Half Frozen

Sheriff Floyd Oakley stood at the edge of the old mill pond. Poking at slushy ice with the toe of his boot. The ice had only started to melt over the east half of the pond, the half that got the most sunlight during the mid part of the day.

He had never seen anything like this before, not in these parts anyway.

Sure he'd heard of things like this happening and larger towns. But never before in his 25 years at the Sheriff's department had he come across a body just dumped off in the middle of nowhere.

His department had been party to briefings and training on how to process an apparent murder like this one, but he never thought he would have to go through it. Based on the state of decay, this body had likely been in this pond for months. Suppose it was an accident? Maybe a suicide? A drunk perhaps? Too drunk to swim but tried anyway, drowning himself in a pond twenty feet deep. It's possible, you only need a couple of inches of water to drown. That's all it takes if you're passed out.

Anything but a murder.

Not likely though, even the most inebriated idiot wouldn't try to go swimming in freezing water. And if the body had indeed been here since the summer, it had probably been dumped there. This pond had been frozen over a couple of weeks ago. And this body was long dead. Long submerged, likely it had been tethered down by something to keep it from floating to the surface. The autumn rains seemingly dislodged it, allowing it to float to the surface. Only to have it frozen over for the last couple weeks. A mild thaw, thanks to a string of unseasonably sunny days, giving it the opportunity to pop up now, right after Thanksgiving.

The body had to have been in that pond for an extended period of time, most of the flesh decayed away, the clothes; that of a man, medium in build, hung in tatters off of the skeletal remains.

"Well" muttered Sheriff Oakley, "guess we'll have to send him in to get an ID via dental records.

"Maybe not boss," replied Deputy Hill, a deputy relatively new to the department, who nonetheless was in possession of an iron stomach. As he reached his hand into a drenched back pocket of the victims jeans, he pulled out a thin, saturated, well worn leather wallet. The deputy peeled it open to reveal a little metal ID tag. And something else, something shinier. Something gold. "Why, that's a twenty dollar gold piece!" Exclaimed the sheriff. "you don't see many of those around anymore."

"Here," said the deputy, handing over the ID tag. "It says Davy Houston."

"I see," murmured the sheriff. "Do you know him?" Asked Deputy Hill. "Yeah, he's a little infamous around here Hill. Wouldn't expect you to have heard of him though. He hasn't been around for a while. Why, I thought they would have locked him away. I wonder when he got back into town."

"Does he have family here then?" inquired Hill.

"Indeed he does," replied Oakley "Harold and Ethel Houston, their place is right there, up Old Mill road. Less than two miles away. Let's get this body taken care of. After that, I suppose I should pay them a visit."

The sun was going down by the time the Sheriff arrived at the Houston's place, a genial Harold greeted him at the front door.

"Sheriff! What can I do ya for?" Harold inquired.

"Well, I need to ask you a couple of questions about Davy."

"What about him, he showed up out of nowhere, disappeared out of nowhere too. God, what's he done now." Harold replied jadedly.

"Well Harry I hate to tell you this, but we found what we believe to be his body in the Old Mill pond."

"Oh my," murmured Ethel looking down at her hands.

"Now I know Davy wasn't exactly a popular man. And I just need to know when the last time you saw him was."

"Oh dear," Ethel gasped, her hand covering her mouth. "He was here in April. He stayed for a couple of weeks, but then he left suddenly without saying anything. He was here for dinner the evening before he took off, on around the 18th I think, Yes. But I didn't see him the next morning. Not like him not to come in for breakfast."

"Is that all you remember? Was he acting strange at all?"

Harold huffed, "David was always strange. But nothing out of the ordinary as far as I can recall. He said he got a job out east. Whatever that means. I just assumed he had hitchhiked out of town as he usually would."

"Yes," replied Sheriff Oakley, "that stands to reason. Not many people liked Davy. Someone could easily have killed him while he was on the road. Now we don't have the coroner's report back yet, but I'll let you know as soon as there are any developments."

"Thank you, sheriff, I appreciate that." Harry replied grimly.

"Certainly," replied the sheriff, "we'll keep you updated."

As Sheriff Oakley drove away he had to admit to himself that Davy Houston was the very kind of person that nobody would miss. The kind of person that inspired him to become a sheriff in the first place. The kind of person that the community needs protection from. And murdered or not, Floyd Oakley couldn't give two shits what happened to him or how he died. Why, the stupid bastard must have gotten him himself drowned. Drowned months ago, maybe his guilty conscience had finally caught up to him and he killed himself. Suicide was much less of a headache to deal with than a murder. Less paperwork, less state resources. Not to mention, there wasn't a god fearing individual in town that wouldn't be glad to have him gone. "Well boys," Sheriff Oakley muttered to himself on this way home that evening, "sure looks like a suicide to me."