Ghost River

by Jon Coon

  “Sure you don’t want my help bagging him?”

  “It’s going to be a mess. He’s been there a while. I’ll do it.”

  “Your call, but shout if you need me,” Randy answered and waited for Jim. Jim checked the gear, head to toe, tapped his shoulder, and Randy jumped from the deck of the thirty-foot Boston Whaler Outrage, one of the departments’ newest vessels. Gabe was quickly behind him, dropping into the swirling water. Darkness closed in around him as he went down the line to the bottom.

  The river felt more oppressive. The current was still ripping, the water was still freezing, it was still black as a coal mine without a candle or a canary, but it felt different. It felt colder. It felt darker and more claustrophobic. It felt malevolent. It was as though the river had a spirit, angry and vengeful. Gabe shuddered and repeated his pre-dive prayer.

  “Eternal Father, strong to save,

  Have mercy on me,

  A wretched sinner.

  In the name of Your Son,

  Who bound the wave and calmed the sea,

  Please don’t add my name

  To the list of those many brave divers who lie asleep

  In the deep.

  At least not today.

  Amen.”

  On his knees in the mud, holding onto the downline, Gabe paused to breathe and gather his thoughts before giving Jim the customary, “On bottom.” Jim acknowledged, and Gabe attached a search-line to a ring on the downline and moved up current until he was in the steel. Moving slowly, cautiously, stopping from time to time to grope in the darkness ahead, more than once he touched jagged angle iron and raw edged beams as he crisscrossed the bottom. As he moved he followed the web of wiring. He cut the wires and then removed the shaped charges, putting them in a mesh bag.

  Moving along the small jump-reel line Gabe left on last night’s dive, Randy Lomis was soon upstream back in the twisted bridge wreckage. As he worked his way through the steel maze, he followed the beams and wind bracing, carefully finding and cutting the tangle of wires. As he moved, he memorized the patterns of the old bridge, making a map in his mind.

  All the blasting cap wires were plastic coated and the same diameter, so when his hand hit a bare steel wire, bigger than the others, he remembered what Gabe had said and was immediately suspicious.

  He tied a loop in a jump reel line around it and slid the loop along the wire. He was careful to stay above or outside the steel beams so as not to foul his umbilical, and after fifteen arm spans the wire terminated in an object Nick would not have recognized, even from his Navy days. Lomis pulled off a glove to get a better feel for the object and realized it could only be one thing: a spring tension detonator like the ones used on the M18A1 Claymore mines. Only this was much smaller and wired to a battery pack, never used underwater by military divers.

  Randy reached into the leg pocket of his drysuit, grabbed a side cutter and cut the trip wire. He then carefully unwound the wire holding the detonator to the beam. He stuffed the detonator and the battery pack in his leg pocket and pulled his glove back on over frozen fingers.

  “Gabe?” Randy said into the Aga mask com. “Heads up, you were right. I’ve got a trip wire and some kind of detonator. Watch yourself. Nick was wrong about not being able to detonate these charges underwater.”

  No doubt about it now, Charlie was murdered. Cold and tired, Gabe collected the last of the shaped charges he could find then called to Jim to pick him up. After a short surface break and conversation with Randy about the next dive, he dropped back down the line after his usual pre-dive gear check and prayer and paused on the bottom to get reoriented. He and Randy covered the bottom a second time confirming the shaped charges and wiring web were removed. They surfaced, rested for a required surface interval, and then prepared for a final dive. Gabe had laid a line to Charlie using a jump-reel, so finding the body was straight-forward.

  He crawled from the downline along the jump-reel line, into the current, and moved straight to the body. With turbulence and sediment so thick no light could have helped, he searched with his hands until he felt the softness of Charlie’s mutilated body.

  Gabe cringed at the contact and closed his eyes, even though it was too black to see anything. “It’s okay, pal, you’ve been here long enough.” Gabe sent up a lift bag as a buoy and called to Jim on the com, “I’ve got him. Send me the stretcher and the body bag.”

  “Roger that. See your buoy. The boat’s on its way.”

