Ghost River

by Jon Coon

  “Tomorrow.”

  “I’ll pray about that.”

  “Thanks. But you didn’t answer my question.”

  “Why am I here? Maybe I was afraid you’d starve without your mére and real Cajun cooking.” She got up from the table and checked the large cast iron pot on the wood stove. “The pot roast and cornbread are ready. Ask a blessing. Then we can eat.”

  Why isn’t it ever easy? How about A shoots B, C sees it, we get a statement, arrest A, and he confesses and goes to jail. How hard is that? Why is there always so much lying and drama?

  Gabe was on his way to the hospital the next morning to see Nick. Bob met him, and they found Nick awake and ready for company. “Good as new in a month or so,” Nick reported.

  “I want to go over what you remember for the report,” Bob said.

  Nick pulled himself up in bed and took a sip of water.

  “First thing I remember is two guys coming out of the house with a roll of blueprints.”

  “Okay, let’s assume they killed the captain for blueprints. Why?”

  “The blueprints must have had something to tell us,” Gabe answered. “So did the captain. The way he talked in his office, it sounded like he suspected more was going on than just the missing girl. He might even have been part of it. Not good.”

  “Bob, you said you think Zack is lying, but he didn’t kill the girl, right?”

  “That’s my gut on it, yeah,” Bob nodded.

  “Okay, on the surface there’s not a connection between the missing girl and the explosives on the bridge or the scoured-out piers. Two, maybe three separate incidents a decade apart. Or are we missing something?

  “Was there a reason Zack picked that place to park? Plenty of other romantic, secluded lakes and beaches for kids to make out or go for a midnight swim. So why drive all the way out there?” Gabe said, scratching his head. “Why there?”

  CHAPTER 6

  0900

  The Greenly Home

  Clear and cool

  Zack thinks he loves Mickey,” Zack’s mother, Helen, began. “He feels responsible, and he’s devastated at her loss.” She took a tissue from the box on the end table and blotted a tear.

  “Mrs. Greenly,” Liz Johnson said, “do you think there are any circumstances under which Zack might have hurt Mickey? Say if she wanted to break up with him?” I could be playing a tape here. And I’ll bet I get the same answers we did from the Eberlys: The kids were cute, well mannered, always wore clean underwear, never inhaled, went to church, and for goodness’s sake never even thought about sex. And certainly never, ever touched each other, other than a strictly platonic kiss after a big night counting stars at their favorite place out on the bridge. Yeah, right.

  Liz sat beside Mrs. Greenly on the living room couch while Gabe and Bob sat at the dining room table giving Mrs. Greenly enough space to not feel surrounded by cops. The house was a split-level ranch with too much white. It felt like an office. No family pictures, no books or magazines. A doctor’s office had more personality.

  “Please, it’s Helen, and no I can’t imagine Zack ever hurting her. Like I said, he says he loves her.”

  “You said he thinks he loves her,” Liz Johnson said. “Do you doubt his feelings?”

  “They’re kids. What do they know about love?”

  “Was it unusual that they would have been at the river that late?” Liz continued. Helen hesitated, debating her response. Then with a shrug, she opened up.

  “I don’t keep track of his social life, but I know that’s a special place for Zack. That’s where his father died. From the time he could drive he’s gone there often. Maybe he wanted to share his feelings about losing his dad with her. Maybe it was just a good place to park. You remember parking don’t you, detective?” Her smile was a little too cute. “I don’t know. You’ll have to ask Zack.” Gabe glanced at Bob who nodded, then said, “Mrs. Greenly—Helen—how exactly did your husband die?”

  She turned toward the table, “I thought you would have known. He was a diver for the state bridge inspection team. He was diving the river right after a big accident. I think a section of the old steel bridge had collapsed. They were going to take it down anyway, so I never understood what the big deal was. He and my father had been arguing about something, but I don’t think that was it.”

  “And your father is?”

  “Jewels Peterson. He’s retired now, but he was the senior engineer on all state bridge construction.”

