Chapter Eleven

“What?” I repeated, dumbfounded. Even though I’d heard the words, they made no sense. I stumbled into the living room and collapsed onto the sofa next to Dad. Hands in pockets, Cowlings appeared ready for a casual stroll.

“A couple of hours ago, Bob Bellman’s body was found down by the Missouri River,” said Cowlings as he sat next to me. “The KCMO police received a tip—from Bellman’s own cell phone—there was a body underneath one of the bridges by the river.”

“I can’t believe this is happening.” Unsure how to react or feel, all I managed to muster was a dull incredulity. “How did he die?” But I knew the answer already.

“Beaten and then strangled…just like the Rimmer boy.” Cowlings peered at me inquisitively, hoping for a “tell” in my reaction. I’d never been one with a great poker face.

“Good Lord,” Dad whispered. Clearly, the realization that murder had touched him and his family had taken hold. “Did you catch the killer, Detective Cowlings?”

“No…but apparently we didn’t miss the perpetrator by much.” As he manically scribbled in his ever-present book of clues, I snuck a peek. My underlined name sat atop one of the pages.

“The Kansas City, Missouri Police Department gave me a call after they sent a squad car down to the river and found his body,” he continued. “They saw he was a Clearwell student, and this was the second murdered victim from there.” He glared at me while flapping the notebook against his thigh. I really hated Detective Cowling’s dramatic pauses.

“So…is it the same killer?” I asked. “The same one who killed Matt Rimmer?”

Dad sat in stunned silence.

“It sure looks that way, Tex.” Cowlings picked a piece of lint from his suit pants and studied his finding. “Unless…there are two killers.” I half-expected a dramatic musical zing to take us to a commercial. Alas, no commercial break for me.

“Anyway, I drove down to the crime scene.” Now speaking like a jovial uncle who’s had too much to drink at Christmastime, Cowlings grinned. A scary grin. “A homeless man had phoned in the tip. Apparently, that wasn’t the only thing he did…” Another dramatic pause. I wondered whether he picked up this technique from police training to make suspects nervous, or if social awkwardness caused it. I decided my first guess to be more likely. It certainly made me nervous.

“The homeless man was sitting under the bridge, trying to stay warm by covering himself in old blankets and boxes. He saw a car pull up and a male got out, who then proceeded to open the trunk and drag a large bundle out, dumping it quickly, and then taking off like a bat out of hell.”

“Well…you have a witness, now,” said Dad. “Isn’t this a big break in the case?” Dad looked hopeful, also applying what he and I learned from watching crime shows.

“You would think so,” said Cowlings. “However, the witness was no help at all. He was smashed out of his mind, and the only useful piece of information we got out of him was that the perpetrator was male…and I’m not even sure that was reliable.”

“Wait, you said you had a tip?” I said. “From Bellman’s phone? Does this mean someone else called in the tip? Using his phone? Could it have been the murderer?”

“Sounds like a pretty good episode of CSI you’ve got there, Tex,” Cowlings said. “I wish we had more to go on. No, the homeless man snagged Bellman’s phone and his shoes for himself. He also tried to wrestle his jacket off him, but gave up halfway through. Bellman was a big guy, and at dead weight, a drunken homeless man wouldn’t get too far. Instead of cutting his losses, he called the police, hoping for a reward. He didn’t much care for my reward of a burger and fries…” Cowlings smiled, reflecting on the memory. “Anyway, he’s lucky he got that because he tainted the hell out of the crime scene.” He turned toward me like a cat prepared to pounce on an unsuspecting mouse. “So far, we have no clues…and one more body.”

“Why are you here, Detective?” Dad asked. “What can we do for you?” Obviously getting pissed now, Dad fired up his Protective Mode, set to stun.

“Would you mind if I talk to your son in private, Mr. McKenna?”

“Absolutely I would mind. He’s a minor still, and I believe it’s the law that I be present if this is a police matter. Anything you talk to Tex about, I have a right to hear as well!” Dad’s hidden reserves of strength never cease to surprise me. While he takes a beating, he rises to the occasion immediately after. Go, Dad!

Cowlings’ smile flipped over into a sneer as he undoubtedly silently cursed the crime shows we watched. “Well, technically, this isn’t truly a police matter in which you need to be present, Mr. McKenna…” Cowlings paused, thinking better of it. “Okay, you win.” No moss on Cowlings, he realized he wouldn’t win against an irate father, and he’d probably gain more cooperation if he kept matters friendly. “I just have a few quick questions for Tex.” Dad rolled around in front of us, a referee in a boxing match. “Where were you tonight, Tex? Kind of late for a school night…” The book flipped open again, as Cowlings alternated scribbling and glancing furtively at me.

“I was at Mickey Goldfarb’s house.”

“I’ve already told you that, Detective,” said Dad. We now formed a wary circle (okay, triangle) of predators, each one with a different goal and enemy in mind, close enough to feel each other’s heated breath—and emotions.

“I understand that, Mr. McKenna,” said Cowlings. “I just needed to hear it from Tex. To make sure he’s not in trouble. Now, Tex, who is Mickey Goldfarb, and why were you there so late?”

