Secrets in the Shallows (Book 1: The Monastery Murders) (6 page)

Williams put long leashes on the dogs as he asked, “Shamberg, can you please designate team leaders for the search and give them instructions so we don’t have chaos here? Don’t forget to pass out radios to the leaders too. We don’t want to wind up searching for them as well.”

“Right away, sir,” Deputy Shamberg responded as he turned and walked away to follow his orders.

Turning to Timmy’s father, Sheriff Johnson asked, “Herbert, which way does Timmy usually come home from school?”

Herbert lifted his arm and pointed down the street in the direction of the monastery. “He walks that way. He walks that way, but if the streets aren’t clear he will usually take his snow mobile.”

“And does he ever take an alternate route? Would he ever go to a friend’s house, before or after school?”

“Not usually. He is supposed to go straight to school and come straight home. No exceptions.” He paused. “However, I have known him to take shortcuts through the woods on occasion. There is a fort that he and his friends hang out at sometimes that is back near the monastery pond. However, he usually goes there when it’s warm weather.”

Sheriff Johnson picked up a bag containing Timmy’s clothing that Margie had supplied. He tossed it to Williams.

Turning to the dogs, Williams said, “Okay, boys, here we go!”

Taking out the plain, dark blue uniform shirt, he leaned down and held it in front of their noses. The dogs instinctively sniffed the clothes, while wagging their tails and barking. They were eagar to begin their search.

“Get a good smell here. You’re gonna’ find Timmy, aren’t you? He’s counting on us. There you go. Come on and take a good whiff now.” Williams patted each dog on the head. “Good boys. You ready to go to work?” The dogs began to bark loudly, anxious to begin their search.

“Let’s go!” Williams shouted as he let them loose from all their leashes.

The dogs took off immediately, leaving everyone behind. They instinctively put their noses to the ground, searching for some trace of Timmy’s scent. Meandering back and forth through the shadowy woods, they set about their task with purpose.

The early morning light barely penetrated the dark shadows of the woods. Even though it was still dim, neither the dogs nor the search crew relented. Beams of light danced through the trees and on the ground in front of the searchers as they as they trudged through the deep snow with their flashlights. Several of them tripped on tree roots and large rocks that were hidden beneath the cold, wet blanket covering the ground.

Sheriff Johnson glanced over at Deputy Williams as they followed the canines. “It is a good thing the dogs have been trained to follow scent trails in the snow.”

Herbert’s breath permeated the air like a fog as he tried to keep up with everyone. The intake of the cold morning air was shocking to his lungs. He bent over out of breath and braced his hands on his knees. As he caught his breath, the feeling of dread overwhelmed him.

The search teams had already headed to their designated area. Spreading out, their flashlights cast long beams throughout the surrounding trees. Echoes resounded through the trees as many of the volunteers repeatedly yelled, “
Timmy Fields!
”

After over an hour of searching in the freezing conditions, the hounds appeared to have detected something and began barking loudly. They took off running in a different direction as fast as they could. Herbert, Sheriff Johnson and the deputies followed them immediately. Hoping that it was a good sign that they were on the right track, everyone began shouting Timmy’s name as loud as they could.

While laboring to walk through the deep snow, Sheriff Johnson glanced over at Herbert and asked, “By any chance, does Timmy walk through here to go home after school?”

“I think so, usually he would be with a friend. As I mentioned earlier, they have a fort that they built when they were in middle school, but I’m not sure where it is exactly. I don’t know the last time he visited it.”

The sheriff breathed heavily as he tried to keep up with the canines. The dogs ran ahead of them, following the scent trail. Suddenly, they stopped dead in their tracks, but continued with their deafening howls.

“The dogs found something!” Sheriff Johnson yelled.

At the same time, an owl suddenly hooted, startling everyone.

“Watch out!” exclaimed one of the deputies.

The men ducked as the large bird spread his wings and dove close to their heads. Flapping its wings several times, the owl flew out of sight as quickly as he had made an entrance. The lonely howl of a wolf echoed through the early morning air, adding to the suspenseful mood of the search. The dogs continued to bark as they looked upward at a large oak tree.