  Gabe looked up from his notepad, looking startled. “Your dad is Jewels Peterson? Your husband was killed diving on the bridge, and now your son’s girlfriend disappears from the same spot? That’s a load of coincidence all pointing to that bridge. You said your husband had an argument with your dad. Sure you don’t know what the argument was about?”

  “No, but they didn’t get along very well.” She shifted uncomfortably on the couch.

  “Was there a reason for that?” Gabe continued.

  She looked at the coffee table between them and hesitated before saying softly, “I was pregnant, and we had to get married.” She blotted her eyes again, but her gaze was cold and dry. “My dad was pretty traditional. He blamed Richard.”

  “And that was the reason for the argument?”

  “I’m not sure. It could have been something about the bridge.”

  “Like?”

  “Richard thought there was something wrong with the new bridge. They had a terrible fight about it. I’m sure Richard was wrong, but he just wouldn’t give it up. My dad built lots of bridges. There was nothing wrong with any of them.”

  Gabe studied her thinking her personality was a perfect match for the sterile decor. “Helen, I’ve got just one more question,” Gabe said. “Was your husband’s body recovered?”

  She shifted again, uncomfortable. “No. The department had a memorial service, but without a body what was the point?”

  “And what kind of relationship do you have with your father now?” Liz asked.

  “Dad didn’t even come to Richard’s funeral. We haven’t spoken in years.”

  Bob stood, and Liz and Gabe did also. “Mrs. Greenly, I think we’d better have another talk with Zack. Will you ask him to call me, please?

  “I haven’t seen him for the last two days. I’ve called his cell phone several times, and he’s not answering. I imagine he’s gone somewhere on his own again. Now that he’s nineteen he pretty much runs his own life. Or he might be at that girl’s parents’. I think he spends more time with them than he does at home.”

  Liz noted the edge in Helen’s voice and asked, “Could you give us his cell phone number? Perhaps we’ll have better luck. Do you want us to have him call you when we find him?”

  Helen hesitated. “If he wants to. There’s not really that much left for us to say.”

  Back in Bob’s cruiser Gabe tried Zack’s cell, and the recording announced the number was no longer active.

  “It can’t be just coincidence, can it?” Gabe wondered aloud as he and Bob drove back to Jewels Peterson’s Southern mansion. “The girl dies or goes missing at the same place the kid’s dad dies after a big argument with the father-in-law, who’s the head engineer. Now the boy’s off the grid too.”

  “Right, and then Charlie gets killed looking for the girl. Same spot. Now Peterson’s forgotten the diver who died is his son-in-law? What is there about that bridge that’s attracted so many fatalities, maybe murders? Something is waiting for us at the bottom of that river. Something that needs to be found.”

  And now we know there’s another ghost in the river, Gabe thought. Another sad conversation waiting. Perhaps this one will have some answers.

  “Richard’s death was an unfortunate distraction,” Peterson responded to Gabe’s question. The old man had been sleeping when they arrived: his scowl was in response to their intrusion. “It had nothing to do with the bridge and was probably just a careless accident.”

  “Do you mean it was his own fault?” Gabe
asked. This time they were in a stately living room full of well worn, Civil War-era furniture and portraits of grandly mustached men in gray uniforms. Peterson parked his wheelchair in front of the portraits, and Gabe thought it was to position him among the rank of his distinguished forbearers. “You of all people know how dangerous black water diving can be,” Peterson began. “That’s why there are standard operating procedures: protocols for doing the work. It’s my understanding Richard either had never learned or had chosen to ignore most of them.”

  “Can you be specific?”

  “Diving alone, no backup air tank, no dive plan. Shall I go on, or is that enough?”

  Gabe thought immediately of Charlie, who when not under duress always followed the department’s SOPs and wondered why Greenly would have ignored standard safety precautions. Was there something motivating him, the way Mickey’s parents had pressured Charlie?

  “It’s my understanding you two didn’t get along. Is that true?” Bob asked. He was standing by a leaded glass window. Peterson turned his chair to face him.