“She was a friend of my mom’s,” I said. “I recently found out about her and wanted to hear more about my mom.”

“Yes, I was sorry to hear about your mother. My belated condolences to you and your father.” Although the sentiment seemed genuine, I wished it weren’t during an interrogation. “But you were there until almost midnight?”

“That’s right. I guess time really flies when I talk about my mother.” I looked to Dad for backup, and he nodded reassuringly.

“I see. Would this…Mickey Goldfarb be able to back up your story, Tex?”

“Yes. But I wouldn’t contact her until morning. She’s an old woman…and kind of cranky.”

Cowlings smiled. “Good. I hope it checks out.”

I fished into my wallet for Mickey’s address Dad had given me several weeks back. “It will. Here’s her name and address.”

“Thanks.” Cowlings eyed the paper skeptically and then placed it into his jacket pocket.

“Surely, Detective, you don’t think Tex had anything to do with the…murders of these boys.” I hated that I’d added one more thing for Dad to worry about.

Cowlings shut his little black book and weighed his words carefully before speaking. “If it’s any consolation, Mr. McKenna…Tex…I really don’t want to think Tex had anything to do with this.” He craned his head, looking at us both in turn. “But, please understand something. Tex’s name keeps coming up when connected to these two boys. And with Bellman’s running over his friend…” He flipped open his book to check a fact. “…Ian Stapleton…well, some people are already talking about Tex as having motive.”

“No…oh, no.” Dad shook his head slowly, looking as if he’d just aged several years.

Always quick to turn a bad situation around, Cowlings added, “But, I’m not ‘some people.’ I don’t put much weight on gossip and personal vendettas. If you ask me, no, I don’t believe Tex is who I’m looking for. But I have to follow up on everything.” He turned his attention to me. “I’m glad you have a solid sounding alibi for tonight, Tex.”

“Um…thanks?”

“Too bad I can’t say the same thing for your friend, Olivia, for the night Matt Rimmer was murdered.” The master of hope deflation, Cowlings took home the gold medal. “Her alibi is pretty much non-existent. Her mother tried to verify Olivia’s whereabouts, but I know she was working the night in question. However,” he chuckled and rolled his eyes, “I’ve never seen anyone so enthused to not have an alibi and be considered a murder suspect. I don’t think it was her, either.”

I smiled. “That’s good…but don’t tell her that.”

“Yeah, I get that.” Cowlings and I laughed as Dad looked on, puzzled.

“Now, the best thing that came out of Ian’s mishap,” continued Cowlings, “is he definitely has a rock-solid alibi for tonight. I haven’t talked to Olivia or Josh about tonight yet, but I’ll get to them. I have a few other…well, leads, I guess…to follow that I think are more urgent.”

I didn’t understand why Cowlings shared so much about his case with me. Maybe he thought I might be a good source of inside information. Or he just wanted to put our minds at ease. Good luck with that.

He got up to leave but not without one last dramatic sting. “Something’s not quite right here, Tex, and I think you understand that.”

I did feel something wrong, something off, and not just because my mother warned me earlier about imminent danger. Somehow, someway, these murders involved me. And the only possible link I could think of…both victims had bullied me.

Turnabout being fair play, I delivered a dramatic pause before speaking. “Detective, I can see why you’re suddenly seeing my name everywhere. If you’re talking to other kids at school, and I’m thinking the football team, in particular, of course they’re going to throw my name around. I found out today they blame me for Bellman being expelled from school.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Yes, I’ve been talking to some football players.”

“Again, I can tell you neither my friends nor I had any real connection to Matt Rimmer…and if he could, he’d probably tell you the same thing. The Bellman story is different, as you know. But we would never, ever murder anyone. The only possible thing that connects us to both murders is we had the unfortunate luck to be victims of those bullies.”

Satisfied, Dad sat back and entwined his hands across his chest. “Well, Detective, are we done here?”

“Yes. For now. I’ll see myself out.” He walked toward the door, swung it open, and said, “Be careful, Tex. For whatever reason, it seems the killer has now entered your orbit.” Quietly, he pulled the door shut behind him.

Still facing one another, Dad and I stared about the room, not knowing what to say. Nearly one a.m., I felt too wired to sleep.

“Son…Tex? Is there anything else you want to tell me? Anything at all? Are you holding back anything from that detective?”

“Dad…no. You don’t really think I have anything to do with this mess, do you?”

“No, of course not. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t…forgetting something important…or protecting one of your friends.” Ah, that’s what he thinks.

“Dad, you know everything I know.” Not completely true—he didn’t know about the fire extinguisher encounter, but I felt that tidbit rather irrelevant at this point. “And you know my friends. They wouldn’t do this.”

“I know, I know…you’re right.” But Dad didn’t look too reassured. “What was all that about Olivia’s not having an alibi…and being excited about it?”

“Dad…come on, Olivia’s no murderer!” He narrowed his eyes intently, so I realized I needed to elaborate. “Look, everything Olivia does is usually weighed in terms of what political or social concerns she’s championing at the moment. Lately, she’s been rallying against authority figures for being sexist.”

“I don’t understand…” He probably thought how girls had changed quite a bit since his high school days. I guess I understood that. Olivia still puzzled me at times.

