Ghost River

by Jon Coon

  “I hope you don’t mind my burning your ammo,” Carol said as they walked back to the house. “Dad taught me to shoot when I was younger than they are. Then Charlie taught me combat tactics. I can at least teach them enough to protect themselves.”

  “Your dad and Charlie obviously taught you well.”

  “I won a match or two. But I never saw anything that fast. That was amazing.”

  Gabe laughed. “There’s not a lot I’m good at, but I can hold my own in the water and on a range.”

  “I guess. Oh, when you have some private time, Emily wants to talk to you.”

  After dinner the boys were doing dishes, and Carol was sorting laundry in the bedroom.

  “Emily, want to go for a walk?” Gabe asked. He called the dogs, and they headed along the riverbank to a clearing beneath live oaks. Cool enough for jackets and moonlit enough to see the trail. The dogs ran ahead like prisoners released from life sentences.

  Gabe led her to a park bench he had rescued just for this spot. Wavelets caught nibbles of moonlight, savoring each, before swallowing them in tiny bites. The woods were haunted by shadows and night bird calls. Smith and Wesson barked occasionally.

  “They’re just letting us know where they are and that they’re having fun. Appropriate.”

  “Appropriate. That’s something dad would say,” Emily said. “We need to be appropriate.”

  “What’s up?” he asked.

  “Is my brother going to hell?” She asked with a frown. “He says he doesn’t believe in God, and anyone who does is dumb.”

  “And you’re worried about him?” Gabe rubbed his chin.

  “Yes.”

  “In John’s Gospel he says we are spiritually dead in our sin, and there’s nothing a dead person can do to save himself. So really, it’s all up to God. He chooses us. That’s it. The changes come after we are chosen. So it’s really kind of useless to try to force anyone to change, isn’t it?”

  “But he’s such a pain. Maybe he deserves—”

  “Don’t we all? The amazing thing is that God would choose any of us. Think about Saul in the Bible and how he was chosen. Now there was a real pain. Look how he was changed.”

  “From Saul to Paul, right. So do you think God has chosen Paul?” she asked, surprised.

  “That’s impossible for us to know, but there’s always hope. Right?”

  “I guess so. But he’s still a jerk.” She stomped her foot as an exclamation point. Gabe laughed and tussled her hair.

  “He’s a big brother. It’s in the job description.”

  “I miss my dad.”

  “I know you do. He was my best friend, and I miss him too.”

  “Do you think he’s okay?”

  “Yeah, Emily. He’s safe at home, and he’s loved. That’s all any of us can hope for.”

  Smith and Wesson came crashing down the trail. As they approached it was painfully apparent they had tried to make friends with a skunk.

  “Oh man, they smell terrible.” Emily held her nose and moved away from them.

  “Need a gas mask?” Gabe laughed.

  “Ouch, my eyes are burning. Smith, get away! You’re awful!”

  Gabe picked up a stick and walked briskly to the river. He called the dogs and threw the stick as far as he could upstream. The dogs plunged eagerly after it. After a half-dozen retrievals and a couple good shakes, the sharp edge of the stench was dulled.

  “Okay, let’s go home,” Gabe told the dogs, and they raced back to the house.

  “Mom’s not going to like this. Yuck! They stink big time.” Emily paused and took Gabe’s hand. “Thanks for being our friend, Gabe.” They walked back to the cabin hand in hand, and when they got to the porch, Carol was there scolding two penitent and remorseful, reeking, dripping mutts. Gabe filled a large tub and added baking soda, detergent, and hydrogen peroxide. He set it well away from the house and called the dogs. Smith was first.

  Gabe cringed as he began scrubbing Smith. Wesson lay close with his head on the ground. Carol went inside to change clothes and came off the porch in a well-worn, long T-shirt.

  “You don’t have to do this.”

  “In for a penny, in for a pound. It’s not so bad. You should see some of the stuff that comes into the emergency room.”

  She called Wesson who came willingly. Carol knelt beside him and began scrubbing. Wesson looked thankfully over his shoulder and offered to lick her hand.

  When they finished with the dogs Gabe waited on the front porch while Carol was in the shower.

