Ghost River

by Jon Coon

  “How you doing?” he asked Carol.

  “I’m wishing this was Cozumel and we were after lobster and grouper or hogfish.”

  “Catch a few bugs if you can. Grilled lobster is the best.”

  He turned the valve back on, and the suction resumed. He scooped with the head, sending chunks of mud blasting up the hose. Five more minutes passed. The dredge quit. Probably refueling, he thought. He shoved his hand through the remaining mud and felt the crash bulkhead at the forward end of the cabin. He cleared the last of the mud blocking his access with his hand and found the door to the anchor chain locker. It wouldn’t budge. The little metal door was bent inward by the crushed deck. It felt welded in place. Gabe groped around the cabin for any tool he could use to pry the hatch.

  “What’s up?” Carol asked.

  “I’m to the bulkhead, but the hatch is jammed. I need a pry bar.”

  “Hang on. I tripped over something on the back deck.”

  He crawled to the stern, again gingerly stepping around Wilson’s bones, and took the iron from her through the window. Back to the bow.

  “Perfect. Thanks.” He put the strong iron bar in place and pushed. It budged, enough to reposition the bar. Deep breaths and second try. This time he put his feet on the bulkhead and used his legs. The hatch gave way, and he fell backward into the mud. The deep breath he wanted wasn’t there. His tank was empty. He found the crossover valve on his harness and turned on the bail-out bottle. He took two good breaths and turned back to the anchor locker. There was the case, jammed in the crushed hull and refusing to move.

  “I found it, but it’s stuck,” he told her. “I’m on reserve, and we need to go. We’ll get fresh tanks and come back.”

  Before she could answer, a violent crash shook the boat, knocking Carol from the walkway.

  Carol lost her handhold and fell, tumbling backward in the current. She dumped the air from the inflatable wing on her backplate and dropped to the bottom.

  “Gabe, are you okay?” she shouted into the com.

  “I’m okay, but the roof is crushed. Don’t know if I can get out.”

  “Stay there. I’m coming.”

  Pushing into the current, she crawled forward, praying she was on course. Twenty feet, thirty feet, and she found the dredge hose. She grabbed it and started up just as the boat shuddered from another blow.

  “Gabe?”

  “Still here, where are you?”

  She pulled her way on deck, feeling every inch as she moved forward in the pitch-black water. The port window was crushed with an opening of less than a foot remaining. Not enough room for a diver in gear to get through. “Carol?”

  “I’m here at the window. Can you make it?”

  “It’s getting hard to breathe.”

  “I’ve got air, get here and I’ll give you my bailout bottle.”

  Gabe made it to the window and felt his way around the frame. Too tight. He stepped across Wilson’s skeleton to check the starboard window, but the opening was even smaller. They had tried the main hatch before without being able to open it, so he believed the port window was the only way out. He moved back to the port side.

  He opened the buckles on the back plate harness, and as he fought to get out of the rig, his last breath sucked the Aga mask tight against his face. His air was gone. He loosened the mask’s spider harness and pulled the mask off. The cold hit him hard slap in the face. He shook it off and felt his way to the window. It was only open enough for Carol to push the smaller tank through. He grabbed the regulator and took a long, deep breath.

  Gabe took the pry bar and was able to break out more of the window. He found a handhold in the overhead and put his legs against it and broke out some of the frame. Progress. Maybe it was open enough. He tried and got stuck. Carol had him. She braced and pulled. He pushed again and felt the side of the dry suit rip. Freezing water flooded the suit.

  The boat was smashed again, just over his head. Carol screamed, but then quickly said, “That was too close. Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, still here,” he answered. “It feels like I’ve got more room.”

  The clam bucket’s teeth had torn into the hull. But instead of closing the window frame, the bucket ripped away enough of the roof that the window opening became larger. Almost large enough. Gabe squirmed forward. Carol braced her legs against the bulkhead and pulled him as hard as she could.

