Deadly Waters

by T. Alan Codder

  Eight

  “Chief, Maggie Neese is here to see you.”

  “Thank you, Claire. Send her back,” Sean replied then hung up the phone.

  He stepped out of his office as Maggie was buzzed in.

  “Down here, Maggie. We’ll go to the conference room so we can both sit in front of the computer. It’ll be easier that way.”

  “First time I’ve been in a police station,” Maggie replied as she joined him and he led her down the hall.

  “Nothing much to it. Offices mostly. You saw the dispatch office, and there are a couple of holding cells around the corner. Thanks for the list of people. I didn’t realize it when I suggested this, but with the gate open during the day, all you see are cars driving past, so if you can help me identify those, it’ll be a big help.”

  “I can do that,” she said as they sat down.

  His laptop was already in the conference room with the video file cued up. With his cuts, he had seventy-two minutes of video that covered the two weeks he was interested in. He’d spliced the three cameras together so they could see a vehicle enter the gate and stop at either the office or at the dump pit.

  They sat down in front of his computer. “I’ll stop the video after each car and you can tell me who it is. If you look in the upper-right hand corner, you’ll see the date and time stamp. If anything looks wrong, no matter how small, let me know. You never know what might be important. Ready?”

  “Ready,” she said, leaning forward a bit to see the screen better. “Tim Johnson,” she said as he started the video playing and the first vehicle entered the gate.

  Sean paused the video before switching to an Excel file where he entered the date, time, person and make of the vehicle.

  “Kevin Harbaugh,” she said when he started the video playing again.

  He again paused the video and entered the information into his spreadsheet.

  They slowly worked their way through the list of cars as they entered the facility.

  “I know you’re from Boston and were a big deal up there. What are you doing down here in little ol’ Brunswick, North Carolina?” she asked as he typed away.

  “Hardly a big deal. I was looking for a change.”

  “Alex Sanders. That’s a woman by the way. She works in our lab. What kind of change? Seems like a step backwards to me. I heard you were an up and coming thing.”

  “Don’t believe everything you hear. I was just another cop.”

  “That’s not what the rumors say. Didn’t you crack a couple of big cases? That’s me.”

  “Yeah, but I was just doing my job, like everyone else,” he said as he added Maggie’s name and the fact she drove a Civic to his list.

  “So, you didn’t break a big case?”

  He smiled. “No, I did, well, my team and I did, but there wasn’t anything special about it. Just police work. The difference is, I worked mostly with computers instead of being on the street.”

  “That’s Steve, coming in to dump a load,” Maggie said as a large white tanker truck passed through the gate.

  “I saw him on the feed from the dump pit,” Sean said.

  The video jumped to the dump pit camera as the truck entered into frame. It rolled to a stop and then backed into the pit.

  “That’s how you know how to do all this computer stuff?”

  “Yeah. I went to school for a degree in computer science. While I was there my girlfriend got mugged. Thank God she wasn’t hurt, but it really shook me up, so I changed my focus. I finished my degree but then took a few more classes and joined the Boston PD,” he said after logging in Steve, picking up the thread of the conversation.

  It took about a half-hour for Steve to unload, but he didn’t want to fast forward in case Maggie saw something he didn’t.

  “That’s a strange combination, computers and law enforcement,” she said, watching the video as Steve went about the business of unloading his truck.

  He grinned. “I guess, but having Stephanie get mugged, even though she wasn’t hurt, really bothered me. It made me want to make a difference.” He gave her a shrug. “So, here I am, the nerdy police officer.”

  “The Boston PD put you to work on computers, huh?”

  “No, not at first. I was a regular patrol officer to start with. But word got around I knew a little bit about computers, and I started helping some of the other guys with their cases if it involved computers, or if they were having a problem.”

  “So, you were just a regular cop?”

  “For a while. But then my district Captain wanted to put together a team to focus on computer related crime. Did you know Boston is number two in the nation for cybercrime? Only Seattle ranks higher. Anyway, I got tagged to be part of a team of eight. It turned out I was good at the job.” He grinned. “Maybe I can just naturally think like a criminal. Whatever the reason, I kept getting bigger and tougher cases. Some I solved, a lot I couldn’t, but I got really good at connecting the dots, even if I couldn’t prove anything.”

  “Sounds like you were up and coming to me.”

  He shrugged. “I guess it depends on how you look at it. I was promoted to Lieutenant a few years ago and took over the CTF. One of the youngest Lieutenants on the force. I guess if you look at it that way, yeah, I was doing okay.”

  “CTF? What’s that?” she asked.

  “Sorry. Cybercrimes Task Force. It was a group of officers that focused on computer related crime.”

  “So, why did you leave?”

  “Things change. I guess I was burned out. I just wanted to get away.” He smiled but there was no humor in it. “I was looking to move into a smaller department, and I applied to Brunswick on a whim. I had these ideas of it being like Mayberry and The Andy Griffith Show. Turns out, you have all the same problems Boston does, just not on the same scale.”

  “Disappointed?”

  “No, not really. I do enjoy the slower pace. Assuming I can get funding, it’ll be fun getting to drag the department into the computer age.”

