by Jon Coon
Carol put down her cup and stared at him. “Thank goodness my dad is here. He’s been keeping them sane. Emily is really sad. Paul is angry, looking for someone to blame.”
“I’m angry too. And if there is someone to blame, I promise—”
Tom raised his hand as though stopping traffic. “Go easy, Gabe. One of the important things I learned from forty years in the Rangers is don’t get mad. Get smart and get a conviction. Anger brings tunnel vision, and then we miss important details. If there is someone to blame, don’t let your anger help him get away with it.”
“Thank you for the advice. It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. Sorry it’s under these circumstances.” Gabe saw the goodness in the man and felt the loss and pain.
“Anything I can do to help, just ask.” Tom put a hand on Gabe’s shoulder.
“Roger that. There’s nothing my guys won’t do for Charlie.” Gabe stood up.
Tom shook his hand with a solid grip. Carol hugged him and held close to his arm.
“No more tears,” she said as they walked to the door. “Charlie couldn’t stand cry-babies. We’ll get through this and get on with life. I’m not going to spend months or years crying over something I can’t change.”
“It will take some time, Carol. Let the healing come at its own pace. Call me if you need anything.”
Carol was still on his arm and pulled him closer. “Gabe, there was a reason you and Charlie were best friends. Next to my dad, he admired you more than anyone. Please be careful. We couldn’t stand to lose you too.”
CHAPTER 2
1900
Captain Brady’s Home
Storm clouds rising
Have the highway department guys done anything about restricting the weight on the bridge yet? Pretty spooky. Wonder how long it’s been like that?” Gabe asked as he and Nick Doyle, former Navy diver and explosive ordinance disposal specialist, drove to the captain’s house.
Nick shifted the police baton and pepper spray on his duty belt, trying to make sitting more comfortable. Gabe thought of him as exactly what a Navy diver should be: smart, fit, hair high and tight, experienced but still youthful in appearance and action.
“Would make me think twice about driving big rigs over that bridge,” Nick answered. “I can’t believe the inspection team let it get this bad.”
“Yeah, but are the highway guys taking precautions?”
“I’ll check it out first thing in the morning,” Nick answered.
The GPS robot voice interrupted. “You have arrived at your destination on the right.”
Gabe checked the mailbox number and turned into the drive. It was an unpretentious single-story red brick ranch with a double garage and a dark green SUV in the drive. Gabe pulled in beside the SUV, and as they walked up the steps, two big guys in short sleeves, with stout arms and tattoos, came out the front door. One carried a roll of blueprints, which he held over his head like an umbrella.
The other smiled and said, “Hey, you must be Nick and Gabe. Go on in. He’s expecting you.” As the men hurried past, Gabe noticed the taller one was holding his arm. His shirt was torn, and blood was beginning to soak through.
“Your arm?” Gabe asked. But the men ignored him and went quickly down the steps and got in the SUV.
Nick rang the bell while Gabe continued to watch the men in the car. When they didn’t get a response, Nick knocked again. Nothing. The car backed out of the drive and eased around a corner. Nick tried the door. It opened, and he called loudly, “Captain, it’s Gabe and Nick.”
Nick opened the door farther, then stepped quickly back, bumping into Gabe. A German shepherd lay in a pool of blood on the foyer floor. Gabe knelt by the dog and checked for a pulse. Uncertain about the dog, Gabe pulled his pistol and shouted loudly, “Captain Brady!” No answer.
“The guys in the SUV,” Gabe said.
Nick nodded and moved cautiously past the dog. Nick was beside Gabe, weapon drawn as they moved forward through the living area toward the open door of a study off the kitchen and dining room. Gabe called out for the captain again.
Turning the corner they found Brady sat slumped over a large mahogany desk in the den. Two chest wounds oozed blood down the chair onto the carpet. Gabe walked around the desk and checked the captain for a pulse. Too late.
They heard a car outside, and Gabe looked up. He heard the front door open.