  The basket stretcher with rolled lift bags and white body bag dropped beside him. He found the body bag, unrolled it, and positioned it in front of Charlie. As he lifted the body away from the rebar, he felt movement. He was startled and froze. Something brushed past his arm and then slid past the side of his head. Charlie’s body twitched, and again Gabe could feel something tugging. Large fish, probably catfish, were attacking the body, pulling away flesh where the dry suit had ripped open.

  Gabe shouted at them, which did no good, and pulled the body away. The fish pulled and shoved to get it back. He was hit in the head by something with the strength of a large animal. He got back up and pulled Charlie away from whatever was going bump in the night.

  Through his gloves, Gabe could feel the spongy, bloated flesh, which slipped through his grasp. From experience, he knew subdermal fat becomes soapy after prolonged submersion, loosening skin to the point that even slight pressure will cause it to peel or “deglove,” coming off intact and leaving the subdural tissues exposed like the frogs he’d dissected in high school. He was thankful he was working in water so dark he couldn’t see. This is the part I hate. Who in their right mind would do this? Even for your best friend? Come on, Charlie, let’s get this over with and call it a day.

  Gabe moved to his knees with Charlie lying in front of him. Gabe opened the bag and gently tried rolling the body into it. Rigor had stiffened the joints.

  “Help me out here, pal,” Gabe said, and gently forced the arms to lay beside the torso and fit in the bag.

  “Okay, let’s go home.” He zipped the bag and unrolled the lift bags on the stretcher. He turned on the air tanks and filled both bags less than half full. On the way to the surface, the lift bags rapidly expanded as Gabe controlled the ascent by pulling the dump valve lines sending air rumbling to the surface above. Two team divers were waiting in the inflatable boat. When Gabe surfaced, he told them, “Don’t open the bag. It’s bad.”

  The boatmen retrieved the body with solemn dignity and took their lost brother to shore. Gabe waited on the surface while the men in the boat lifted Charlie’s body out of the water. Then he removed the Aga mask, flushed it, replaced it, adjusted the dry suit hood so that the mask resealed, and then retightened the five legs of the rubber spider. He took two deep breaths, dumped the air from his back-mounted buoyancy compensator and submerged back into the dark water.

  Onshore Carol saw Gabe surface with the stretcher. When she tried to get up from her folding chair, her strength failed. She sobbed, staggered forward, and dropped to her knees. One of the other wives caught her and knelt beside her, holding her hand and quietly talking to reassure her. Carol had vowed to Gabe there would be no more tears. She gritted her teeth and mustered the strength to get back on her feet.

  By the time the boat brought the stretcher to the beach and the waiting ambulance, she was able to thank the men who carried Charlie ashore and lifted him onto the gurney. Carol put a hand on the bag and bowed her head. She paused as though bracing herself for what was to come, then reached for the zipper. Jim passed Gabe’s umbilical to another team member and quickly stopped her.

  “Carol, don’t. Gabe says it’s pretty bad.”

  “I’m a nurse. Trust me. I’ve seen worse. I want to—”

  “No. Later if you have to, but not now. Gabe’s orders.”

  “Okay. Later.” She laid a hand on the body bag, then squared her shoulders and walked back to the other wives.

  Submerged, alone, hanging on the line, Gabe felt sick. Images of catfi
sh tearing away Charlie’s flesh were gut-wrenching. He remembered a New York diver who had worked body recovery at the sight of a plane crash saying, “I’ll never eat crabs again. I can’t even look at one without wanting to heave.”

  One less ghost in the river. Charlie was on his way home, but then why did the river still feel so alien? Charlie had said, “We’re not alone.” Had he meant the girl was still there? Divers had covered every inch of the bottom they could get to. Had she been caught in the steel and forced out of reach in a hidden pocket beneath the bridge rubble? Charlie and the river were telling him something wasn’t right. He shut his eyes, not that he could see anything anyway, and prayed for Charlie and his family. The worst was over, but the pain lingered, and his heart felt broken.

  Jim’s voice broke the silence, “You okay?”

  Jim pulled, and Gabe ascended back to the boat and gratefully dropped to his bench where Jim began removing the gear. With the weight of the suit removed, he and Randy sat warming themselves with hot chocolate. “Show me what you found,” Gabe said.

