Deadly Waters

by T. Alan Codder

  Paul grinned. “My wife makes it but,” he lowered his voice and looked around as if spies were eavesdropping, “it’s not as good as most of the ones here. Don’t tell her I said that.”

  Sean chuckled. “Your secret is safe with me.”

  “I think it must have something to do with the pot. Everyone cooks it in a big cast iron pot, but we don’t have one.”

  “Maybe you should buy her one.”

  “You married?”

  “Not anymore. Why?”

  Paul grinned. “Is it because you bought your wife a pot as a gift?”

  Sean chuckled again. “Okay, I see your point.” He paused. “See anybody who looks like trouble?”

  “Nobody.”

  “Maybe the planned protest fizzled because it’s the first nice day we’ve had in a while.”

  “Maybe. Or maybe they realized showing their asses at a family fun day makes them look bad,” Paul suggested.

  “If we’re lucky. If anybody shows up, don’t make a scene. Just let me know.”

  “You got it, chief.”

  Sean gave him a grin then turned and wandered back into the crowd, working his way to the other end.

  -oOo-

  “That stew any good?” a woman’s voice asked behind him.

  Sean turned and smiled at Maggie, and then glanced at the nearly empty container.

  “It was awful.” He paused, his smile spreading. “Actually, I like it. One of the best stews I’ve had. Filling too.”

  She nodded in understanding. “The town has been doing this for years, since the eighties I guess. Whose is that?” she asked as she jerked her chin at the container.

  “Wanda…” he began, and then paused, his eyes narrowing as he tried to remember the woman’s last name.

  “Wanda Nelson?”

  “Yeah! That’s her.”

  Maggie nodded. “She wins almost every year. They serve the same stew in their restaurant all winter. It’s a local favorite. George W. Bush made a stop in there for the stew once. His picture is hanging on the wall.”

  “I’m not a Brunswick Stew expert, but of the four I tried, I like this one the best. It must be the Irish in me. I like the potatoes.”

  “Yeah, I like it with potatoes too. In fact, I think I’ll go get some.”

  They slowly walked to Wanda’s tent. “Hey, Wanda. How’re you doing?” Maggie asked as she stepped up. “I’ll take a pint.”

  “Pretty good. That silly grease trap is still giving us fits. I keep telling the plumber there’s something wrong with it, but he can’t figure out what it is. Here you go, sugar,” Wanda said, handing Maggie a container and a spoon.

  “If you’ll give me back that five I gave you a few minutes ago, I’ll give you this ten for her stew,” Sean said, holding out the bill.

  “You don’t have to do that,” Maggie protested.

  “My treat, for helping me out.”

  Wanda exchanged the bills. “Thanks again, chief.”

  “You’re welcome, Wanda.”

  “Give Triangle Plumbing a call,” Maggie said, speaking to Wanda. “They can come out and TV the thing and tell you why it keeps overflowing. It’s who we use.”

  “Thanks, dear. I’ll mention it to the plumber.”

  “You know her?” Sean asked as they ambled away, Maggie stirring and blowing on her stew to cool it.

  “I know most of the business owners in town because we have to inspect them. Wanda’s grease trap keeps backing up into city’s lines and plugging them with grease. I’ve been waiving her fines because she’s trying to get the problem fixed.”

  What does ‘TV it’ mean?”

  “The plumber will come out and run a tiny little waterproof camera down in the trap and take a look around. What the camera sees is displayed on a screen. There’s probably some long technical sounding name, like real time video inspection, or something, but we just say TV it and everyone knows what we’re talking about.”

  “I had no idea there was so much to this sewer stuff. I never thought about it. I use the toilet, give it a flush, and that’s it. I didn’t realize all the science going on.”

  She giggled. “No kidding. All the crap people flush down the toilet, it all becomes my problem sooner or later.”

  “Well I, for one, am glad we have people like you to do it,” he said with exaggerated gallantry.

