Ghost River Page 8

  Paul pled guilty with humble contrition and an appropriate number of “yes, ma’ams.” He followed Gabe’s instructions to the letter, but getting busted and appearing in court had a surreal feel. It wasn’t happening and certainly not to Paul. It had to be some kind of sick joke. Gabe and Carol were silent until called. After hearing Paul’s plea, the judge addressed Carol.

  “Mrs. Evans, I understand you have recently lost your husband. This has to be a tough time for you and your family. I want to extend our sympathy and condolences for your loss.”

  Carol stood to answer. “Thank you, your honor.”

  “I remember your husband well. He was a fine officer, and I know he would have taken this very seriously. I will too. Thank you, Mrs. Evans. Please sit down. Paul Evans, rise.”

  Paul stood at attention and forced himself to meet the judge’s unwavering gaze. She looked like a buzzard or a witch in that black robe. “Yes, ma’am.” He tried to smile, but he was too scared.

  “Well what do you have to say for yourself, Mr. Evans?”

  Paul hesitated . . .

  “Well?”

  He remembered Gabe’s coaching and replied, “I’ve hurt my family. My dad would be really mad. I knew better, and I’m truly sorry. I promise it won’t happen again.”

  She stared back at him and cocked her head. Paul saw the skepticism on her face, and his stomach knotted. Wonder how many times she’s heard that one?

  “Well then, what shall we do with you? You need to remember this the next time desire meets opportunity.”

  Paul was silent. This wasn’t looking too great.

  To Paul’s surprise, it was Gabe who broke the silence.

  “Your honor, if I may?”

  “Certainly, Officer Jones. You have a suggestion?”

  “Yes, your honor.” Gabe stood and waited.

  “Please, proceed.”

  What’s he doing? Now I’ll probably get life without parole.

  “Your honor, the defendant has some skills that would be useful to my department. His father was on our dive team and was training him as a scuba diver. I believe we could find an opportunity for him to do custodial and maintenance work at the dive locker. He would be supervised by his father’s teammates, and that could be just the learning experience needed here.”

  “Mrs. Evans, what do you think?”

  “I agree completely, your honor.”

  “Good. So ordered. Let’s say eight hours a week for the next six months with performance reviews submitted monthly to this court. Failure to meet acceptable performance will mandate immediate incarceration at juvenile hall. Dismissed.” She struck the gavel, and Paul’s day in court was over.

  On the way out the door, Gabe said to Paul, “Don’t think for one minute I’m doing you a favor. You let down every member of your dad’s team, and if you think they are going to cut you an inch of slack, better think again.”

  Paul examined a scuff on the toe of his freshly polished left shoe. So now I’m a janitor.

  That afternoon Gabe drove back to Alethea’s with tar and patching material to fix, for the third time, the leak in her roof. He suspected there were more pinholes than he could see, and water was just collecting and draining to a low spot before trickling in. Two buckets of tar and several squares of tin had yet to solve the problem.

  The roof needed to be replaced, and she could certainly afford it, but in her effort to capture the experience of the cabin, patching rather than replacing a leaking roof made the adventure feel more authentic. So why was he determined to fix it? Because the idea of her wet and cold in that shack was more than his conscience would bare.

  “Afternoon, Gabriel,” she greeted as the chickens scattered and Cher stretched her tired bones to come off the porch and greet him. “I see you’ve come to battle the rain spirits again.”

  He hugged her and laughed. “The only way I can win is to start over with new tin, but as long as you won’t let me do that a little more tar and a patch or two might not help, but it certainly won’t hurt.”

  “How was your day in court?”

  “Enough to make me glad I’m not a parent. I just don’t understand the self-destructiveness of kids. And I don’t know what to say to him that will get through that attitude.”

  “Are you asking my advice?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Perhaps you shouldn’t say anything.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Has he asked for your opinion?”

  “Far from it. I don’t think he’s interested in anything I have to say.”

  “Until he asks, he’s not listening.”