  Randy produced the detonator and small battery pack from the towel he’d wrapped it in immediately after surfacing.

  “Cute,” Randy said, “Never seen anything like it for underwater use. Battery would last years, and it only takes a little juice to set off a cap. Most of the old plunger blasting machines only put out fifty amps. Whoever made this knew what they were doing.”

  “One of those got Charlie.”

  “Sure, and it might have gotten us too if you hadn’t given me a heads up. Can’t wait to show it to Nick. I think we got them all, but if we have to go back now, we know what to look for.” He held it up in the light, examining it from all angles.

  Gabe shook his head in disbelief asked, “What’s down there that someone would do this—kill Charlie or all of us? It’s only a bridge.”

  In the boat cabin, Gabe’s phone rang while he was changing clothes. By the time he got to it, it showed a missed message. He tapped the playback button.

  “Gabe, it’s Carol. First, thanks for bringing Charlie back to us. It means a lot. Second, the service will be on Friday, our church, at two. The kids and I would very much appreciate it if you could say a few words. They are so upset anything you could say to help them would be a blessing. Thanks, Gabe. I know you’re busy, but the kids have questions, and we would all like to see you. Call me, please.”

  Gabe listened to the message twice before putting down the phone. He shook his head sadly and ran his cold fingers through the stubble that passed for a haircut. What were the words that would heal the hurt, replace the loss, fill that gaping sinkhole in their lives? There are no words like that. You live through it and pray to God you can make it, one day at a time. Gabe dropped to the cabin’s berth with his head in his hands and changed focus. Charlie, if you weren’t already dead, I’d kick your butt till Tuesday.

  CHAPTER 3

  0900

  The Eberly Home

  Dark skies clearing slowly

  I can’t believe we’ve lost her like this.” Mickey Eberly’s mother sobbed as she tried to answer Lieutenant Liz Johnson’s questions about her missing daughter. Ruth Eberly was in her late forties, with a kind face and gentle demeanor. Perfect grandmother material. Detective Bob Spencer, early forties, slightly overweight, carrying a sidearm and backup in an ankle holster, perfect cop material, was sitting in a corner rocker, near the fireplace of the cozy bungalow, quietly listening. On the mantle were pictures. Mickey was young, more than just attractive, and had a centered composure, looking confident beyond her years.

  “Please tell us about her, Ruth. Everything you can remember,” Liz asked, in her most perfectly compassionate voice.

  “She was eighteen, nearly a straight-A student, beautiful as you can see in the pictures. She was a good Christian girl, always in church, always living for others. We trusted her without question. What else?”

  “Zack Greenly, what kind of relationship was that?”

  “They love each other. They’ve been together for two years, but it started with Zack as more of a rescue project than a serious romantic thing. Last year it got more serious. They started going to church together. That was something.”

  “We were happy for them,” Mark Eberly, Mickey’s dad, added. “Zack’s a good kid.”

  “Do you think Zack could have hurt her? Say, if she was breaking up with him?” Liz asked.

  “No. They’re planning to go to Atlanta. She got a scholarship to Emory for nursing, and he wants Georgia Tech for engineering. I don’t think they’ve ever even had a real argument.” Ruth folded and unfolded her hands, looking up at them and waiting.

  “What else can you tell me about Zack?” Liz said and glanced quickly at Bob. Both caught that Mickey’s mother was describing the relationship in the present tense, and he glanced back at Liz who nodded.

  Mark Eberly answered that one. “Like I said, we like Zack. He lost his father when he was pretty young. I think he was looking for an older guy he could relate to. And no, I don’t think he would have ever laid a hand on her.” He reached over and took his wife’s small hands in his.

  “Then what do you think happened to her?” Bob asked the quiet, older man.

  “Don’t know. Nothing about this adds up. I talked to Zack, and I’m convinced he’s telling the truth. He doesn’t know what happened either. She got out of the car, and two minutes later she was gone.”

  2200

  “Mind telling me what we’re doing out here, in this weather in the middle of the night?” Jim asked. The night was cloudy and dark with a light, misty drizzle and just enough wind coming off the water to be bone-chilling.