  “Why thank you, sir,” she replied, laying on the accent. “You never did tell me why you moved to Brunswick. You said you were looking for a change. What kind of change?”

  He shrugged. “Slower pace. Less stress. Warmer weather.”

  “How’d you do?”

  “Two out of three ain’t bad.”

  She giggled. “Can I guess which two? What about your family?”

  “Mom and Dad moved to Florida several years ago. I’m actually closer to them now than I was before. My daughter is a Junior in Bridgewater, studying history.”

  “I didn’t know you had a daughter. Are you married?”

  “Not anymore.”

  “Oh. Sorry.”

  He smiled. “It’s fine. My wife said she needed to find herself. She did. In the arms of a doctor at the hospital where she worked.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Yeah. Three years ago, she asked for a separation. A year after that, a divorce. At least it was an amicable parting. What about you? Any kids?” he asked.

  “No. Thank God.”

  He grinned. “There’s a story there.”

  “No, not really. Like you, I’m divorced. After about ten years, we’d just drifted apart. Been divorced for, let’s see, seven years now.”

  “That’s rough. Sorry.”

  “I’m over it. The strange thing is, the thing that hurt my feelings the most was he seemed almost relieved when I suggested divorce. I’m glad we never had kids. It made the split a lot easier.”

  Sean nodded in understanding. “McKenzie, my daughter, was in high school when her mother moved out. She was old enough to understand.”

  “She stayed with your wife? Ex-wife?”

  “Yeah. She was already enrolled in Bridgewater when the divorce was finalized, so when I got the position here, I sold all the stuff I didn’t need and moved south. Now it’s just me and Marmalade.”

  “Your dog?”

  “Cat.”

  “You have a cat?” Maggie asked, her surprise clear in her voice.

  “What’s wrong with me having a cat?”

  She giggled. “Nothing. I have one myself, TC, but I always imagined guys as dog people.”

  “Nope. He belonged to my daughter until she went away to school. Now he’s mine. He’s getting old, but he’s good company.”

  “Let me guess. He’s an orange Tabby.”

  “Good guess. You deserve to wear that junior detective badge. How’d you know?”

  She took another bite of her stew. “Just a guess. Good name for an orange cat though.”

  “What’s TC stand for, if anything?”

  “The Cat.”

  He laughed. “Really?”

  Maggie grinned. “Really. He’s a stray that adopted me. We found him at the plant one day. He kept hanging around so we started feeding him. One thing led to another…” she shrugged. “He lived at the plant for a year or so. He was always following me around the office or hanging out, sleeping on my desk in the sunshine, so I finally took him home. He’s kind of an indoor, outdoor, cat. He comes in to sleep, and eat, and that’s about it. When I go to bed he wants back out.”

  “I think Marmalade would have a panic attack if his feet ever touched grass. All he does is lie in the window on a cat perch, soaking up sunshine and watching the world go by.”

  “Yeah, I haven’t figured that out. I do all the work, and TC struts around like he owns the place… the ungrateful little turd.”

  Sean snickered. “My daughter told me this once. ‘Dogs: You feed me, you love me, you protect me… you must be a God. Cats: You feed me, you love me, you protect me…
I must be a God.’”

  She giggled. “That’s it exactly!”

  They reached the end of the festival and circled, turning to stroll the length of downtown again. “Did you get your problem sorted out?” Maggie asked.

  “What problem?”

  “You were having a bad day the other day, remember?”

  He grinned. “Oh yeah. Yeah, it’s fine. The mayor and I don’t see eye to eye on this Thacker case. He doesn’t know why it’s taking us so long to find Thacker’s killer.”

  “Boy, do I know how that feels. Rudy’s a good guy, and he cares deeply about Brunswick, but he doesn’t understand why some things just take time. He sold insurance for a long time. He’s used to wheeling and dealing, not the steady grind.”

  “How long has he been the mayor?”

  She tossed her empty container into one of the trash cans and scratched her head. “Sixteen years? I think that’s right. He’s up for reelection this year.”

