Still Waters

by David Banner

  “Oh my God.”

  “He’ll be fine but he needs help showering and getting dressed for the next couple of days.”

  “I had no idea.”

  Once as close as two friends could be Ryan now realized it had been over a month since he’d last spoken to his best friend. I’ve been a shitty friend, he thought suddenly. It was the first time the detective realized just how lost in his head he’d been over the last couple of months.

  “I’ll swing by there later.” Ryan said.

  “You should.” Kit replied as a knock came on the door.

  Ryan slid his chair closer and turned the handle.

  “Chief, what can I-”

  “What happened in that hospital?” He asked.

  “A young woman got out of control. She’s in the cell cooling off.”

  “I wouldn’t really call it cooling off.” The chief folded his arms.

  Ryan recognized his tone immediately. Since first accepting his badge Ryan Devereux had caused the chief more distress than any other member of the police force. There didn’t seem to be a single subject about which the two men didn’t butt heads.

  This would be history all over again.

  “We let her make a call.” Evans said, pulling back the curtain. “She used the chance to call a reporter.”

  Ryan stood from his chair and peered into the parking lot. Two news vans sat stationed near the edge of the parking lot as reporters lined up along the small sidewalk, each one ready to spill a story. But what story, he wondered.

  “She went off on this tangent. Said she was assaulted. She said there was more to what happened in that alley than they knew.” Chief Evans said.

  “Like what?” Ryan asked.

  “Ryan,” his superior looked to him. “I have to ask… Did you somehow put Rose Ogdon under the impression you had something to do with her son-in-laws murder?”

  “What?” Ryan asked. “Are you serious?”

  “I have to ask.”

  “No.” He snapped. “No, I didn’t. I told her quite the opposite actually.”

  “Again, I need an honest answer here.” Evans locked eyes with his detective. “That night, in the alley… Have you been completely transparent with everything that happened?”

  “Chief,” he said in disbelief. “Are you-”

  “You were the only one there and now accusations have been made. I need you to answer the question.”

  “Yes,” he answered. “I’ve been completely transparent. Devon Stark took his own life.”

  With a deep steadied breath Chief Evans took a step toward the window. His eyes focused in tightly on the increasingly large crowd now gathering in his parking lot. Unsure what to say Ryan stood silently next to his superior.

  “I’ll talk to them,” he said. “Keep on with your case and I’ll handle this thing.”

  “Chief, I-”

  “I said I would handle it.” He turned. “I won’t go out having been strong armed by a crooked senator and his off-the-rails daughter. This won’t be a problem.”

  Once again Ryan Devereux found himself in a terse situation with his superior, but this time there was something different. His usually quick-to-judge chief now seemed concerned, he now seemed almost compassionate in a way. Without him even realizing it something between Ryan and his boss had changed.

  “I’ve let Alfred Ogdon get away with plenty during my time as chief.” His words carried heavy and sluggish into the air. “I’ve always done what I thought would be best for the place. For Charleston and for the Lowcountry. Just let me handle this.”

  Chief Evans quietly exited the room, leaving behind a brand new kind of feeling. Kit turned to her partner. The chiefs actions were completely uncharacteristic. If history were any indicator Evans should have jumped down his detectives throat for going up against someone so powerful when he should have just brought the issue to his superior.

  “What the hell was that?” Kit asked.

  Ryan knew the truth. The chief was leaving. Much like Ryan the man’s time serving justice was near its’ end. He was no longer trying to keep the peace in a corrupt government, he was no longer trying to placate officials. Chief Evans was now a man just trying to do his job.

  “He’s leaving.” Ryan said. “After me, he’s gone too…”

  “No,” she shook her head. “No way, he loves this job too much.”

  “He might love it.” Ryan answered. “But he’s tired. That changes everything. Believe me.”

  Ryan took a seat in his large grey leather chair and pressed pause on the surveillance footage. He rested his face in his hands and took a breath. I just want this to be over, he thought. I just want my last week to end.