“I’ll call—” Nick began. Then the cough of a silenced pistol came from the study doorway, and Nick moaned, his pistol slipping from his hand as he dropped to the floor. He fumbled for his weapon left handed and returned fire from where he lay in front of the desk.
From behind the desk, Gabe opened fire at the two men in the doorway, hitting one who went down hard. The taller one spun back around, spraying the room with semi-automatic fire.
Rounds hit the desk in front of Gabe and the wall behind him. Gabe slammed home a fresh clip and returned fire, shooting through the wall, trying to guess where the attacker might be. As he fired, Gabe moved from behind the desk, listening for movement in the other room. Then he heard the front door slam and the squeal of tires in the driveway. He looked at Nick who yelled, “Go!”
Gabe ran from the den, stepped around the downed shooter, jumped over the dog in the hall, shoved open the front door, and emptied his clip at the green SUV as it roared away down the street with squealing tires.
“Officer down and two men dead,” Gabe shouted into his phone and then gave the address. “Suspect is fleeing in a late model dark green SUV, with broken rear glass and bullet holes in the driver’s side doors.” Gabe holstered his pistol and pocketed the cell phone.
Neighbors were cautiously coming into their yards, one holding a shotgun.
Gabe held up his badge, “Police. It’s under control. Please stay off the street.” Then he went back inside to check on Nick. “How bad?” he asked.
“Hurts, but I’m okay. You get the other one?” Nick had pulled himself up against the desk and was holding pressure on the wound with a couch pillow.
“Don’t think so. I hit the car, but who knows? Pretty smart to make us think they were leaving and then double back like that. And with those silencers we know they weren’t amateurs.” Gabe knelt beside Nick to check the wound and Nick’s pulse and respiration. He was breathing okay. Hopefully that means no lung damage. Gabe put a second couch pillow behind Nick and tried to make him more comfortable. They heard sirens, and within minutes, two uniformed officers burst into the room, guns drawn. Gabe flashed his badge. “Where’s the ambulance?”
The officers holstered their weapons, and the taller one answered, “Right behind us, I’ll bring them in. How is he?” he asked nodding at Nick.
“I’ll be okay,” Nick replied. “But the captain didn’t make it.”
Gabe was going through the pockets of the dead shooter and found a wallet and badge.
“I don’t believe it. He was a cop!” Gabe said to Nick.
“What?”
Gabe held up the badge and driver’s license. “Look at this, state police, Dade County. He lived in Miami.”
A paramedic hurried into the room, quickly examined Nick, and called for a gurney. On his way out Gabe knelt again by the dog. He put his ear against the dog’s chest and heard a faint heartbeat. He gently stroked the soft head as he prayed silently. One of the uniformed officers approached as Gabe stood above the dog.
“He’s still alive. Can you get him to a vet? I think he may have gotten a piece of the other shooter.” Gabe said, “See the blood on his muzzle? Make sure the forensics guys see it and ask them to do a mold of his teeth. The guy who got away was holding his arm like he’d been bitten when they met us at the door. If our perp goes in for treatment, that old rascal,” he said nodding toward the dog, “might have the last word after all. Hope he makes it.”
Gabe walked out to his truck and locked it. He shook his head in disgust and had a brief talk with God as he climbed in the ambulance with Nick. On the way to the
hospital he said, “Captain Brady had something to tell us. Now we need to find out what that was. If I dive again, maybe whoever is behind this will try to stop us. Then we’ll find out who the captain meant when he said this goes up the food chain. What do you think?”
“Just wish I was going to be there to cover your six, my friend. This is serious stuff.”
Orderlies and nurses rushed Nick to surgery. Gabe, exhausted, dropped into a waiting room chair. Nick was single, and Gabe wasn’t sure if there was family to call, so he called the office, gave them a status report and a location, and said he would wait with Nick.
Fifteen minutes later Detective Bob Spencer dropped in the chair beside him. “You okay?” Bob asked.
“Yeah, guess so. Still rattled, but I’m okay. The one who shot Nick was a Florida trooper.”
“They told me on the way over. We’re looking for his partner. Think you tagged him?”