“Well, when some authority figure—say, Cowlings—considers her worthy enough to be a murder suspect of a guy, literally twice her size…I think she sees this as a positive victory for womankind.”

“I still don’t understand it…” he said, a tiny smile hovering over his lips, “but she doesn’t sound like the murderer of the century, either.”

“No…she’s not.” I couldn’t wait to tell Olivia about this. She’d appreciate Dad’s questioning her notoriety.

“Son, do you think you should maybe stay home from school tomorrow?” The creases on his forehead rippled, each wrinkle representing a different worry.

“No. I can’t run away from the boogeyman. It’s giving in to terrorism.” I needed to maintain my new vow to face life and live it. Of course, my constant terror stayed glued to me like a shadow. “School goes on, and so does life.”

“Fine… But I want you to call me at lunch and when you get home. Deal?”

“All right, deal.”

“And, son? Be careful…I mean it.”

“Always, Dad.” I gave him a reassuring pat on the back and he returned the favor, although I don’t think either of us felt very reassured.

****

Before I slept, I needed to text my friends. With the wee hours upon us, I’d probably wake them up, but if they didn’t know about Bellman already, they sure needed to.

My phone had been off since about eight. The message indicator lit up with ten messages…all from Olivia.

—Omigod call me! Did u hear? Where r u? I need 2 talk 2 u!—

No sense in finishing them. Obviously, Olivia’d heard the unsettling news. No word from Ian or Josh.

I sent out a text to Ian and Josh first:—Hey, did u hear about Bellman?—

Then I called Olivia as I knew she’d be awake.

“Omigod,” she screamed. “Where have you been? Did you hear about Bellman? It was on the news and—”

“Olivia,” I said in a hushed voice, “calm down. You’re going to wake your mom.” Out-of-breath, she panted as if she’d just run a marathon. “Yeah, I just had a visit from Detective Cowlings. He told me they found Bellman’s body down by the river.”

“What happened to him? Did he kill himself? Did he kill Matt Rimmer and then kill himself in a love pact or something?” I couldn’t tell if Olivia was being serious or just had way too many nervous hours to concoct this crazy scenario. I thought wouldn’t her explanation solve a lot of problems to everyone’s satisfaction? Then I quickly erased it from my mind, as it seemed a little too unnecessarily vindictive.

“No. It looks like whoever killed Rimmer also killed Bellman. He was beaten and then strangled.” I could feel Olivia’s disappointment through the phone. I believe she thought all along Bellman had done in Matt Rimmer. “Some homeless guy found him, and he messed up all the evidence and was too hammered to provide any real information.”

Silently, Olivia processed this. “Do Ian and Josh know?”

“No, I don’t think so. I texted them, but they’re probably asleep. Ian’s probably conked out on some wonder drug.”

“I’ve got to call them,” she said excitedly. “Ian’ll be happy!” Sadly, I agreed. I guess I couldn’t really blame him.

“O’, don’t call them. They’re probably asleep. They’ll find out soon enough in the morning.”

“Whatever. You know, this means there’s a serial killer in Clearwell! And he’s going after football players. Omigod, I wonder if it’s someone we know?” Amped up on adrenaline—and probably caffeine—Olivia managed to put into words something I wanted to desperately avoid. “Does Cowlings think you did it, Tex?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. I do think he’s one of the good guys and just wants to find out who did it. He commented on your lack of alibi, though…” An uncontrollable grin spread across my face.

“Get out,” she yelled. “I was home alone again tonight.”

“Well, he’s going to talk to you, probably soon.”

A small silence weighed very large. “Tex, what does it mean? I mean…really? Do you think we’re in danger? Or just the football pigs?”

“I think we need to be careful.” Mom’s unearthly warning echoed in my mind. “As long as there’s a killer, taking out students…I’d say we need to watch each other’s backs more than ever.”

“We always do. Wow! I really don’t know how to feel about this…” She sounded as dazed and confused as I felt.

“I know what you mean. Part of me thinks this is some scary, sick crap. But the devil on my shoulder is telling me Bellman won’t rise to terrorize anyone ever again, so it’s a good thing…and I feel a little guilty about that.”

“Yeah, as crazy as it sounds, I feel the same way. But, you know Bellman would be laughing if it was one of us, right?” I wish I could share her method of justifying her guilt.

“Oh, I’m sure you’re right,” I said. “But it doesn’t matter, ’cause we’re better than Bellman.”

“Damn skippy!”

“O’, it’s late, and I need to get to bed. But do me a favor, will you?”

“Sure, anything.”

“Carry your backpack with you, wherever you go from now on, okay? And try and help me convince Josh to do the same thing—”

“What’s that all about?”

“I’ll explain it all to you tomorrow, all right?”

“Okay…whatever. Later.” She hung up.

To protect my friends, it’s about damn time I explain my witch status to them and what I wanted to do. I could trust them. It felt like a betrayal by not doing so. Let the Witchcraft Rules be damned, my friends had a right to know. More importantly, they had a right to survive. And if I faced ridicule and mockery from them…well, it’s worth it if it meant keeping them alive.