  Sean grunted, causing Maggie to grin.

  “No, he’s always this way.”

  He chuckled. “I’m not sure I like you reading my mind.”

  Her smile widened. “I’ve been with the city seventeen years. I have a degree in chemistry and started working in the lab right out of school, and worked my way up from there. He’s been like this forever. He was a councilman before he was the mayor. When he wants something, he wants it right now. But like I said, he really does have the best interests of Brunswick at heart. He’s done a lot of good for the city. He’s the one who finally pushed through the resolution to get the plant upgraded. Granted, they’re ignoring it again, but when I really need something, I can usually get it, if not right away.”

  He studied her as they walked. He’d forgotten she’d been with the city as long as she had. If she’d worked for the city for seventeen years, she had to be older than he’d first thought. Though she didn’t look it, Maggie had to be least forty.

  “Maybe I’ll get you to write my proposals for new computers if they turn it down this time.”

  “I don’t think you want that. They’re still mad at me over the spill.”

  “Weren’t you cleared over that?”

  “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean they didn’t want a scapegoat. That’s the one thing I don’t like about Rudy. If something goes wrong, the first thing he wants to know is ‘whose fault is it?’ Sometimes it’s not anyone’s fault.”

  “Like the spill,” he suggested.

  “Or like you haven’t found Thacker’s killer.”

  “We’ll get him, though. Not every murder is solved, but most are. The odds are in our favor.”

  “I have no doubt. We’ve got Boston PD’s ace cyber-investigator on the force now.”

  “We do? What’s his name? I need to talk to him,” he asked, causing her to snicker.

  Fourteen

  Monday morning, Sean listened to the dull on hold music as he checked and signed off on his peoples’ hours so they could get paid.

  The music ended. “Pete Rodgers,” a man’s voice said. From his accent, there was no doubt this man was a native New Yorker.

  “Mr. Rodgers, this is Sean McGhee, Chief of Police, Brunswick, North Carolina. I’m investigating the death of Boyd Thacker and I’d like to speak to you about Mr. Thacker’s work.”

  “That was a terrible tragedy. Boyd was a good man and we’re all shocked by his death. How can I help you, chief?”

  “I’d like to get a list of the complaints he’s filed. I’m looking for any information that might lead me to his killer.”

  “I can get you that. It’s all public record. How far back do you want to go?” Pete asked.

  “As far back as Thacker goes, I suppose. How long had he been part of the riverkeepers?”

  “I don’t have that information at my fingertips. Several years.”

  “More than ten?”

  “Chief, I honestly don’t know.”

  “Then send me everything you have.”

  “I’ll get it to you today. This is the first time we’ve had a member killed. Do you think it had something to do with him being a keeper?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to find out.”

  “What’s your email address? I’ll have someone pull those files and send them to you right away.”

  Sean gave him his city email address.

  “If there is anything else we can do to help, let me know. We obviously want to cooperate in every way we can. We don’t want people to think they can get away with killing a keeper.”

  “Don’t worry. We won’t rest until we find Thacker’s killer.”

  “That’s good to know. Expect the files in a few hours.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Rodgers. If I have any questions, I’ll be in touch.”

  -oOo-

  Less than three hours later, Sean’s desktop computer chimed with the arrival of an email from the Waterkeepers Alliance, the umbrella organization that oversaw the various keeper environmental groups, such as baykeepers, riverkeepers, and coastal waterkeepers, among others.

  It took almost thirty minutes to print out the files. After sorting out and placing aside complaints that weren’t related to the Brunswick area, that left Thacker filing three lawsuits and numerous complaints with the state. One of the lawsuits was against the city for the spill after hurricane Chasity, but there were two other lawsuits against local companies.

  Those suits alleged LoCoste Adhesives and Prickle Dyes didn’t have the proper containment dikes in place to contain spills. Additional complaints alleged that the runoff from their plants were contaminating Hickam Creek, and that contamination was flowing into the Siouan. Thacker had lost both suits but was appealing the ruling on the grounds the judge had misinterpreted one of the state regulations.