  Screws from the window frame tore into Gabe’s hip. Startled by the cold and pain, he dropped the bailout bottle, but he was free. Carol ripped off her Aga mask and shoved it to his face. He hit the purge and took two quick breaths and handed it back. In his flooded suit he was freezing now, but sharing air from the Aga, they found the buoy line and started up.

  Beneath them, the boat shuddered from a third blow, and they heard the screech of tearing steel. The entire cabin roof ripped away. Bubbles, silt, and life jackets, along with other debris floated up from the mangled hull.

  They surfaced to find themselves surrounded by floating pieces of the unsinkable Boston Whaler. The clam bucket had chewed it to bits. They could see two swimmers, downstream in the current, trying to make shore. Gabe was shivering. Carol inflated her tec-wing and Viking suit, making herself a raft that floated them both. She released her grip on the buoy and began kicking downstream.

  As they drifted with the current and swam across it toward shore, Carol grabbed a floating piece of the boat, pushed it to Gabe, and pointed to an open space on the bank. “Swim, I’ll meet you there,” she said.

  “Where are you going?” he asked.

  “I saw something floating in that bunch of junk I want to check out.” She dumped enough air so that she could move and swam back out in the river to a collection of debris from the crushed Whaler and the sunken workboat. Gabe reached the shore, and when he couldn’t see her, loudly called her name. When she didn’t answer, he staggered to his feet, waded back into the water and shouted to her again.

  “I’m here,” she called as she walked the shallows upriver, carrying her fins in one hand and a black plastic briefcase in the other. “The current took me too far downstream. But I found this. Is it your Pelican case?”

  CHAPTER 35

  2135

  Florida Swamp

  Carol helped Gabe crawl up the mud bank to a dry knoll and dropped her gear.

  “Unzip me,” she said.

  He did, and she dropped the top of the dry suit, wrapping its arms around her waist. With a small razor-sharp dive knife, she opened the side of Gabe’s suit and dive underwear to see his wound.

  “You need stitches,” she said and unzipped the top of her polar fleece jumper. She pulled it off her arms and with the knife, cut off the sleeves.

  “You’re going to owe me; this wasn’t cheap,” she said as she packed the wound with one sleeve, split the other and used it to make a pressure dressing. When the bleeding was stemmed, she slid out of her dry suit and laid it between them. She then took the knife and cut Gabe out of his, leaving him wearing his wet sweats and the dry suit boots. She pulled off her fleece underwear, cut off the feet, slit the sides vertically and waited.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Get out of that wet stuff. We need to warm you up.”

  “But—”

  “But nothing. I’m a trained medical professional. Give me your clothes.”

  He turned modestly away and stripped down to his shorts.

  “I guess you can keep those,” she laughed. She helped him into her polar fleece underwear, which fit him like a 1920s swimsuit. Then she took the remains of his dry suit and split it to make a tarp. She spread it on the ground and ordered, “Down.”

  He did as she instructed, moving to get as comfortable as possible. She dropped beside him, wrapping him in her arms and pulling her drysuit over them.

  “Kiss me,” she said.

  “What?”

  “Kiss me. If that doesn’t warm you up, you’re probably going to die. And besides, Emily is worried we do
n’t touch. She wanted to know if we’ve ever really kissed. I think she’s expecting a written report.”

  “Oh . . .”

  “So? Remember it’s just a kiss.”

  “Well, then for Emily . . .”

  They were awakened in the morning by sirens and shouts from the river. A chopper circled overhead, and a rubber assault boat pulled into their little island retreat.

  Nick and Bob jumped from the boat and waded ashore.

  “We saw you surface, but with the current there was nothing . . .” Nick said.

  “We’re fine,” Gabe said. He had pulled on his sweats, which were still river damp and bloody.

  “We only saw the two of you swimming. Is Jim all right?” Gabe asked.

  “We abandoned ship when we were hit with that clam bucket. It tore the boat to shreds, but all the stuff floated. Jim caught a ride on what was left of the hull, and he made it halfway to the Gulf. He’s cold and tired like the rest of us, but he’s fine.”