  Lifting his eyes the detective noticed something curious.

  “How long has it been?” He asked.

  “How long has what been?” Kit replied.

  “Since we started this footage.”

  “Thirty minutes?” She answered curiously. “Why?”

  “Look,” he pointed to a small ticker in the corner of the screen and then to his notes. “This footage is missing an hour. It jumped or something.”

  Ryan quickly began rewinding the footage, scrubbing backward frame by frame until he came to a curious scene. He stopped the film and let it play out again, this time watching the clock more carefully than before.

  “There,” he said. “See, the clock jumped ahead by nearly an hour. A chunk of this footage is missing.”

  “Replay it.” Kit leaned in.

  Ryan rewinded again. The detectives stared intently at the screen, making sure not to miss a beat.

  “You’re right,” she said. “I think we need to talk to Jake Jones.”

  Chapter 12

  Arriving back at Watershed Apartments Ryan and his partner stepped out of their cruiser and headed for the only free-standing apartment in the complex. In his years as a detective Ryan Devereux had managed to avoid issues like this so far.

  The only reasonable explanation for a missing chunk of footage was tampering, he thought. Jake Jones obviously had something to hide. The detectives mind ran rampant with theories, though he tried to withhold any premature judgement until he’d acquired more facts.

  “Mr. Jones?” Ryan knocked on the red front door. “I would like to speak with you if you have a moment.”

  Kit folded her arms across her chest and leaned against the slightly weathered siding. Above their heads a fan spun rapidly, sending cooling bursts of air down Ryans neck. He looked up at the thing and wondered how long it had been since it was last turned off.

  “Mr. Jones?” He repeated.

  There was no sign of movement or sound of footsteps. The apartment appeared to be empty. Perhaps, Ryan thought, the man had gone to grab a drink though something in the back of his mind was a little more suspicious.

  “There’s a side door.” Kit headed around the house.

  Following closely behind her Ryan watched as she climbed the small porch steps and peered inside. Empty beer cans littered the ground. Sitting still open a small table Ryan noticed a magazine picturing a young, barely clad woman smiling seductively into the camera.

  She was dark-haired with large breasts and pouty lips, the kind of woman that only existed in magazines and on television. Putting on a pair of plastic gloves the detective carefully gripped one end of the page and turned it. The further he turned the racier and more adult the pictures became.

  He pulled the glove from his hand and tossed in into a small and nearly empty trashcan.

  “I don’t get it,” Kit scanned the porch. “Why toss all of these empty beer cans on the floor when there is a trashcan right there.”

  “I couldn’t say.” Ryan answered. “What did the computer say he drives? A red Dodge truck?”

  “Ram,” she nodded. “Fifteen hundred.”

  Ryan scanned the parking lot looking for the truck.

  “It’s not here,” he said. “Maybe he’s just out. We can come back a little later. We
’ll swing through the parking lot of a few bars too.”

  “I guess so,” she replied.

  Walking back to his cruiser Ryan tried his best to peer through the tattered blinds and into the house. He saw darkness and not much more. A soft chuckle carried through the air, bouncing off of the walls and catching his attention.

  Ryan stopped.

  Across the parking lot he noticed what looked like three teenage girls standing below the shade of a large Magnolia tree. He studied them for a moment before motioning to his partner. The laughter and conversation slowly began to die down as the young girls took notice of the approaching detectives.

  The young girls scrambled, each one nervously turning in place and stuffing their hands into their pockets. Ryan smiled, remembering what it felt like to be so young.

  “Hello ladies,” he said.

  “Hi…” The shorter of the three spoke up.

  “I’m Detective Ryan Devereux and this is my partner Kit Walker.”

  “Hi…” another girl said in a low and nervous voice.

  The three girls shuffled in place, their eyes darting between the detectives and the ground. Ryan stepped closer, noticing the way the taller of the three kept focused on a large hold high on the trees trunk. Just as he had so many times during his youth the detective stuck his hand into the hole and fished around.