  The hot water was nearly gone by the time it was Gabe’s turn to shower. There must be some kind of poetic justice having to take a cold shower after getting skunked, perhaps even a good country song, he thought and smiled. How many women would have volunteered for that job? Charlie, you were one lucky guy.

  When Gabe joined Carol by the fireplace she was sitting in the rocker next to the couch wearing her dark Texas sweats. “Where’s your truck?”

  “I had an encounter on the way to work this morning. We need to talk about it, but I don’t want to scare the kids. I don’t think he will come here, but Bob put a car up at the turn for a while, just to make sure.”

  “Encounter? What do you mean?”

  As usual Gabe left for work before dawn and met Bob for breakfast. Coffee first.

  Bob greeted him with a puzzled look. “What’s that smell?”

  Gabe shook his head with a frown. “Skunks: two, dogs: zero. How bad is it?”

  “Well I won’t be taking you to the prom . . .”

  “Thanks. Any word on Rogers?”

  “I’ve got a search going for plans and inspection reports and anything related to the bridges. I put a team out to find Wes Rogers and his truck. We’ll find him. What’s next?”

  “Let’s go back and rattle Jewels Peterson’s cage. See how cozy he is with McFarland Construction.”

  “Who’s McFarland?”

  “Let’s go find out,” Gabe said.

  “Mr. Peterson don’t want no visitors,” Harriet said flatly, “Y’all know he’s bad sick. Just leave him alone. That smell what I thinks it is?” She eyed Gabe.

  “My dogs got skunked. Sorry, I didn’t realize it’s still that strong. Is Mr. Peterson able to talk?” Gabe asked.

  “Yes, but just talkin’ wears him. Them doctors have—”

  “Please tell him Officer Gabe Jones and Detective Bob Spencer are here, and it’s important we talk with him. I promise to keep it brief.”

  “All right, I’ll tell him. Y’all wait here.” She gave them a skeptical look and did not open the door further or invite them in. She returned moments later and said, “Come on, but you be nice; don’t you be upsetting him again.”

  Peterson was in a hospital bed on the third floor with a cardiac monitor and IV. His complexion was ashen, and his hand shook as he invited them to sit.

  “Mr. Peterson,” Gabe began, “the last time I was here you left out some of the story. I need to ask you about those things.” Peterson was stoic.

  Gabe continued. “You knew your son-in-law died on the river. We talked about that the last time I was here. We’ve got the autopsy report back. He was murdered. Can you tell us anything about that? Or about Wesley Rogers, one of the divers assigned to DOT when you were running things?”

  No response.

  “Okay, how about McFarland Construction? They’ve had more than their share of accidents, yet they continue to get the majority of contracts. I don’t understand that. What can you tell me about them?

  No response.

  “Mr. Peterson, help us out here. If you don’t start talking, it’s going to make me think you don’t want to help us. And if that’s the case, I’m going to start wondering why not.” Gabe paused, but Peterson was stone quiet.

  “And I asked you about bridge plans so that we could check the bridge against the specs. I haven’t heard from you. Next we want to see all of the inspection reports on the I-10 bridge. It looks to us like Roger
s was turning in bogus reports. Finally I want you to tell me about Wilson Corbitt. What did he know and what happened to him? Where would you like to start?”

  Peterson raised a shaky arm and pointed toward the door. “I don’t work for DOT any longer, and I don’t have to talk to you. If you don’t have a warrant, get out!” he said in a surprisingly strong voice.

  “Fine, but the next time we talk it will be in my office, and you will be in handcuffs. This isn’t over. Not by a long shot,” Gabe retorted.

  Bob tried good cop. He held up a hand to stop Gabe and said, “It will go a lot easier if you talk to us now, Mr. Peterson. You don’t want us to arrest you. If there are good answers for Gabe’s questions, let’s hear them so we can sort this out.”

  “How dare you come into my home and question my integrity. I spent forty years building this state. Leave now,” Peterson snarled. “And don’t come back.”

  “That went well,” Bob said as they started down the hall.