  Bob was looking at the pile of destruction that was once dive gear and noticed something unusual.

  “Is that what I think it is?” he asked.

  “I pulled it out of the river,” Carol answered. “Isn’t that what we were looking for?”

  “How?” Bob asked with astonishment.

  “All that pounding on the boat must have broken it free. It came up with a lot of other junk while I was rescuing Gabe,” she smiled. “I saw it and went back out to grab it. Thought you might want it for a souvenir after almost dying and all.” She hugged Gabe and laughed.

  “What?” Nick asked. “You rescued Gabe?”

  “It’s true,” Gabe said. “Carol saved me. I was trapped inside the boat and out of air.

  “Wow,” Nick said and saluted. “Nice work.”

  Bob was looking at the briefcase. He unsnapped it from Carol’s harness, lifted, and shook it. “It’s still dry. Amazing. That’s going to make our DA a happy camper.”

  “You can make me happy by getting us out of here,” Carol said. “I’m starving, and Gabe needs stitches.”

  Twelve stitches and a batch of antibiotics later, Gabe was placed on sick leave for the rest of the week. It was a good thing because Carol had plans for them both. The next day, while they were on the way to the prison, Bob called.

  “Bad news. Our unit bringing Wes Rogers from the airport was hit. A pro with a full auto. Killed Rogers and two of our officers.”

  “There goes our witness and maybe our case.”

  “What?” Carol asked.

  “Rogers and two officers were killed on the way in from the airport. Automatic weapons. It was a professional hit. Everything he knew, all those answers, gone.”

  “How big is this? So many deaths. It’s like a drug war,” she said.

  “Exactly. And, like the drug wars, we’re losing.”

  In the prison, with Gabe on crutches, they went to the infirmary to find Stony, only to discover he’d died the day before. However the guard handed them a letter:

  Dear Gabe and Carol,

  Tried and couldn’t reach you. Your department said you’ve been injured. They didn’t say how bad or when you’d be back. In case I don’t make it until then, I wanted something in writing to conclude the sale of the land.

  If you will pay the average of the appraisals to my ex and daughter, and deduct from that a memorial for me as we discussed, I will be happy for you to have the property.

  My attorney has a copy of this letter and is expecting to hear from you. Finally, thanks Gabe. You and Ramona are the only ones who ever visited me.

  Your friend,

  Stony Waller.

  Reading over his shoulder, Carol said, “That’s so depressing. I don’t want to die alone like that. Promise you won’t let that happen to me.”

  “But, if I go—”

  “Spare me the logic. Just promise.”

  “Okay, I promise.”

  “Thanks. That makes saving your life twice a little less painful.” She hit him with her elbow and then kissed his cheek.

  “Let’s go see that attorney. We’ve got checks to write.”

  They celebrated with dinner and were back at the Montana RV in time for Bob’s call.

  “McFarland is stonewalling. We met with Mitchell Conners, the CEO. Complete denial. Never met Jewels Peterson. Had no idea what Bodine was up to.”

  “No surprises there,” Gabe said. “Have they pulled up the boat?”

  “No. Do we need to?”

  “Wilson Corbitt is still on board. He deserves a decent burial.”

  “I’ll tell the captain. The team shouldn’t have any trouble now. We’ve locked down the bridge site and put uniforms out there. We got two good sets of tire tracks, and there are prints in the crane. The operator wasn’t smart enough to wear gloves. He also left muddy boot prints.”

  “What about the Pelican case?” Gabe asked.

  “It was dry. Several sets of old five and a quarter floppy disks. We’re trying to find a computer that will read them. A couple notebooks, but not much of interest there.”

  “Zack has his dad’s old Radio Shack computer. That will work.”

  “Great. I’ll call him. There were more photos of the Bodine girl. Man, she was something.”

  “Sad,” Gabe said. He remembered the photos of Nancy Janna had shown them.

  “How’s the leg?” Bob asked.

  “Sore, but as long as it doesn’t get infected, it will be fine.”

  “Well, with a hot nurse like Carol, I’m not worried.”