Herbert’s hair stood up on the back of his neck as he looked over at Sheriff Johnson. Pointing his flashlight straight ahead, he paused to focus on a spot where the dogs had stopped. The sheriff shined his light in that direction, hoping to find any sign of Timmy. As the rest of the search team caught up, they aimed their flashlights upward and cast their beams on a crudely-built fort.

The spotty lighting revealed a rickety ladder nailed to the massive tree trunk. It reached the fort’s entrance at about twenty feet above the ground. The weathered plywood floor was braced underneath by several large branches. A plywood roof was covered with a black tarp that partially protected the amateurishly-made structure.

Herbert stared at the fort and silently prayed,
“God, please let them find my boy up there and still alive.”

The sheriff ordered, “Shamberg, check out that fort, but be careful. It probably isn’t very safe.”

Deputy Shamberg headed towards the ladder. “Okay, here we go,” he said as he started to climb. The deputy felt his heartbeat all the way up in his throat with every step he advanced. All he could think about was finding the boy.

“Be careful, man! Watch your step!” yelled Deputy Williams.

Deputy Shamberg grabbed the wooden boards. Each step squeaked as he made his way upward
. I hope this ladder can hold me
, he thought to himself. He definitely was not confident that the structure was stable. Finally, upon making it to the top, he looked down at the others and shouted, “The wood is almost rotten in some places. All I see are a few magazines and an empty beer can up here.”

Sheriff lowered his head and sighed. Cupping his hands around his mouth, he yelled. “What’s the date on the magazine? That may tell us if he or anyone has been up there recently?”

“It’s this month’s, Sheriff. A car racing magazine, from what I can tell.”

Deputy Shamberg took photos each item before putting them in some evidence bags.

Sheriff Johnson lowered his head, obviously discouraged. “It’s no wonder that the dogs ran in this direction.” He looked at Herbert while pointing at the tree house. “He’s been up here recently, otherwise the hounds wouldn’t have picked up his scent. Okay, bring those down, Deputy; but watch your step coming down. We’ll have to take that fort down soon, before someone gets badly hurt.”

Disappointed, Deputy Williams said, “Throw it down to me so you’ll have your hands free, Shamberg.”

Deputy Shamberg easily tossed the bag down to Williams. He climbed down the ladder slowly, slipping once as he descended. He was relieved once he finally had both feet on the ground again.

Fatigued, everyone continued on their search. They walked through the forest calling Timmy’s name. Completely exhausted, Herbert lost his footing several times. He staggered and fell in the snow.

Deputy Williams extended his hand. “Mr. Fields, are you okay?”

Herbert stood and hollered as streams of tears stung his blistered cheeks. “Timmy!? Where are you?!” he shouted. Glancing over at Williams, discouragement filled his voice as he said, “We’re not gonna’ find him. Are we?”

The deputy lowered his head, unsure of how to answer Herbert. Instead, he gave the grieving man a hardy pat on the back. “Come on. Let’s keep looking.”

* * * *

A few more hours into the search, the first streams of sunlight peered through the thick fog. As the morning awakened, so did the sound of vultures in the distance. Sheriff Johnson stopped dead in his tracks. Looking up at the circling horde, he gasped, “Oh, no!”

Hearing the noises, Williams stopped and asked, “Did you hear that?”

“No. What did you hear?” Herbert asked, shaking his head.

A screech filled the skies, capturing everyone’s attention. The other deputies raised their eyes to see the ominous sign.

Sheriff Johnson studied the scavenging birds from a distance. The vultures would take turns diving toward the earth and out of site. The sheriff glared at them with disdain. Squinting, he whispered to himself,
“I guess I know where to look now.”

As Herbert watched the birds circling, his chest began to heave with panic-ridden gasps. He collapsed on his knees in the snow, emitting a wail that permeated with complete agony. Exhausted, he forced himself to stand up again and shouted, “My God, don’t let it be my son! Please! Not my Timmy!” The echoes continued to resound over the forest as his voice trailed off into desperate sobs.

