded in affirmation.

  “We won’t go in there, but tell me what’s going on, Sheriff?” Herbert asked.

  As the couple and Sheriff Johnson remained in the hallway, the two deputies walked into Timmy’s room. They gently placed their cases on an empty table and opening them. Each took a pair of thick latex gloves and snapped the edges at their wrists as they put them on before starting.

  One of the deputies glanced at Herbert through the doorway as he turned to look at the sheriff. “Sir, we’ve got it from here, thank you.”

  The sheriff gestured for Herbert to lead the way back down the hallway and replied, “I think we should head to the living room. I need to talk to both of you.”

  Herbert headed back down the hallway, with Margie and Sheriff Johnson following behind in awkward silence.

  With his forefingers and thumbs, the sheriff nervously fiddled with the felt edges of his hat. After a few seconds of silence, he shook his head and then looked up at the both of them. “Why don’t we sit dow
n?”

  Margie sat close to her husband. Her heart raced; she was anxious to hear what the sheriff had to say. Herbert grasped her hands, cupping them inside his own.

  “I got the coroner’s report this morning, Herbert and Margie. This was not an accident. It’s a homicide.”

  Herbert gasped as his heart jumped inside his chest at the news. He stared at the sheriff for a long moment, still in disbelief at what he had heard. Folding his hands together, he firmly asked, “What did you say?”

  Margie stared at the Sheriff in disbelief. Shaking her head, she said, “No! Who would want to harm our boy?” Shear anger raged inside of her. She raised her voice as her soul agonized, “No! No! No!”

  “Timmy had a large gash on his head, along with some defensive wounds on his body. He also had rope burns on his neck where he was strangled. Timmy was in the water for at least several hours after he was killed, according to Dr. Grant’s report.”

  Welling up in his eyes, tears finally ran down Herbert’s cheek in silent streams. His bottom lip quivered as he turned and looked at his wife, unable to speak. From the depths of his soul, every emotion screamed to be released, however words failed to capture the anguish he felt.

  In contrast, Margie fell over onto Herbert’s lap crying; unable to contain her emotions any longer. “Oh, God! No! No! No! No!”

  Sheriff Johnson sat respectfully waiting as Timmy’s parents absorbed the information just thrown at them. Holding his hat with his fingertips, he slowly walked his fingers around the brim. Taking a deep breath, he sat back up and gazed down the hallway towards the bedroom where his deputies worked.

  After a few moments, Herbert gained his composure. Speaking just above a whisper, he asked, “What happens now? What do we do?”

  Sheriff Johnson turned back towards Herbert and replied, “We’re going to try to find out who killed your son. That’s what we’re going to do. For now, take care of your wife. Later today, I’d like you to come by my office to talk about your son.”