  “Do you smell smoke?” Gabe stopped and looked through the partially open door of a walnut-paneled library with a massive desk and large windows. Along one wall were walnut bookcases and on the other cabinets for maps or blueprints. Gabe eased the door open slightly and looked in. Files and drawers were dumped on the floor and on the corner of a large walnut table were the metal file boxes taken from Carol’s house. Both were empty.

  Looking down, through the large windows, Gabe saw flames and smoke coming from a barrel in the backyard filled with burning file folders and blueprints. Beside the barrel was a red plastic gas can. “Nothing left there to save,” Gabe said. They heard an engine and ran to the other side of the hall in time to see the black Chevy pickup on jacked-up tires roar away from the house.

  “It’s Rogers,” Gabe said. “Now we’ve got him for destroying evidence. What about the old man?”

  They ran back to Peterson’s room. The bed was empty. Harriet stood with folded arms and a smug, bulldog face. “Peterson! Where are you?” Gabe shouted.

  He turned back to Harriet, “Where the devil did he go? How’d he get past us?” Gabe demanded.

  “I warned y’all,” she said and stomped past them out the door. They watched as she went the opposite way down the hall, opened what appeared to be a bedroom door, stepped into an elevator, and snorted at them as the gate closed and the elevator dropped.

  “Of course there’s an elevator,” Gabe laughed. “Didn’t all antebellum mansions have them?”

  “This old house could have more secrets than just that elevator. Hidden stairways, tunnels, who knows?” Bob said.

  “Agreed, let’s get a warrant and take the place apart, see if they left anything we can use,” Gabe said as they climbed into Bob’s cruiser and drove down the pecan tree-lined drive.

  “I’m on it,” Bob answered, phone in hand. “Would you mind cracking your window?”

  Back on the road, Bob was on his cell. He followed up on the APB on Rogers’s truck and then had the office go through the state directory until they found the engineering office for bridge construction and maintenance. He called and asked to speak to the supervisor. That call ended with, “First thing in the morning would be great. Thanks.”

  “Tomorrow we see how high up the food chain this goes,” Bob said. “Oh, the weather fox says big storm tomorrow. Better bring an umbrella and your rubber ducky.”

  “You’re just full of helpful advice. Anything else?”

  “Might help if you take another shower.”

  CHAPTER 14

  1900

  The River Camp

  When floods are coming, snakes and ants go for higher ground

  That night after dinner, Gabe and Carol retreated to the porch, leaving the kids with cleanup and video games. “What was the encounter you mentioned last night?” she asked as they walked down the sagging steps to a woodpile.

  Gabe put down his mug and picked up an eight-pound maul. Carol sat on the steps and leaned back against the rough-hewn railing. He positioned the first oak log from a storm-fallen tree and hit it with a mighty blow. The maul bounced off.

  “This old oak has dried, and it’s hard as a rock,” he said. He repositioned the log, hit it again and then a third time. This time it split enough to start a steel wedge. He struck the wedge fiercely and the log split. He picked up the halves and split them into fourths. Then he stacked the quarters in a canvas wood carrier. She waited.

  He told her about the attack and damage to his truck. He finished with, “Very few people know about this place, but he was waiting for me, so someone is talking. We need to be careful.” He picked up another log and struck it with a vengeance. Again the maul bounced.

  “Do you think we should leave? Find someplace safer?” she asked.

  “Like I told you, I got Bob to ramp up our security, but keep your eyes open. It’s me he wants. I don’t think he’d come after you or the kids.” Red-faced and determined he raised the maul again and split the log, picked up the halves, and quartered them.

  “I’m just glad he didn’t hit you. You must not have been his range instructor.”

  “I liked that truck.” He clenched his teeth. The veins in his neck bulged. One blow. The pieces went flying. He gathered them and used the carrier to go up the steps and dump the wood in the box by the door. Then he sat on the top step with Carol.

  “Did you get that out of your system?” she asked.

  “Better. I still want to catch that guy. But it’s better.”

  “Then if you think it’s safe and we’re staying, how would you feel about me doing some work on this place? Just for something to do. The kids could help. We could fix this porch before we fall through it.”