  “It’s true. It was a family matter and none of your business.”

  “Do you remember an argument you had shortly before his last dive?” Gabe asked.

  “I do.” Peterson turned back to Gabe.

  “Could you share that with us please?”

  “Again, it was strictly family and therefore none of your business. Is that all?”

  “Not quite,” Gabe said. “Just before Captain Brady was murdered I saw two men leaving his home with what looked like blueprints. Big ones. Do you have any idea what they might have been after or what Brady’s interest could have been? We are assuming they pertained to one of the bridges.”

  “You told me Brady was dead. And I told you I didn’t remember knowing him. So I wouldn’t have any idea what his interest in the bridges might have been.”

  “Really?” Gabe answered. “You both worked for the state for what, thirty years, and you never met him?”

  “I’m sorry I can’t help you. I am a bit forgetful these days.”

  “Have you remembered to let your old office know about the bridge?”

  “I did, and they appreciate your information. Your men did a good job with that inspection.”

  “Mr. Peterson, two good men have died, including your son-in-law, and someone went to a great deal of trouble to booby trap the old bridge. Certainly you have some idea why. What could have possibly been worth all that trouble?” Gabe asked and waited for an answer. “And one more thing. Do you have any idea where your grandson might be? He hasn’t been home in a couple of days, and his phone is out of service.”

  “Officer, I wish I could help you. But I’m as much in the dark as you are. I don’t know anything about Zack or what’s happened on the bridge. Now if that’s all, I’m very tired . . .” He turned the wheelchair, pointed them toward the door, and abruptly left them standing on the frayed carpet.

  Harriet, his housekeeper, came in to escort them out. “He’s bad sick, you know. Y’all need to treat him better. Hasn’t got him much longer.”

  As they descended the marble porch steps, Bob asked, “What do you think?”

  “He looks sick, but I’m not certain how sick,” Gabe answered. “One thing’s for sure. He’d have made a great politician.”

  CHAPTER 7

  2030

  Chattahoochee River Bridge

  By the light of the moon

  After three days of nerve-racking dives, Gabe and Lomis finished removing the trip wires, detonators, and shaped charges. They declared the site safe for the repair work to be started on the new bridge and the cleanup completed on the old one. When Gabe returned he saw several trucks and a big barge with a hundred-ton crane. A dredge was tied to a makeshift dock, and truckloads of rebar and steel sheet piling were being stacked on the bank.

  A familiar sight for Gabe was the white double lock recompression chamber, portable dive shack, and 5120 diesel compressor, with stacks of hoses and dive gear neatly stored on the port side of the barge. Life was less complicated in my oilfield days, he thought. And I didn’t get shot at nearly as often.

  Now, a day later, Gabe was able to slip back into the water under the light of a full moon. This time he was the one ignoring the department’s SOPs. The current was down, and he decided to make the dive without Jim. He eased his double tanks and gear into his own jon boat and motored out to the center pier. He secured the boat with a large anchor and a painter line tied to a ring in the pier. When the boat was secure, he assembled his kit, lowered the tanks over the side, and clipped them off to a tagline. He then eased into the water, pulled on the tanks, backplate and wing, cleared his Aga full-face mask, and checked his computer. Holding tightly to the anchor line, Gabe worked his way, hand over hand, to the bottom sixty feet below.

  When he landed on the bottom, he checked the anchor, making sure it would hold. After his brief dive prayer, Gabe stretched out his arm into the darkness and on his command, a ball of light flashed from his hand, lighting a large area of the river bottom.

  “Richard Greenly, awake!” Gabe shouted. A faint cloud of light swirled in front of him, up out of the bottom debris, gradually becoming more intense, taking human form.

  “I’m here,” the spirit responded. Greenly’s ghost was a young man with short, military-style hair, a solid build, and a gentle face.

  “Richard, tell me what happened. How did you get here?”

  “We were in the boat. Something hit me. Stu and Rogers were the only ones there. It had to be—”

  “Who?”