  “I want one more shot at finding the girl.” Gabe explained what Bob had told him.

  “And we couldn’t do that during normal working hours?”

  “Just humor me, okay? There’s something off about this whole thing, and the answer is down there in the old bridge steel. I just need time to find it.”

  “Yeah, but why in the middle of the night?”

  “Captain Brady said he was afraid some of our guys might have been involved in this. He said it might go up the food chain. If that’s the case, we’re better off without spectators. And there’s something else. Did you say anything to anyone about my meeting with Captain Brady?”

  “You got me out here to ask me that?” Jim said.

  “I need to know, Jim.” Gabe waited until Jim was making eye contact, then pushed again.

  “Well?”

  “No, man. We agreed to keep it all quiet. Why would I say anything?”

  “That’s what I need to know.”

  “We’re partners, Gabe. I would never—”

  “And that crack you made to Brady about my finding the explosives. What was that about?”

  “You did find explosives. And if you get yourself killed down there, it’s my fault. I was just looking out for both of us.”

  “How about next time you just trust me, okay? I know what I’m doing.”

  “Yeah, look, I’m sorry, okay? I should have kept my mouth shut.”

  “Good enough. I just wanted to hear it from you. Let’s go diving.”

  When Jim started the compressor, an owl screeched and exploded out of a nearby tree, looking for quieter hunting grounds. Upriver, a doe and her fawn jumped back from the water and crashed into the underbrush. Dark clouds drifted past the hidden moon, casting dim light over the water and long shadows from the cypress trees, where in summer gators would be calling and small game would be looking for cover. The gentle rain continued.

  Wearing twenty extra pounds of dive weights to help fight the current, Gabe backed into the water, inflated his vest, and drifted out into the river until he found the buoy left from his last dive. He deflated the vest, dropped down the line a few feet, stopped for his prayer, and then dropped to the bottom. With the extra weight he was able to hold his position without having to dig in. As he’d planned, he was on the upstream side of th
e old bridge, closer to the pit where the pier dangled precariously above his head.

  “On bottom.”

  “Roger, on bottom.”

  “Beginning search.”

  “Roger, beginning search. Try not to lose com this time.”

  Too late. Gabe was already loosening the wire nuts and pulling loose the com cable. He braced against the current, held the umbilical with his right hand, and stretched forth his left. As he opened his fingers a ball of light jumped forward, illuminating a large area of river bottom around the new bridge. He could see three of the center bridge piers hanging from the bridge, not even close to touching the river bottom. There were piles of old trees and trash, and as he looked back at the old iron bridge, he could see piles of stone from the piers and tons of twisted steel. A sixty-pound catfish retreated from the light and a school of mullet darted past. Gabe shuddered as he remembered the fish attacking Charlie.

  As the light exploded from his outstretched arm, Gabe commanded, “Mickey Eberly, awake!” His voice echoed through the water like thunder, but there was no answer. One more try, “Michelle Eberly, awake!”

  Nothing. She would have to be a long way downriver not to hear his command, and it was unlikely she would have been carried past the steel tangle of the old bridge. Too many snags. “Well, Mickey, precious child, if not here, then where are you?”

  Gabe pushed the com wire jacks back into the plugs on the full-face mask and moved from where he’d found Charlie on the old bridge and began climbing over a mountain of twisted steel, counterweights pulleys, and cables. Even in the light he’d created, he couldn’t see to the bottom of the steel pile. Perhaps when some of this is cleared away he’d be able to see what’s down there worth killing for. He searched for forty-five minutes, not sure what he was looking for. With a frustrated shrug, he got ready to surface. Nothing. There had to be something more.

  1300

  Corporal Charles Evans’s funeral was that afternoon. The church was full, a state police honor guard lined the entrance, and government officials filled the first rows. Gabe saw Carol and the kids in the first pew across the aisle. She returned his nod with a sad smile. After the opening hymn, the pastor’s greeting, and opening remarks, it was his turn. Gabe took a long breath to calm his butterflies and approached the four steps to the pulpit.