Dead in the Water (DeSantos Book 1)

by A. R. Case

  And the smells… it brought back the trips to her great grandmother’s when she was little. The smell of corned beef, hash, potato soup, and other great food that filled you up and warmed you from the inside to outside, permeated the pub. It reminded her of many meals at a crowded table. Of pastry that fell apart in your mouth, meat pies, and hugs that smelled like lemon and wintergreen. Tension she didn’t even realize she was carrying started to fall from her shoulders. Her throat got tight for a moment. Then she tucked the memories to the side to pull out later when she wasn’t so vulnerable.

  Jonathan and Tony were in a booth near the bar. John, Sr., had been a binge drinker and not a nice one at that, so Susan avoided bars once she discovered this. But this wasn’t really a bar, it was a restaurant with a rowdy Irish-flavored chaos underlaid with a sense of family that she just couldn’t find fault with. Moreover, instead of a Budweiser, which was John’s favorite, Tony was sipping something dark, maybe a Guinness, which according to her father was the sign of a true beer, not water. That memory brought a smile to her face.

  “Mind if I join you?”

  “Mom!” Jonathan stood to let her in, Tony stood too, which surprised Susan. Not many Northern-American men remembered their manners like that. They discussed the food choices, what Jonathan had basically inhaled and what Tony’s favorites were before the server asked if she wanted a beverage.

  Susan almost asked for a tea, but saw a sign for Murphy’s Irish Stout on the tented table advertisement. “You have Murphy’s?”

  The server laughed. “We carry over thirty different imports, here.” She handed Susan a beer menu, which was filled with great choices. She took a glance at it, but asked for a Murphy’s all the same. It brought back memories of her father and uncles. They were all gone now, but they were characters. It was tradition to have an opinion about sports, politics, and most importantly, what constituted a proper drink. Maybe if John’s family had been a little less puritanical and more boisterous, he wouldn’t have been such an asshole.

  They chatted. Jonathan and Tony already bonding like men do. Susan engaged in a friendly argument with Tony about the importance of the right hops in beer, and they all agreed on the sorry state of the Nets. She was a Celtics fan so the Nets sucked because well, they weren’t the Celtics, Jonathan thought they sucked because they left Jersey, and Tony thought they just sucked because of some weak trades. Some guys from the bar put in their two cents and the discussion got lively.

  She watched her son soaking up the testosterone and it felt good to see him there. Despite her initial misgivings, this was really what he needed. No drama, nothing of importance, except the dissection of sport team excellence and a safe, but foreign setting. Most of all, she saw the stress that had shadowed him for the last week drop away. That was a good thing.

  Her food came. Tony ordered another drink for Jonathan, and they split a slice of apple pie. Tony passing half over, claiming he couldn’t eat all of it. Her fish and chips were perfection. She lost a bit of the conversation as she tucked in. Jonathan stole a few fries from her plate, which prompted Tony to snitch one too.

  “I thought you couldn’t eat any more.” She joked.

  “Just helping you out. You’re eating too slow.” He chewed around his words, at least rough enough not to care if he spoke and chewed at the same time. She found herself mesmerized by the easy way he acted. That and his sprawling arms as he leaned back in the booth. He was a huge man, without being an ounce overweight. His black hair and goatee were shaggy today, a huge difference from the clean look he had the previous time she’d seen him. He let out a contented sigh and licked his lips. “That filled the corners.” His foot bumped hers as he stretched out. She moved her foot out of the way, but was very tempted to put it back in his space just to see whether he’d pull his foot away.

  Her heart fluttered like a teenager’s as she imagined how it would feel to touch him. Even if their legs were covered in jean material and leather, it excited her. She really needed to consider dating again, but hadn’t found anyone that didn’t remind her in some way of John.

  Tony didn’t. She found herself paying less attention to the meal and the conversation. Instead she was drawn in by the play of the smile across his face, or the movement of his sparse beard as he talked. She liked the sun-streaked wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and their warm brown color. In the dim light of the pub, they almost looked black. Once in awhile, the light would catch them and she’d see the lighter centers that were almost gold. In a word, they were pretty. She allowed herself one comparison. John’s average blue eyes were not nearly as sexy.

  She shook herself wondering where that had come from.

  “I think your mom is zoning out.”

  “She gets that way this time of the night.”

  Susan sat up in the booth. “What time is it?”

  “Nearly eleven.” Tony said, looking at his phone.

  “Oh shoot. You have school in the morning. We gotta go.”

  “No worries.” They gathered up the plates. Tony picked up the receipt the server left. Susan placed a ten on the table for the waitress, which Tony picked back up and put in her hand. “I’ve got it.”

  She stared at him for a moment, but acquiesced. Maybe last week she would have fought a bit harder to assist, but after meeting with the lawyer twice this week, she knew every penny counted from now on until this thing was done.

  Tony paid the bill and walked them to the bus stop. “I’d offer a ride, but you both wouldn’t fit on my bike.” He joked.

  That grabbed Jonathan’s attention and they discussed his Harley for a bit.

  “That’s our bus, Jonathan.” Susan pointed up the street where the bus was stopped two lights down.