  “Big job, don’t you think?” Why would she want to invest time and energy in this old wreck?

  “If the support joists aren’t rotten it wouldn’t be too bad. If they are we could sister frame them rather than tearing everything apart,” she answered.

  “You’re amazing.” He was smiling, looking at Carol as though seeing her for the first time.

  They sat quietly for a while, listening to night calls and watching the trees. Loons called from the river, checking on each other while fishing. Turkeys settled in the trees, clucking to each other while unseen a panther worked her way along the bank, looking for an unsuspecting deer. Hooves pounded a warning when the does caught the cat’s scent. The dogs came to full alert when the deer crashed through underbrush making good their escape. Perhaps picking up the cat’s scent as well, they chose to stay close to Gabe on the porch.

  Carol broke the silence. “Mickey asked me about birth control this afternoon.”

  “Are they?”

  “I don’t think so, but they are pretty serious. She wants to wait. He’s ready now.”

  “I can’t imagine a college boy who’s ready. That’s got to be a first. What did you tell her?”

  “Enough. I warned her nothing is guaranteed. I think she gets it.”

  “Do we need to put locks on their doors?”

  “They were on their own in Atlanta. If they’re that hot, locks won’t stop them. Regardless, I think she can handle him. I like her.”

  “This family stuff sure isn’t boring, is it?” He observed.

  “Too much for you?”

  “I’m learning.”

  “Good. What about the porch? Can I order materials?”

  “Go for it.” Gabe rocked back, watching, listening. An owl screeched then flew off into the cold moon. The dogs raised their heads, aware of movement in the tree line, then, curiosity satisfied, relaxed. Carol slid closer on the step and took his hand. She leaned into his shoulder. They watched and listened as the night closed in around them. They didn’t speak.

  0440

  Overcast and windy

  Gabe left the camp before five, met Bob, and got coffee to go. They were on the road to Tallahassee by six. Three hours later they were in the James Peterson Engineering Complex awaiting the arrival of Steve Overstreet, the d
epartment head. A perky administrative assistant led them down the hall to the conference room and brought them coffee. Twenty minutes later Overstreet joined them.

  “I understand you have questions about the old iron bridge on the Chattahoochee,” Overstreet began. He was fiftyish, portly from too many years behind a desk, and a tad arrogant. “I don’t have much time, but what do you want to know?”

  “You know the history and the deaths associated with those bridges,” Bob answered. “We’ve discovered an inspection diver on that bridge was murdered fifteen years ago, and now there’s been another death. What happened there that would justify murder?”

  “None of the reports have ever suggested anything other than accidental deaths. Do you have new evidence?” White shirt, skinny tie, used to giving orders.

  “We do,” Gabe answered. Uniform polo shirt, no tie, used to listening to hogwash.

  “And just what would that be?” Overstreet asked.

  “That would be classified,” Bob responded. “What we came to ask you is, what’s so special about that bridge?”

  “What you’re actually asking is ‘Did my bridge get your men killed?’ Right?” Overstreet was edgy. He had hands on hips and a definite chip on his shoulder.

  “Look,” Gabe said, “we’re not looking for a scapegoat. We’re looking for a killer. The old iron bridge collapsed, and the new bridge is in bad shape. McFarland has a hand in both. Now what do you know that will help us?”

  Not used to being confronted, Overstreet stepped back and picked up a report from the stack he’d brought in with him. “Okay, let’s start here. I printed this for you as background. It’s from The Journal of Rock Mechanics and Geotechnical Engineering. I’m sure you’re familiar with it?”

  “Sure, read it every month along with Cosmo and Ladies’ Home Journal,” Gabe answered.

  “Cute. As you know there’s very little rock in Florida. We have sand, clay, and limestone, but mostly sand. Right?”

  They both nodded.

  “Okay, what this report explains is the number-one cause of bridge failures nationally is the washout of their footings or foundations. It’s referred to as scour in the reports. It states that in the US in the last thirty years, over six hundred bridges have collapsed or failed due to scour problems. Officer Jones, I understand you’ve been diving under the bridge, and you reported the massive scouring under the footings. Is that right?”