  “Vodka,” he opened his hand to reveal a few empty shot bottles. “The cheap stuff.”

  “It wasn’t-”

  “I don’t care,” he stopped her. “We’re detectives, not beat cops. Besides, I remember being young in this place. There isn’t much to do during these hot summers. I did have a few questions though.”

  A half-smile stretched across the girls face as she breathed a slow sigh of relief.

  “The owner,” he tossed the empty bottles to the ground. “Have you seen him around the last few hours?”

  “He’s gone,” one of them spoke up.

  She was fair-skinned with bright red hair and a sweet smile. Her young frame still hadn’t fully come into itself and until that moment she’d remained the quieter and more still of the three. Ryan noticed a familiarity in the girl, almost as if they’d met.

  “What do you mean he’s gone?” Kit asked.

  “He left,” another girl said. “About half an hour ago. He brought a suitcase and a few bags from his apartment and tossed them in his truck.”

  “Are you sure?” Kit asked.

  “Yes,” the red-haired girl answered. “Said he was going camping. He told us not to tell anyone.”

  “Yea…” another girl answered. “He gave us the shots.”

  “Half an hour, you say?” Ryan asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Thank you,” he nodded to Kit.

  The two quickly headed back to their cruiser and climbed inside. Ryan wasted no time in putting out an APB on the red dodge truck. Tampering with evidence is a suspicious act on its own. Coupled with leaving town though, it’s damn near a confession.

  “What do you think he’s hiding?”

  “I don’t know,” he turned onto the highway and headed toward town. “We watched her leave. She was with Gus Greenfield. But what happened after she’d gone that Jake Jones wouldn’t want us to see?”

  It was a curious question to say the least, one Ryan needed an answer to sooner rather than later. Especially if he were going to hold on to any hope of finding the missing girl.

  “We’ll find him.” Kit assured him. “If that truck is anywhere even close someone will spot it. In the meantime we have enough evidence of suspicion to get a warrant on that apartment.”

  “Call it in,” he answered. “Though I doubt anything gets approved before morning.”

  Chapter 13

  With the workday coming to it’s close but still not quite ready to head home Ryan dropped his partner off at her car and headed to a local bar. It had been a couple of months since he’d last came to Kingfish but, he thought, it was on his way home and Foggy King was likely over whatever issue he’d had.

  Stepping through the door he noticed the same faded walls and the same dim lighting. Nothing seemed to have changed, which was just the way the detective preferred it. All too often people seemed to get hold of the idea that bars or restaurants needed ‘updating’ when in reality there wasn’t a damn thing wrong with them.

  “Scotch,” he said to the young bartender. “Rocks.”

  He stood about six foot high with sandy brown hair and a tight red t-shirt and his faded jeans hung high enough around his waist to not really bother the detective. Seeing a man behind the bar of a place owned by Foggy King was an odd sight though given his two rules for employment. A pretty smile and a lot of cleavage.

  Without even making eye contact the young man flipped a small glass, plopped it down in front of the detective and began to pour. For most of his life Ryan Devereux had a penchant for rum, dark and sweet, though over the last few months he’d found himself gravitating to the darker and more bitter flavors of aged whiskey.

  “Ryan?” She said. “How long’s it been?”

  Beverly Blanchard placed her hand on his shoulder and with a big smile she leaned in. Her lips were soft and red, like raspberries under the summer sun. Ryan’s heart spiked, half surprised by the sudden movement and half happy to see her again.

  “Bev,” he grinned. “God, I don’t know… fifteen years.”

  “Fifteen years that seemed to do you well,” she pulled back, her eyes scanning his frame. “You look great.”

  “Thank you.” He answered. “So do you.”

  “I try,” she took a seat. “How are things with Jillian?”

  “We’re not married,” he answered. “Not anymore. She lives near downtown with our daughter.”