  “Later then, Tony.” Jonathan held a fist out and they knocked knuckles. Susan hadn’t seen that particular type of handshake from her child before.

  “Did you teach him that?” She half accused.

  Tony looked boyishly sheepish. “Yeah…” He teased back. He glanced up the street to the bus. “You got a second?” He motioned his head to the side.

  “Probably thirty.” She walked with him slightly away from Jonathan’s protests.

  He held out a hand, waiting for her to take it. When she did, he cleared his throat, “I had a great time with you and want to do this again, either with Jonathan, or just with you. Say yes this time.”

  “You’re asking me out, right?”

  He grinned. “Yes. Please don’t shoot me down. I don’t think I can take it again.”

  “You have an ego, you know that?”

  “Yes or no.”

  She heard the tell-tale hydraulic hiss and squeak of bus brakes and turned to go. Her heart was racing. If she said no, he probably wouldn’t ask again. If she said yes, did that make her easy?

  The bus stopped. Tony let go of her hand. She hustled Jonathan up the steps and got up the first step, just inside the doors, but turned at the last minute to address Tony.

  “Yes.”

  God help her, she said yes.

  Chapter ten

  Daniel Mills was at a dead end. His case against Conrad Whitehead was stalled. The team knew he was involved in several criminal activities that could eventually take him out, but without the information Ricky had been collecting, there wasn’t enough tangible evidence to move against him.

  He went over the photos of the DeSantos break-in again. They hadn’t found the flash drive that fit on Ricky’s keychain at Lisa’s. So where was it? The search of the body confirmed that the keyfob Ricky had attached to the chain on his wrist was empty. Dirt and other debris was inside the cavity, but it wasn’t conclusive that the cavity was empty before he was placed in the water.

  Considering the wetlands were subject to the raising and lowering tide, it was conceivable the tiny flash drive was either covered in muck, or had drifted farther from t
he dump site. The most disconcerting detail though was the break in. Because the drive held an encapsulated program which would copy the contents of Whitehead’s computer to the drive without leaving evidence on the machine, Daniel was certain his target didn’t know Ricky had stolen the information in the first place. But if Ricky broke during his beating, wouldn’t the drive have been recovered then? So, why break in? And, what prompted the beating?

  Was someone sloppy? Did Whitehead think Ricky had additional evidence? Ricky’s place had been trashed too, so the consensus was that Ricky had broken enough to tell them that he’d copied information. He just hadn’t been specific as to where.

  Daniel walked to the big board where the team had been adding new details. A note card, referencing a report yesterday, had been added under Tony DeSantos. Apparently, he’d left town yesterday for eight hours. He’d headed north on the expressway before the agent following lost him. Eight hours was long enough to let him contact someone and the group was certain he’d met up with either former or current Brigand members. The problem was, there was nothing confirming this. Another note by Whitehead had a question mark beside the words, “ties to OMG?” This was a bit far-fetched to Daniel as Whitehead was strictly an urbanite. He worked with the local gangs, usually through an intermediary, which put him in the second degree of separation from the street.

  Tony’s file had history with the Brigands, which proved they didn’t work with at least one of the street gangs because of the old grudges held. But there were rumors the Brigands were in contact with one of the major groups around town, which technically put them against Whitehead’s contacts. He made a note to bring in their current gang expert on this.

  “So why did you leave town?” He wondered aloud.

  “Talking to yourself again?” His section chief strode in.

  “DeSantos, the younger one… why did he leave town yesterday?”

  “The why is, probably to contact one of the older members of the OMG he ran with. We have requests out to view the traffic cams on 30 outside ACY. His bike is pretty distinctive, we’re hoping for a hit.”

  “30 isn’t where they lost him.”

  “Terry suspects he contacted one of his father’s members, Robert ‘Crank’ Sims.”

  “Sims clean?”

  “No criminal activity since 1992. He had a minor possession charge that year, but because of zero tolerance, he served six months. He’d just gotten out when the shit hit the fan. Since then, he’s holed up on a pretty large set of property near Weymouth. Word on the street is he fixes bikes there. Tax records show a moderate business that supports this.”

  “Any outward signs he’s not legit?”

  His boss shook his head. “Guy dresses like a slob, bank accounts show a nominal savings and the business expenses are pretty typical. Forensics didn’t show any funny books.”

  Dead end. “What about other members who were in the group in ‘93? Where are they?”

  “Four left of that crew. Two, no three, died in four years between oh-eight and twelve, cancer, cancer, and a prison stabbing got them.” He pointed to the board, “Here’s the notations on them. Only two live in the area, including Crank. That’s how we narrowed it down.”

  “The other one under surveillance?”

  “Nursing home, if you believe that.”

  “Damn. So why wasn’t someone on Sims?”

  “No way to watch him without tipping him off. The compound is set back from the road almost a mile and he breeds Rottweilers.”

  “DeSantos has a Rott at the sign shop.” Daniel said, tapping the Post-it cluster that referenced the body location. One of them peeled off and fluttered to the ground. “Damn it. Got any tape?”

  “Here.” His boss handed him the heavy dispenser.

  “Coroner’s report?”

