A Watery Grave(Tom Di Roma) A Watery Grave

The familiar voice on the other end of the phone told homicide detective, Janet Carson, to look under pier-19, then he hung up before she could ask any questions.
“Jesus!” she mumbled to no one in particular. “Whose body has Jamal found this time?”
Usually, he told her about hidden land-based graves, but this was the first time he’d found one in water. “I just hope it’s not another victim of a serial killer,” she prayed.
Getting up from her desk, she went to tell her new boss about Jamal’s call. Her old boss, or captain, had recently died in a car crash. Her new boss already knew about Jamal.
“You need someone to go with you?” he asked her.
She shook her head. “Not really. I should be okay. Besides, I’ll have my gun, just in case.”

She wasn’t so sure about her safety once she arrived at the old cannery; a number of homeless had recently set up tents, as well as cardboard boxes between the harbor and the abandoned complex. Seeing this, she couldn’t help but think of Jamal. Had he ever set up camp here? Shaking her head, she dismissed the idea. She knew he’d rather hang out with the nuns at St. Matthews. As long as he performed a little bit of janitorial work for them, they’d feed him, as well as give him a place to sleep.
Driving passed the homeless, Janet stopped her unmarked cruiser at the far end of the wharf, where the rotting skeleton of pier nineteen continued to jut out over the harbor. As she stepped from her vehicle, she quickly glanced around, just to make sure none of the homeless were approaching. Once she saw it was safe, she edged toward the end of the pier, glancing down at the dirty green water below. It seemed, Jamal had discovered another hidden grave—this one very wet.
Below the rotting wood of the pier, the bloated body of a woman, in office-like clothes, was being butted gently about by the small lapping waves. Janet wasted no time in calling it in.
The arrival of the police sent the homeless scattering like roaches. It didn’t matter; she knew that even if she and the others could talk to any of them, they’d probably claim they hadn’t seen anything, if they talked at all.
After leaving the crime scene, instead of heading home, or back to the precinct, Janet drove over to St. Matthew’s. She wanted to talk with Jamal and find out what he might have witnessed . . . except he wasn’t there.
“Have you seen Jamal?” she asked one of the nuns.
The nun shook her head. “Actually, I haven’t seen him since early this morning.”
I wonder where the heck he could be, she thought, as she headed for her car. Before getting in, she quickly scanned her surroundings, hoping to spot him. No such luck.

The next morning at the precinct, the first thing Janet did was go-over the crime scene report. The shock of recognition hit her hard. The victim turned out to be a social worker that she once dealt with during a previous investigation. The revelation of whom the victim was, brought with it a disturbing thought: could Jamal have had something to do with her death?
Janet shook her head. It didn’t track, especially with what she knew about him. And yet, there was his abrupt phone call to her, and his subsequent disappearance from St. Matthew’s. Her stomach churned as she thought about Jamal and his psychic connection to the victim. What had he seen, if anything?
Driving over to the social worker’s office, Janet talked to several of her co-workers, none of whom could think of anyone who might have had enough of a beef with their colleague to want to kill her. That left Janet with her only witness, or suspect—Jamal, but where was he?
As she was about to climb into her car, Janet had the distinct feeling she was being watched. Instead of turning around, she remained outside her car, while lighting a cigarette. The crunch of footsteps told her that the person had come up close behind her. Still not turning around, she said over her shoulder, “So, you didn’t happen to see who killed her, did you?”
Jamal’s voice was soft and low as he replied, “This time, not even her ghost showed up.”
Finally, turning to face him, Janet asked, “So how did you discover her body?”
Looking down at the ground for a moment, Jamal finally replied, “Like the night I saved you from that killer, I found myself being pulled towards the pier.”
“I’m glad,” she replied. Then after a moment asked, “So what did you see?”
“I saw two very dirty hands holding the rock that killed her, and then another pair of hands helping dump her body into the water.”
Immediately, Janet knew that Jamal was talking about the homeless who had set up camp along side the old cannery.
“Thank you,” she said to him. “We’ll take if from here.”
It didn’t take long for the police to worm a confession out of several suspects.

A couple of days later, Janet invited Jamal for another meal of meatloaf. But this time, instead of inviting him to her apartment, she asked him to come to the precinct.
You can imagine that, as he entered the building, Jamal was feeling as nervous as a deer during hunting season. But once he saw what waited for him in the precinct break room, his fear dissipated, to be replaced by astonishment. It seemed someone had managed to fashion together several round layers of meatloaf, shaping them into a cake-like form, whose edges they had decorated with curly-cues of ketchup. They even added a single candle on top.
“This is in our appreciation for your help,” Janet told him, then used her Zippo to light the candle. “Now make a wish before you blow it out.”
Smiling, and in silence, Jamal did just that.

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