  “It’s not your leg. Come and get me first thing Monday. I’m not about to sit and watch soap operas waiting for this to heal. We need to pay Conners a visit.”

  Inside the RV Emily and her mom were making root beer floats. Emily asked, “Gabe hasn’t ever had a family, has he?”

  “No, honey.”

  “Why?”

  “Why don’t you ask him?”

  “Okay.” She picked up two glasses and marched down the Montana’s steps to the picnic table beneath the awning. Gabe had just put down his phone.

  “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Anything.”

  “Why haven’t you ever had a family? You’re not too old and not too bad looking. I’m sure someone would have taken you. Why not?”

  Emily giggled as her mom joined them.

  “Well now, that’s a real question,” Gabe smiled. “I lost my parents when I was just a little older than you are now. I was in a boys’ home in New Orleans, and the only women were nuns. When I was old enough, I went to dive school and then got a job offshore. Not any girls in dive school or offshore, so you’re right, I have a lot to learn about living with girls. Little ones and big ones too. Especially smart-alecky ones.”

  “Well, that explains a lot,” Emily said confidently.

  “What do you mean, honey?” her mom asked.

  “We’re going to have to teach him how to live with girls, Mom. He missed it.”

  “Looks like he did, but I think there’s hope, don’t you?” Carol smiled.

  “Maybe, but he needs a lot of work,” she giggled again and hugged him on her way back inside.

  “What was that about?”

  “Charlie was very affectionate with both of us,” Carol explained. “He kissed her good morning and always went in to pray with her at night. She misses that.”

  “She misses him,” Gabe said.

  “Of course, but she loves you too. Just let it come naturally.”

  “She’s right, you know, you are going to have to teach me a lot. I did miss it. Probably had something to do with being a closet ghost whisperer.”

  “Our time is coming, Mr. Ghost Whisperer,” she promised. “It will be fine.”

  “How did it go?” She asked on a burner cell phone.

  “No evidence plus no witnesses equals no crime. Works every time.”

  “Let’s hope so,” she said. “But did you have to kill the cops?”

  “Collater
al damage. Don’t worry. It won’t come back on you.”

  “But will it come back on you?”

  “I don’t care. He killed my dad and my sister. I’ll be long gone before the cops find me. The cops dove on the boat last night, but I gave them a welcome they won’t forget. Don’t worry about that briefcase. I’m sure it’s down there for good.”

  “Be careful, Wyatt. We’re so close. We don’t want to mess this up now.”

  CHAPTER 36

  1000

  Gabe’s RV

  Tropical winds gaining strength

  Gabe was on the couch with his leg propped on a pillow when Carol brought his cell phone. Gabe put Bob on speaker and put down the phone. “Sorry to bother you on an injured reserve day,” Bob said. “The tox screen came back on Bodine. You guessed right: drugs and booze. It was the Secobarbital that got him. He was nearly dead before he went over the rail.”

  “Nearly dead?” Gabe pondered.

  “Yeah.”

  “Could he have still walked out there without help?” Gabe asked.

  “You mean was it suicide? The ME says not a chance. With all the drugs in his system, he couldn’t even have crawled to that balcony alone. We’re asking more questions. Someone has to know something.”

  “What else?”

  “The hit on Rogers and our guys was professional. Do you suppose Wyatt Bodine had anything to do with it?”

  “After the pounding he gave us on the river, nothing would surprise me. He certainly had motive if Rogers killed his sister and his dad.”

  “Anything on Rogers’s partner, that D. B. Johnson, the one Mickey shot?” Gabe asked.

  “Yes, Mickey. I never can remember her name. Clean shoot. Johnson had a knife to her boyfriend’s throat. We got the knife and the prints. She said Carol taught her how to shoot. Is that true?”

  “Yep, she’s no one to mess with. It’s that Texas Ranger blood.”

  Carol heard him and nodded her agreement.

  Gabe rubbed the stubble on his chin and said, “Hopefully Johnson’s not another ghost at the bottom of the river. That place is starting to give me the creeps.”