  “Then I shouldn’t do anything?” He took off his hat to scratch his head, then replaced it.

  “Just be with him. Just listen. Sooner or later he’s going to ask. When that happens, you will have the words. Now try to do a better job fixing my roof while I make us dinner.”

  Early the next morning Gabe called Bob to get an update.

  “We found the stolen SUV you shot, with the rear glass missing and three rounds in the driver’s door,” Bob began. “Nice shooting. It was rented with a false ID. However prints and DNA match a former Army special ops guy, recently returned from playing mercenary, with an outfit like Blackwater.”

  “Is he a trooper like his partner?”

  “Yep, assigned to Dade County, which is why we didn’t recognize him.”

  “Have we found him?” Gabe asked.

  “Nope—just a few drops of blood on the vehicle’s carpet. He was one lucky dude. Looks like you only nicked him.”

  “Or not. I think the dog bit him. That would explain the small amount of blood. So who is he? How is the dog, have you heard?”

  “Vet said it was touch and go, but now it’s go. I think my kids want to adopt him. If they do, it’s okay with me. Vet says the dog’s a real sweetheart. It would be good for the kids. We always had pets when I was growing up.”

  “What about our shooter?”

  His name is D. B. Johnson. D. B. for ‘Dirty Billy,’ a nickname he got in the Army. I don’t know why, nor am I particularly interested.”

  “If he was Dade County he would have worked for Wesley Rogers who was the head of the dive team down there, right?” Gabe asked.

  “Yeah, I’ve heard that name. He is an old timer. Why?”

  “Was our Captain Brady on that team with Stewart and Rogers? I wonder if that’s how Brady knew the history of the bridges. We need to find out.” Gabe said, remembering what Richard Greenly’s ghost had told him.

  “Okay, we add him to the list.”

  CHAPTER 8

  1900

  The Evans Home

  Red sky in the morning

  Carol invited Gabe for dinner the next night. As he pulled into the drive Paul was in the open garage polishing his dad’s old Ford F-100. Gabe stopped and admired the work.

  “We had a lot of fun chasing parts and putting her back together,” Gabe said after Paul turned off the buffer. “Your dad always intended she would be yours.”

  “After today my mom won’t let me get my license for fifty years,” Paul said. He put down the buffer and rubbed a cloth over the polish, removing the dust.

  “Only fifty?” Gabe smiled.

  “It’s not fair. They shouldn’t be able to just search your locker like that. I wasn’t selling or hurting anyone.”

  “You sure? How do you think your mom feels? Happy? Proud? How about Emily, what’s she going to tell her friends? Her big brother, the coolest guy she knows, got busted? That’s going to go over well at church, don’t you think? How about your teacher or the kids in your class when their parents start asking questions? It’s not just about you, Paul. Dumb stuff like this hurts everyone you know.”

  Paul picked up the buffer, turned his back on Gabe, and started on a section of the hood. Gabe shook his head and went into the house.

  “I saw you talking with Paul. How’d it go?” Carol asked as she handed Gabe an iced tea
.

  He pulled a chair up to the kitchen table and shook his head. “Got to admit, I don’t understand him. Even worse, he gets under my skin, and then I’m afraid everything I say comes out like a big lecture. I don’t want to be a cop with him. I want to be his friend, to talk to him like we’re both from the same planet. Got any ideas?”

  “I don’t think parents always get to be friends. I heard about this book, I think the title is, How to Raise Perfect Kids in Your Spare Time. They ship it with thumb screws, a Taser, a big bottle of therapy, and a lot of other drugs.”

  “Better sign me up,” they both laughed.

  After a delicious but mostly silent meal of spaghetti and garlic bread, applesauce, and ice cream, Emily cleared the table.

  “How are you doing finding out who killed my dad?” Paul asked.

  “We’re tracking down new leads. My guess is the same guys who killed your dad also killed another diver years ago. I hope to have results soon.”

  Paul hit again. “And what’s going on with that bridge? Are they fixing it?”