  “Rogers and Stewart. The heads of the dive team.”

  “Okay, so what happened?”

  “Wilson Corbitt told me his fiancée knew her dad’s company was cheating to get contracts. He said he could prove it, and there would be disastrous problems with the other bridges they’d built because of it.”

  “Did you tell Rogers or Stewart what Corbitt suspected?”

  “No. Rogers is my boss, but I don’t trust him. I’m pretty sure he’s bent. Taking money for turning in false inspection reports.”

  “Why did you make the dive?”

  “Rogers set it up, said they needed to inspect the old bridge, which had just collapsed. Make a plan to salvage it.”

  “Do you know what happened to Wilson Corbitt?”

  “Not really. He asked me about going to Peterson, my father-in-law, to tell him what was going on. I told him don’t do it, that I thought Peterson was the reason for whatever was going on, but I don’t know if he listened. I never got to talk to him after that. He and his fiancée disappeared right after the bridge collapsed. I hope they went back to England, but I’m worried.”

  “You said the company was cheating. Do you know how?”

  “I don’t know. But Corbitt said he did.”

  “Was your father-in-law involved?”

  Greenly’s eyes flashed. “He had to have been behind it.”

  “That’s why you argued with him?”

  “I did. I thought I could get him to talk, but all he did was threaten Helen and me. I didn’t have proof, but I believed Corbitt.”

  “Any idea how long this had been going on? How many bridges might be involved?”

  “Corbitt was looking into that. He was afraid there were several more, not just in Florida.”

  Behind them Gabe could see the bright light of angels burning through the distant darkness. “Not much time. Your wife and son are okay. We’ll do everything we can to make this right.”

  “Don’t trust Helen. She’ll do anything to protect her dad. And please, keep Zack away from Peterson. He’s poison. And be careful. I’m your proof. Those guys are killers.” Enthralled by the beauty of his escorts, Richard fell silent. Two large six-winged creatures of pure radiant light. Just before their wings covered him, he looked back at Gabe and said, “Please, watch out for Zack. He’s a good kid in a bad situation. Thanks for coming to find me.”

  Gabe’s jaw tighten
ed. Back in the water freezing my butt off, talking to ghosts. Fighting well fires and salvaging platforms is looking better than ever. Wonder if anyone’s hiring?

  Paul’s court appearance was set for two p.m. When Gabe stepped down from the truck Paul asked, “Why the dress uniform?”

  “To show respect for the court,” Gabe answered as they walked toward the courthouse. “Like dressing well for church, it shows respect, that we take seriously the business at hand.”

  Paul often challenged his mother’s insistance he be neatly dressed in slacks and a button-down shirt, tucked-in, and polished shoes, when many of his friends dressed more casually for their services. He’d never thought it was because his church took the business of worship more seriously. His mother was more composed than at their last meeting with Gabe. She stood behind Paul, quietly waiting.

  “So, here’s how it works, Paul,” started Gabe. The court has the power to send you to juvenile hall or give you community service. You do not want to spend the next six months in juvie.”

  “What do I do?” Paul asked. He was staring at the swirls in the marble floor, wondering if they had come from molten rock flowing like melted ice cream.

  “Remember this. There are two parts to seeking forgiveness: confession and repentance. You need to convince the judge you know what you did was wrong and that it will never happen again. So be polite, apologetic, reformed, and willing to accept whatever comes down from the bench. Don’t speak until spoken to, make good eye contact, and take this more seriously than a snake in your sleeping bag. Got it?

  “Yeah, I got it.”

  “Yes, sir would be more appropriate,” his mother corrected.

  “Yeah, okay. Yes, sir.” Paul looked away, wanting to escape.

  “That’s better,” Carol said.

  In the courtroom Paul studied the judge, a robust, stoic woman in her sixties, who appeared to be in no mood for smart-aleck kids with attitudes. Whatever assurance he’d walked in with melted quickly as the two cases before his ended in offenders being taken out in handcuffs to do real jail time.