“Maybe. I took out the rear glass,” Gabe said.
“What were you doing at Brady’s?”
Gabe shifted in the chair and stretched his neck and shoulders. The adrenaline was gone, and he needed caffeine. “He knew what was going on and was ready to talk. He’d asked us to meet him. Did you see a coffee machine anywhere? I’m fading fast.”
“Sit still. I’ll find some.” Bob went down the hall.
Gabe got up, stretched, and began pacing. They were cops! And somebody sent them to kill Brady and keep us from finding out what he knew. Who else could have known about our meeting, and how could whatever Brady knew have been damaging enough to get him killed? Could it have been Jim? That doesn’t make sense. If Jim is on the other side, he’s had plenty of chances to keep me from diving or worse.
Bob rounded the corner with two steaming paper cups. “Careful, it’s hot.”
“Yeah, me too. Cops killing cops pisses me off.”
The driveway to former state engineer Peterson’s home was a half-mile long with pecan groves along both sides. The house looked like it was from Gone with the Wind with massive live oaks, hundreds of years old and hung with Spanish moss, and shaded manicured lawns. Gabe parked on the circular cobblestone drive in front of the three-foot diameter Doric columns on the front porch. Peterson was waiting in a wheelchair next to a glass-topped wicker table.
“Six generations, since well before the war of Northern aggression,” Peterson said as Gabe admired the house and grounds. Peterson extended a weathered hand. Slight and pale, thinning hair and mottled skin, but there was still a vitality of spirit in this old man, intense and cunning.
“At one time nearly four thousand acres and over five hundred slaves. But of course it’s not politically correct to talk about that anymore,” he snorted and went on. “All that’s left now is the house and the pecan groves. Hope you like tea. It’s the strongest thing Miss Harriet will let me have these days.” There was a painted china pot of hot water with matching cups and saucers on the table.
Gabe settled into the cushioned wicker chair and nodded as Peterson handed him a tea bag and poured the water. “I was hoping you could tell me about the old bridge. It’s a mess down there. It’s covered in a web of shaped charges and electric blasting caps. None of that stuff should have ever gone into the water. And it certainly shouldn’t be there now. What on earth happened?”
Peterson studied Gabe for a moment before answering. He sipped his tea and stared intently over the top of the china cup. “We finished the new bridge under budget and on time in 2003. Then we put out the contract to remove the old steel bridge with its lift span, twin towers, huge counterweights, and stone piers. She was a real beauty, built in 1919. I have pictures around here somewhere. I loved those old steel bridges. It took real engineering to put them up.” He paused to remove the tea bag from his cup, add sugar, stir, blow, and sip.
“You were saying,” Gabe prompted.
“Yes, well there was trouble from the day the demolition crew started. Almost like the old bridge was fighting back, refusing to die. A worker fell. A work barge and crane sank and had to be raised. But the worst was when the lift span collapsed. It was a Sunday morning. None of the crew on site, thank God. Thing just fell in. Demo contractor had done the prep work and set the charges. Standard operation. But the lift span collapsed the day before they were going to shoot it. The torch work must have been badly engineered or executed.”
“Anyone hurt?” Gabe asked.
“Not then, but of course we needed an inspection right away. Called in the state inspection team with video, but the water was so dirty you couldn’t see anything. One of their divers disappeared. Got swept away in the current. Don’t think the body was ever recovered.” He paused again, added two heaping spoons of sugar to his cup, tested the temperature, and then sipped before he nodded his approval. His gaze wandered. He shifted uncomfortably in his wheelchair before he continued.
“I knew leaving before the job was done wasn’t the best call, but at the time it looked like the only safe choice. The water was deep enough that the steel wasn’t going to be a problem for boat traffic, and without electric current, the explosives couldn’t be detonated, so we just walked away. I left orders only my divers would do the inspections. They were familiar with the dangers. But I saw on the news you lost a teammate. He was looking for that missing girl, right? Just what we were afraid of. I’m so sorry, but there was good reason to keep other divers off the site. Will you continue searching for that girl?”