  “Yes. The cranes, trucks, and dredges are there. They are building cofferdams, which will be filled with cement to make new footings. It will take a couple months, but they have a good start.”

  “Right,” Paul said and left abruptly to finish the truck.

  Carol sat down beside Gabe and said quietly, “He’s so angry, and he’s got no place to put it. I can’t get through that wall, and I doubt you will either. I think he just has to work this out on his own, and if he doesn’t, I’m probably going to kill him.” She laughed. It was a sad laugh. Like realizing a giant meteor was on a collision course with earth, and there was nothing left to do but laugh.

  The next morning, work stopped when the dredge jammed. It picked up a diver’s weight harness weighing fifty pounds. The name Greenly was still visible in the rotting leather. When the diver sent to clear the dredge hit bottom, he was greeted by the toothless grin of a skull fragment and an assortment of disarticulated human bones.

  Gabe received the call to make the body recovery. He set up a jackstay grid and painstakingly worked the site, scooping through sediment, slime, and sand until he was confident he had cleared the area of Richard’s remains. After a medical examiner confirmed Richard Greenly’s identity, Helen was notified and a statement was given to the press. Nothing was said about a service or internment. When forensics discovered the skull had been fractured, an investigation was opened, and it was assigned to Bob and Gabe, as it related to the other deaths on the bridge. Gabe wondered if the news would reach Richard’s son Zack, who still hadn’t been found.

  Paul had visited the state police dive locker several times with his dad. But today he was nervous, like first-day-at-a-new-school nervous. He entered through the first of four garage doors and truck bays and walked past racks for tanks and wetsuits and individual lockers with benches on the outer wall of the community shower. There were private toilets across one end of the shower area and a half-dozen sinks, all of which required regular cleaning. Paul had never cleaned a bathroom at home but found that he was both capable and competent when motivation and opportunity were mandated by the court.

  “Hey, Paul, I’m Tom Branigan. Your dad and I were friends. Understand you’re going to be with us a while. Let me show you where the cleaning locker is and what needs to be done. If there’s anything more you need just give me a shout.”

  “Hey Paul, I’m Bill Richards, your dad told me you were learning to dive. Are you thinking about joining the team in a few years?”

  Those were common interruptions, but for the most part, the divers simply nodded or smiled and left him alone. He did his job and when possible paid attention to conversations about past and present missions involving weapons searches, recovery of stolen property and vehicles, and exciting dives in local quarries and lakes. At the end of the day, Gabe came to find him.

  “How’s it going?”

  “It’s okay. Better than some juvie detention center I guess. Thanks for that.”

  “The way to thank me is to keep your nose clean and make sure you are getting this job done right every day. And from what I’ve seen you are doing that, so I’m satisfied.” Gabe reached out to put his hand on Paul’s shoulder, but Paul backed away. Silence lingered until Gabe asked, “Tell me about the diving you did with your dad.”

  “Two summers ago, Dad took me to the dive shop to get me PADI certified and then we did some lake dives. Nothing deeper than forty feet. We dove the river once. He put me on a line and showed me how he searched for stuff. It took a while to get my head around the black water, but after a while, it was okay I guess.”

  “It normally takes a lot more than one dive to get comfortable in black water, so you did very well. If there’s a chance, once this case is over, would you like to dive with me?”

  “You serious? Yeah, that’d be cool.”

  “Okay, we’ll keep that in mind.”

  That night Paul got a text from a girl in his class. Saw Zack and Mickey on the Emory campus this afternoon. Thought you should know. The attached photo was of them walking across the campus holding hands.

  “My dad died because of their stupid high school stunt. I hope you put them in jail forever!” Paul shouted as Carol opened the door for Gabe. Paul was pacing the family room looking for things to hit. Emily was in the kitchen frightened of her brother’s tantrum. Carol hugged Gabe and shook her head sadly.

  Gabe walked straight into the room and took Paul by the shoulders. “There’s more to it than just a stunt, Paul. Let’s get a grip and figure this out.”