Sheriff Johnson reached in his pocket and pulled out his smart phone to take a GPS reading. He turned eastward and and pointed at the vultures. “Let’s check out what they are interested in. They should be pretty close to the monastery, which is about a half a mile away. Let’s head there right now.” He took a deep breath, recalling the last time a body was found in that general vacinity.

They hurried through the snow with the dogs leading the way. Suddenly, one of the canines lifted his head and started to run with renewed purpose. Barking constantly, all of the dogs caught the same scent and quickly followed him. Sheriff Johnson and the other men breathlessly ran to try to keep up.

“They’re onto something, guys. Try to keep up!” Sheriff yelled back at the men.

The exhausted team took deep breaths, the icy air chilling their lungs, while they unsuccessfully tried to keep pace with the dogs. In the sky above, the helicopter flew as low as it could while searching for the missing young man. The sound of the chopper blades pounded their eardrums repeatedly as they moved forward.

Sheriff Johnson’s radio squelched, so he turned up the volume.

“I have visual on something unusual in the monastery pond. You should check it out, sir,” the pilot said.

“Is that where the vultures are? Over.”

The pilot replied, “Affirmative, Sheriff. I see a few flying around.”

“I see them now. We’re on our way.”

“Copy that, Sheriff,” the pilot concluded.

The dogs ran through the woods as fast as they could. They left deep trails of paw prints in the snow, and continued until they reached the white expanse of the monastery lawn. Up ahead a large pond emerged between two large evergreen trees. The dogs headed directly towards the pond, leaving everyone behind. One by one, they reached the edge of the water, sat down and barked continuously.

Sheriff Johnson gasped for air as he approached the pond. His eyes widened as he saw something in the water. He stared in disbelief for a moment, before saying under his breath, “Oh, my God. Lord, help us.”

Looking at the body, the sheriff closed his eyes as he shook his head slowly from side to side. Reaching up to his shoulder, he pushed the button for his radio. “Deputy Williams, do you copy?”

The deputy’s voice sounded over his speaker. “Affirmative, Sheriff.”

“Deputy, keep Mr. Fields up there with you away from the pond. Do not let him come over here. Do you understand?”

“Affirmative, sir,” Williams replied.

Hearing the sheriff over radio, Herbert’s heart sank into despair. It felt like it was about to explode, leaving a gaping hole; a hole that would never be filled again. His need to know the truth raged a battle with his own denial of reality.

Deputy Williams stopped and held out his arm in front of Herbert like a barrier to hold him back. Panting slightly, he said, “Mr. Fields, you need to stay back here. We don’t know what is over there. Let the sheriff check it out before we go over there.”

Herbert obeyed the deputy’s instructions and remained where he was. Sheriff Johnson gazed at the pond, as Timmy’s lifeless body floated in the quiet freezing water. A vulture landed on his stiff back and squawked. He grabbed a piece of flesh and tore it away from the corpse, raised his beak devouring it.

The sheriff’s eyes welled up as he filled with sadness. He yelled at the vulture, frantically waving his hands in the air. The screeching bird hopped up and down on the remains. Spreading its wings, the scavenger took flight with flesh hanging from its beak.

Sheriff Johnson pressed his lips together as he turned around with tears swelling up in his eyes. Removing a white handkerchief from his back pocket, he wiped his eyes. Carefully folding it, he reinserted it in his back pocket as the deputies and a couple of the search teams finally caught up to him.

Taking a deep breath, the sheriff shook his head slowly while praying silently for guidance.
“Oh, my God, I don’t think Herb’s gonna’ be able to handle this.”

Looking down from an upper window of the St. Francis Monastery, a mysterious misty figure stood and witnessed the events transpiring below. A young woman gazed through the pane glass with her blue eyes sunk deep in their sockets. A sorrowful look covered her face as her long blonde hair trailed over her shoulders. The corners of her mouth fell as she placed her hand on the window sill.