  “Some water in the vic’s lungs, but not saltwater. He was probably waterboarded a bit, then slashed.”

  “How’d they get him in there?” He was tapping the map of the marsh.

  “There’s an access road for the power lines.”

  “That’s gated at night, right?”

  Daniel got an affirmative answer for that and continued thinking out loud. “Possibly driven into the wetlands, not walked. Any cameras on the end of the access road?”

  “The ballpark, but only at the pavilion facing the road, no view of the access road from that location.”

  “No camera, no neighbors, because of the ball fields. Gated access, but not impossible to pick. Did we run a check on the gate?”

  His boss shook his head no. Definitely a dead end. The only thing now that would help them is for somehow, magically, the flash drive turn up. “What about the kid? Anyone ask him if he touched the body?”

  “The report has officer observations of the scene, the kid was muddy, but not wet. He would have had to wade into the water to get to the body, so that would be negative.

  “Giofreida could have dropped the flash drive anywhere. Fibers in the wounds are standard hemp rope which he was bound with. The water interferes with DNA and other evidence collection. I don’t want to let this one go, but I think we have no choice but to fall back and wait for Conrad Whitehead to screw up.” His boss let silence follow that remark, then left the room.

  Daniel stared at the board. “He hasn’t so far.”

  Susan didn’t know whether to count this as a second date or a first date. Considering they’d had dinner together on Thursday, that could very well be a first date, but tonight was the first official date. Her stomach had that hollow fluttery feeling that preceded a full blown case of nerves.

  “It’s only a date. You’ve dated before.” She told herself as she checked to see if she’d put on her mascara evenly. It had been at least sixteen years since she’d been single and dating, so she didn’t know what to expect. Had she waited too long? Was it too soon?

  Somehow Tony managed to track down her number. Susan wasn’t sure if that was because he’d gotten it from Jonathan that first night or, like Jonathan’s father, he had access to private phone numbers. That was a disconcerting thought. She made a mental note to ask him how he had gotten the number.

  Jonathan was packing an overnight bag. He’d asked to stay at Scott’s tonight because they were still working on their project. She suspected they played more video games than worked on the project.

  “Mom, have you seen the laptop?”

  “In the kitchen.”

  “What’s it doing in the kitchen?” Jonathan grumbled, passing the bathroom.

  “I was looking up recipes.” She fired down the hall.

  “Get an iPad for that.” He yelled back.

  “They’re too expensive.” She yelled, but softened because he’d popped his head inside their tiny bathroom.

  “When I get a job, I’m buying you a Kindle. You can look up recipes on there AND read your books.”

  “When you get a job… Next summer?”

  Jonathan shrugged. “Hopefully it will snow early and I can shovel the church out. That’s always good for fifty or so each pop.”

  “It’s not even October yet and you’re asking for snow?” Susan shuddered. She hated snow and murky gray slush and multi-car pileups and just about everything that had to do with cold crappy weather. “Maybe you can rake leaves.”

  He made a rude noise. “No one pays you to rake leaves unless you’re five, Mom.”

  “It’s a thought…”

  The doorbell rang, interrupting her. “Shit, I mean, shoot.” She dropped her mascara in the sink and fumbled to retrieve it and set it to rights.

  “I’ll get it, Mom.” Jonathan slipped away, laughing at her.

  “Don’t repeat that.” She yelled down the hall. It was an honest reaction. Susan hoped it wasn’t Tony coming early. She wasn’t ready. Make up on, dress on, but ready? Honestly? No.

&nb
sp; Tony had asked for her address, but wasn’t due until eight. Jonathan was getting a ride from Scott’s dad again, for which she was eternally grateful. She’d spoken with Mr. Cohen and his wife when she picked up Jonathan last week about the incident which caused him to wander into the wetlands. The plan created was to make certain both boys had a way to and from their respective houses. Dead bodies turning up just blocks away, wetlands or not, were cause for alarm in her book. The Cohens felt the same way and even escorted Scott to his games at the Little League complex because it bordered the wetlands.

  “Scott’s here. I’m leaving!” Jonathan called.

  Susan rushed out of the bathroom, just in time to catch him before he got out the door. Mr. Cohen was waiting for him with Scott who waved a “hi” at her.

  “Hello Susan, you look nice.” Scott’s dad, Trevor, was one of those rare men who actually noticed and commented on the extra effort a woman put into their appearance. Janet, Scott’s mom, once told her that was why she’d married him. She also speculated that’s why they were still together despite marrying her Sophomore year of college and his Senior year.

  “Mom’s got a date.”

  “Cool.” Scott chimed in.

  Trevor added a polite, “good to see you getting out” which was a shade or two more conservative than his son’s enthusiasm, but warm with goodwill.

  The dress wasn’t new. It was a shade too loose around the waist, so Susan tried to get it to lay right by running her hands down it. The color was right for her though. No little black dress would work with her coloring. She’d lucked out finding a mocha halter wrap with a skirt that flared out properly when she spun. She’d paired it with a pair of taupe sandals she hoped weren’t too ‘beachy,’ and topped it off with gold hoop earrings. Her hair was down, which made her feel odd. She fought the urge to pull everything back into the standard ponytail or bun she wore at work.