  “Right….” Nodded the woman. “I remember hearing the two of you managed to get a little one. Boy or girl?”

  “Girl. Carly.”

  “Carly…” she repeated. “I’ve always liked that name.”

  “What about you?” he asked. “What have you been up to?”

  She was attractive, with long black hair, tanned skin and the kind of wide-eyes that seemed to shine through even in the darkest of rooms. As a young couple Ryan Devereux and Beverly Blanchard made quite the pair and for a time Ryan was sure they’d spend their lives together.

  It was Beverly that first introduced the young man to a darker side of town. She thrived on danger and speed. It was Beverly that first thought of stealing the police car on Ryan’s sixteenth birthday and it was her that climbed in his window late at night soaked and freezing from the rain.

  “Oh,” she waved. “I’ve been everywhere I guess. More places than I could count but for the last two years I’ve been up on the North Carolina coast. Little place called Kill Devil Hills actually.”

  Though it seemed a strange name for a town Ryan knew exactly where the woman was talking about, though he’d never been there himself.

  “What have you been doing up there?” He asked, searching his memories of the last few years.

  “Working at a little bar.” Beverly scanned the room. “Looks a lot like this one actually.”

  “I thought I heard you came back to town a few years ago.” He asked. “Weren’t you supposed to-”

  “It didn’t pan out,” she interjected. “We tried to work through it. I even got a little apartment and hung around for a few weeks. I thought about reaching out to you back then but…”

  “I understand.”

  “You seeing anyone?” A coy smile stretched across her lips.

  “Yes,” he answered. “Been seeing her for a while now.”

  “Anyone I know?”

  Ryan hesitated for a moment. Of course the two women knew one another. Not only was Charleston a small town, but it was even smaller back then. Not to mention its’ southern ‘everybody knows everybody’ philosophy.

  “Michelle,” he responded.

  Beverly answered with a silent nod of her head. For a time duri
ng their younger days the girls were what was often referred to in the south as ‘mortal enemies.’ Schoolyard fights, hair-pulling and more rumors than anyone could keep track of permeated the small town.

  “How is she?” Beverly asked finally.

  “Good,” he replied. “She’s a nurse now.”

  “Always said she wanted to work in the hospital.”

  “She’s good at what she does.” The detective replied.

  “Ya’ll in love?”

  “What?” He chuckled.

  “Do you love her?” Beverly inquired. “Simple question.”

  Had he been standing the question would have knocked him off his feet. Ryan was sure of it. The older he grew the more slippery that slope seemed. Love is a complicated thing, much too layered to put into just one phrase though that never seemed to stop anyone from trying to boil it all down to one simple question.

  “I have feelings for her.” He answered. “I enjoy being with her and I-”

  “Then it’s a no.” Beverly shook her head. “Love ain’t all that, babe. You either love the girl or you don’t. Shame too, you’re a good man and every girl likes a good man.”

  “You don’t know me,” he replied. “Not anymore. You don’t know I’m good.”

  “Yes I do,” she lifted his glass and took a sip. “Even when you were being bad you were good. One look at you now and I can tell that ain’t changed a bit. She’s lucky to have you. If you’ll let her that is.”

  “If I’ll let her?”

  “Oh now… you know what I mean.” She twisted her long black hair into a knob and pinned it back with a small clasp she pulled from her pocket. “You’re a good man alright, but you ain’t never been too easy to get to know. You hold back. You always have and even just listening to you now I can tell ya still do.”

  “So that’s it then? You’re back in town for half an hour and you already know me as if you’ve been with me since highschool?”

  Frustration began building in the mans voice. Judging people for perceptions was a problematic practice. Ryan Devereux spent his career leaning on facts, researching truths and uncovering the façade that often surrounded them. Of course every good detective had things like inclinations and gut-feelings but without proof or evidence those feelings couldn’t lead to results. Plain and simple.