“Yes, sir. The girl and other things. No choice now.”
“Well you know the risks. I hope it’s worth it.” He placed his cup carefully in the saucer, then looked back at Gabe. “Did you know that police captain who was murdered yesterday? I saw it on the news. Tragic.”
“He was my boss. A good man who will be missed. He was with the department a long time. You might have known him. Captain Brady?”
Peterson ran an arthritically gnarled index finger around the rim of his tea cup, thinking, “Don’t think so. But my memory . . . He was shot, wasn’t he? Any idea why?”
“We’re wondering if it had anything to do with those bridges. Haven’t got a clue at this point, but there’s a problem with the new bridge. Footings are badly scoured out. Piers are just hanging from the span. Inspections should have caught that, don’t you think?”
“Absolutely. I’ll let Tallahassee know what you’ve found as soon as we’re done here.”
“I turned in a report the next morning. They should be on it by now. But if you could let me know what you hear, I’d appreciate it.”
“I’ll be happy to. Is there anything else?” Peterson was getting edgy.
“Yes, just one more thing. I was wondering whether or not there were regular reports? Someone should have caught this.” Gabe noticed a tremor in Peterson’s hands. Now the old man held his teacup with both hands.
“As I said, it’s been years since I’ve looked at those reports. But you’re right. That’s serious. Let me see what I can find out for you.”
“Yes, sir,” Gabe said. “Just trying to keep the surprises to a minimum. You know, in this business, surprises get you killed.”
“That’s a good thing to keep in mind, officer, a very good thing indeed.” Peterson was staring hard, and the tone of his voice became brittle. Gabe stood up from the table and extended his hand to Peterson, but the old man’s hands were shaking so severely Gabe dropped his arm and merely nodded his thanks.
As Gabe walked down the marble steps to his truck, he looked back over his shoulder and saw the old man on a cell phone. Peterson talked for a moment and then slammed his fist on the table, sending the teacups flying. Gabe heard the glass shatter and saw Peterson spin the electric wheelchair back toward the massive front doors. As Gabe eased his truck down the drive, he wondered, you old fox, what are you hiding?
Early the next morning, with no rain and the current down somewhat, the full team and the brass gathered at the river. Gabe and Randy Lomis, one of the explosive ordinance disposal divers fr
om Nick’s team, prepared to make the first dive. Like Nick, Lomis was every bit a Navy diver. Tall, lean, attentive. All business. Gabe was glad to have him stand in for Nick.
Apparently Captain Brady had not shared his intent to shut down the operation with the commander, as he had intended, so it was business as usual. In the morning briefing, the divers were instructed to finish the recovery of the shaped charges before looking for Charlie’s body. Gabe said nothing about having found Charlie, but did share what he knew about the bridge.
From his hospital bed, Nick did research on ways to detonate electric blasting caps underwater and found that while in theory it could be done, in practice neither the Navy nor the commercial divers ever used anything but one-hundred grain detonating cord, also called primacord, and number eight blasting caps underwater. According to Nick, the EOD dive team was safe to remove the shaped charges.
However, after his conversation with Charlie’s ghost, Gabe knew better. There was no way those charges could have gone off accidentally, and there was no way to explain how he knew what he knew without speaking the unspeakable.
When the briefing was over, Gabe suited up for the dive and paused to go over the dive plan with Lomis one more time.
“Randy, I know Nick doesn’t believe it’s possible, but I think we need to be really careful down there. I’ve got a bad feeling that Charlie set off one or more of those shaped charges. So watch yourself. Don’t get tangled up in that mess. And let’s double-check everything. Even after we’re sure the site is clear.”
“Roger that. I’ll feel better about it with just you and me making these dives. How about if I send the rest of the team to survey the scouring under the new bridge while we finish up here?”
“Good plan. Everyone goes home in one piece. When we’re done clearing the site, I’ll find Charlie and send up a buoy. Jim will call the guys in the inflatable boat. They’ll send down the stretcher and body bag.”