  Maggie snickered. “Good luck with that. Getting funding is like pulling teeth. The waste treatment plant was about to fall apart before we got funding to upgrade and renovate. The city council can always find money for upgrades to the park, or the golf course, but for infrastructure, and I guess your computers, that’s another matter.”

  “I get the impression Bill didn’t have much use for computers. Maybe he never asked for upgrades.”

  “Maybe. Still, good luck with your request. I think you’ll need it.”

  “You’re a regular ray of sunshine.”

  She tucked her hands under her chin, one on top of the other, as she grinned and batted her eyes at him, before breaking down in giggles.

  “I’m just giving you the benefit of my experience. So long as your computers are working I think you’re going to have a hard time replacing them wholesale,” she said.

  He looked at her with mock suspicion. “Are you suggesting that my department’s computers should have a rash of catastrophic failures?”

  “Who, me? I’d never suggest that!” she said with exaggerated innocence before giving him a big smile.

  “Uh-huh,” he grunted.

  They sat and watched the rest of the video as he logged each car into and out of the facility, Maggie naming each one, sometimes having to wait until the driver stepped out of his car at the admin building to identify the visitors.

  “See anything out of the ordinary that jumps out at you?” he asked as the video ended.

  “No, not really. I didn’t see the city vac truck come in.”

  Sean shrugged. “I only kept the video from around when Thacker’s body was likely dumped, with a little before and after, just in case the ME’s time frame is off.”

  “Maybe they didn’t come in during those few days.”

  “They didn’t log a load.”

  She shrugged. “I guess they didn’t, then. I’d have to go back and check to see if the operators matched their shifts, but I�
�m sure they did. If someone didn’t show up, I’d know. The operator left on his own would be squawking and the guy who didn’t show up would have his timecard flagged. As far the visitors go, they obviously have no schedule and just show up whenever.”

  None of the visitors had gone anywhere other than the admin building, so Sean wasn’t too worried about them.

  “Okay, thanks for your help. I’ll shoot you a list of all the ins and outs. Can you please check them against their schedules and make sure someone didn’t show up when they weren’t supposed to?”

  “Sure, but I don’t think anyone did. We only have two operators per shift. Two in, two out, but I’ll check the time sheets to be sure. Everybody else is dayshift, Monday through Friday, unless they are called in for some reason, and nobody was except for Byrley.”

  “He’s not going to be in trouble for taking the truck home, is he?”

  She shook her head. “They’re not supposed to do that, but I’m not going to gripe at them when they get called in the middle of the night. I knew they were doing it.”

  “Okay, good. I didn’t want to get anyone in trouble. Thanks for doing this. I’m sorry to load you down like this, but we really need a break on this case. What about Locoste’s truck?”

  “What about it?”

  “I know you said he’s one of your customers. Was he on schedule?”

  “I can’t say. I’d have to check the last time he dumped, but his schedule is irregular. If I remember right, he comes in every six to eight weeks, but sometimes it’s longer and sometimes it’s shorter. I guess he comes when he gets a truck load, however long it takes.”

  “So, it’s not a regularly scheduled thing?”

  “Well, it is, but it doesn’t happen like clockwork, no. It’s probably based on his production volume or something. The more he produces, the more often he has to come.”

  Sean sighed. “Makes sense, but it would explain how the body got in.”

  “Steve Locoste? The city councilman?”

  Her tone made him think she was questioning his sanity. He gave her a sideways grin and shrugged.

  “Not likely, I admit.”

  “That, and he’s been doing it for years. We haven’t found a dead body in his truck yet.”

  He chuckled. “You’ve checked?”

  She flashed him a quick smile. “No, but we do inspect him occasionally.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “On a random schedule, which means when we think about it, we’ll pull a sample of what he’s dumping, just to keep him honest.”

  “But you didn’t on this load?”

  “No, I don’t think so. We do it at the dump pit and I didn’t see anybody on the video. I’ll have to check with Alex or Ted to be sure though.”

  “Does Steve always bring the load?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  “Just seems odd that the owner would be driving a truck.”

  She shrugged. “He’s been doing it for years. Maybe it gets him out of the office for a couple of hours.”

  “Maybe,” he agreed.

  To clear his head, he took a walk. Maybe Steve drove the truck to accomplish the same thing.

  “I wish I could help you, Sean, I really do. But everything looked perfectly normal to me,” Maggie said.

  “Yeah, thanks. I’ve been here before. You just keep chipping away at it until something breaks.”

  She pushed back from the table. “Are we done?”

  “Yeah, thanks. You’ve been a big help.”

  Her eyes danced with her smile. “Have I?”

  He grinned back. “Well, no, not really, but I didn’t think it would be polite to say so.”

  Nine

  Sean plopped down at his desk Wednesday morning, picked up his phone, and immediately dialed.

  It had been a restless Tuesday night, and he’d spent a lot of time staring at the wall as he absentmindedly scratched Marmalade’s ears, trying to figure out how Thacker’s body made it into the plant.