  “What do you mean more?” Paul tried to twist away. Gabe held fast.

  “The body I recovered under the bridge yesterday was Zack Greenly’s dad. He was a state diver on the bridge inspection team. His murder and your dad’s are connected. My guess is Zack thought if he could get divers back under the bridge, we might find out what happened to his dad. He wanted to know. Just like you want to know what happened to Charlie.”

  “How do you know that?” Paul asked. He deflated, and Gabe let him go.

  “I’m a cop, remember? I promised you we’d get to the bottom of this and we will. Now calm down, sit down, and I’ll tell you the rest of what I know. It looks like this is a lot bigger than just one bridge.”

  CHAPTER 9

  1930

  The Eberly Home

  High winds and flying debris

  Before reporting the sighting of Mickey and Zack to the department, Gabe returned to Mickey’s parents. Her father wasn’t at home, so he began with her mother. “Mrs. Eberly, Mickey and Zack have been seen in Atlanta, so someone has some explaining to do. It will be much better if they turn themselves in before we issue arrest warrants.”

  She sank into a chair with tears welling.

  “They didn’t mean to hurt anyone. Zack just wanted to know what happened to his father.”

  “I understand, and it worked. I recovered his father’s remains, but as you know, my best friend died searching for your daughter.” Gabe felt his temperature rising. He kept his voice soft while he continued, not letting his anger overwhelm his composure. “You lied to me. I could arrest you and your husband right now for obstruction. If you know where they are, you need to tell me, and they need to come home.”

  Mrs. Eberly held her head in her hands crying. “I knew this was wrong,” she sobbed. “They didn’t tell us what they were planning, and I know she only wanted to help Zack. She’s only eighteen. I hope she hasn’t ruined her life.”

  “Do you know where they are?”

  “She’s got an apartment near Emory University. She got a full scholarship to nursing school. I suppose now that will be gone. I’ll give you the address,” she blotted her tears on her sleeve and looked up at Gabe. “I’m so sorry about your friend.”

  “So am I,” Gabe replied. “So am I.”

  “Mrs. Greenly, I’m not sure how the courts are going to look at what’s happened, but I know it will be
a lot better for all of you if the kids turn themselves in immediately. And, if you know what’s going on, this would be a good time to tell me.” Gabe remained standing, his expression appropriately stern.

  Helen Greenly stood up to him, straight as a phone pole and her face frozen. “Just before he died Richard was convinced there was something illegal going on between my dad and some construction company. As usual he wouldn’t listen to me. He had to make a big deal out of it. He went to my father, and they had a terrible argument. Richard was furious when he came home. Maybe Zack found something in his dad’s old files.”

  “Mrs. Greenly, there were booby traps on the old bridge. Two good men have died. If your father was involved, he could be complicit in two murders. If you know what happened now is the time to tell me before this gets worse.”

  “I told you last time, we met in college and Richard was passionate about engineering. When we were first dating, he and my dad really hit it off. In fact when dad found out Richard had been an Army diver, he helped him get a part-time job on the state dive team. But when I got pregnant my dad was furious and cut us off financially. We got married, but we needed money, so school had to wait. Then Richard went full time with the state. He loved that job. But then it got him killed.”

  “Yes, but my question is, what did your husband think was going on? What was that argument about?”

  “I don’t know. It was something about a bridge. That’s all I know.” She hesitated; she looked away from him, shaking her head sadly.

  “I want to see Richard’s files. I can come back with a warrant if I have to.”

  “That’s not necessary. I’m not hiding anything. The boxes are in the attic.” She led him to the bedroom hallway and a pull-down folding ladder, which accessed a dusty attic.

  “I haven’t been up here in years,” she said and then sneezed twice. The attic was roughly finished in bare plywood flooring and exposed insulation in the ceiling. At one end was a large table made from a solid wooden door. There was a single disreputable kitchen chair, and on the makeshift desk was an original Tandy computer with a track-feed printer.