  The various other complaints had to do with inadequate runoff control measures at construction sites, the launching of boats at unregulated locations was damaging the river bank, and home owners were improperly clearing their properties of growth along the water’s edge.

  All in all, it appeared to Sean that Thacker was a busy-body looking for things to complain about, which he supposed, was his job.

  Of more interest than the complaints were the lawsuits against LoCoste Adhesives and Prickle Dyes. Both plants were in a small industrial park at the very edge of town and Thacker had cited twelve violations, six at each plant. It seemed unlikely Steve or the owner of Prickle Dyes would risk everything with the murder of Thacker, especially since they’d won in court, but it was another piece to the puzzle, and two more people who might have a grudge against Thacker.

  After reading through both lawsuits, he decided to contact both LoCoste Adhesives and Prickle Dyes and speak with the owners. A few minutes on the internet uncovered phone numbers for both plants and he picked up his phone and began to dial.

  -oOo-

  “Chief,” Steve said as he greeted Sean in the lobby of his plant.

  The lobby wasn’t large, but it was welcoming with light beige walls, off-white ceramic tile floors, and comfortable looking, pastel blue, furniture. Prominently displayed on the back wall was the LoCoste Adhesives logo with the company name spelled out in large gold letters to the side, and the glass front of the building allowed in plenty of light to make the lobby feel bright and airy.

  “Steve. Thanks for meeting me on such short notice,” Sean replied.

  “No problem. Let’s go to my office. You said you wanted to talk to me about the lawsuit Thacker filed?”

  “Yeah. I’m still trying to get my head around this case. Nothing about it makes sense, so I’ve backed up another step to try to come up with something. I got some information from the Waterkeepers Alliance, and in there I saw Thacker had sued both you and Prickle Dyes.”

  Steve’s office was in the corner of the building with floor to ceiling windows on two sides. It was pin neat, with dark commercial carpeting, furnished with a large wooden desk and a pair of brown leather guest chairs. Set apart from the desk,
to form an informal meeting area, were four comfortable looking pastel green chairs circling a low table.

  Steve motioned Sean to a seat in the conversation group, taking another chair for himself.

  “That’s right.” Steve shook his head and smiled. “That Thacker, he was a real piece of work. If you were to spit into Hickam Creek, he’d be jumping up and down about pollution.”

  “So, there was no merit to his charges?”

  Steve shrugged. “We were cleared on all counts. Despite what the environmentalists think, most people don’t want to pollute the environment. I know I don’t. I have to drink the water too, you know, so we follow all the state regulations about disposal of our waste.”

  “But that wasn’t even what the suit was about, right?”

  “Right. Thacker was complaining our containment dikes were inadequate. I have a fifteen thousand gallon holding tank for our liquid waste. Our dikes are designed to hold fifteen thousand gallons. Now, I suppose if the tank was completely full and it ruptured, and we just kept right on running, pouring more waste into the dike, yes, it would overflow and run into the creek. But really, why would we do that? That’s just stupid. The courts seemed to think so too.”

  “That’s what he was complaining about?”

  “More or less. He contends there’s supposed to be a safety factor we don’t meet. The thing is, if we let the tank get completely full it overflows when we run, and then we have to clean it up. We don’t do that. I’ve only seen the tank above seventy-five percent once, and that was because of some extenuating circumstances. We typically pump it down at around fifty percent.”

  “He was appealing,” Sean pointed out.

  “I know.” Steve grinned. “I have Richard Spangler on retainer. He beat him once; he’d beat him again.”

  “The city attorney?”

  “The same. He’s very good at his job.”

  Sean grunted. “What did you think of him suing you?”

  Steve grinned again. “I know where you’re going with this. Did I like Thacker? No, not really. He cost me time and money. But did I dislike him enough to kill him? No. I have a family to think about. Why would I kill the guy, especially since I beat him in court?”