  While there was no video on the oxidation ditch, there was a camera covering the dump pit. Any vehicle that drove to the ditch would pass within the field of view of that camera, unless they drove the loop backwards from the normal traffic flow and then turned around. It was possible, he supposed, but normally everyone circled the plant counterclockwise. Nothing prevented you from driving clockwise, but that would raise attention. During Fish’s interviews, nobody at the plant had mentioned seeing anything out of the ordinary, like a vehicle circling the plant backwards.

  That was what was so damned frustrating about this case. Everything seemed so normal. Nobody could remember anything happening out of the ordinary, and yet, a man’s body ended up floating in their oxidation ditch.

  One of the many things that bothered him was the fact the ditch was in plain sight of Grand Home Road, the road that ran parallel to the plant. Granted, Grand Home was over a hundred yards from the location where the body was found, and it wasn’t that busy, but why take the risk of having someone drive by while the body was being unloaded? Why not dump the body in the woods or river to avoid the risk of being seen? It made no sense.

  The most obvious way for the body to have arrived at the plant was in Steve Locoste’s or Kevin Harbaugh’s truck. They were the only two vehicles in the area at the right time.

  Harbaugh was on video passing the dump pit, and he admitted he was at the ditch during the time frame the body was likely dumped, but that would mean that Harbaugh had left Thacker’s dead body in his truck while he had lunch. That was a hard supposition to accept.

  There was also video of Steve unloading at the dump pit, which was only thirty or forty yards from the oxidation ditch. He could have dumped the body after he left the pit, the view of his truck blocked by the equipment shed and generators, but how did he know Maggie wouldn’t send the lab out to collect a sample and discover the body waiting in the truck?

  If he were honest with himself, accusing either man of doing it made about as much sense as saying Maggie caved in the skull of Thacker and hauled him into the plant in the passenger seat of her Civic.

  As far as he knew, Steve didn’t have any contact with Thacker, but even if he did, he would’ve had to have loaded the body into his truck at his facility, and then dump it at the plant, all in broad daylight. A ballsy move if he did, almost as ballsy as Harbaugh leaving Thacker’s body in his truck while it sat in the admin building parking lot.

  It was just too unbelievable to assume he wasn’t noticed tying weights to a dead man and loading him in his truck. It was equally unlikely somebody did notice but didn’t contact the police, especially after all the brouhaha on the news over the death of Thacker.

  What little evidence they had pointed to Harbaugh, that he’d rolled the dice and won, but he couldn’t get a warrant on that. Before he’d called it a night, he’d decided to start again at the very beginning.

  “Police Chief Sean McGhee calling for Mayor Klinger, please,” he said when someone finally answered the ringing phone.

  “One moment,” the woman’s voice said.

  He listened to the bland on hold music before the phone began to ring. After a moment, he was dumped into the mayor’s voicemail.

  “Mayor Klinger, Sean McGhee. I need the name and number of the city attorney, please. Thanks.”

  He ended the call, and then began to go through his own voicemails.

  -oOo-

  Sean was trying to get their ancient copier to talk to his computer so he could use it as a scanner and printer, when the mayor called back.

  “Why do you want to talk to the city attorney?” Rudy asked when Sean answered the phone.

  “I want to get a copy of the complaint Thacker lodged against the city. Do you have a copy?”

  “Why do you want that?”

  “We’re going nowhere on this case. I’m backing up to the beginning, looking for something, anything, to give us a break.”

  “You should be more concerned about what happ
ened a week ago than something that happened four months ago.”

  “That’s what I’m trying to do, mayor.”

  “It seems obvious to me it’s somebody at the plant. Why are you wasting time on this?”

  “Do you want to run the investigation? I’ll be happy to dump it in your lap and let you figure it out.”

  “There’s no reason to get testy.”

  “No? You just said I was wasting my time. If you know who did it, then tell me, and show me the proof. Otherwise, why don’t you let me conduct the investigation as I see fit?”

  There was a long pause. “I don’t have a copy of the complaint here. The city attorney is Richard Spangler. He has an office on Main Street. Tell him to call me if he needs approval for you to see the file.”

  “Thank you, mayor. You’ve been very helpful,” Sean said before hanging up.

  The copier forgotten, he grabbed his jacket and headed for the door.

  “I’m going to see Richard Spangler. I’ll be back in an hour or so,” he said to Michelle as he stepped out of the station.

  -oOo-

  “May I help you?” the pretty young woman asked as Sean entered Spangler’s office.

  She was nicely dressed in a gray power suit, her blond hair cut fashionably short, with a pair of trendy glasses resting on her pert nose.

  Spangler’s practice was in one of the old downtown office buildings, but had been lovingly restored and was richly furnished in wood and leather. It reeked of money and power.

  “I’d like to speak to Richard Spangler, please,” he replied.

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  “No, but this is city business.”

  “You’re name?”

  “Sean McGhee.”

  “You’re the new police chief, right?”

  He smiled. “That’s right.”

  “One moment,” she said. “Please, have a seat.”

  She stepped through a door as he settled into one of the comfortable oxblood leather chairs, and then returned a moment later.

  “Mr. Spangler will be with you in a moment. Can I get you anything?”

  “No, thank you,” he replied, though he wouldn’t mind if she would just talk to him some more. There was something about a pretty woman with a southern drawl.