Deadly Waters

by T. Alan Codder

  She struck a movie star like pose, tilting her head slightly to the side as she beamed at him, her hand on the side of her face and her little finger just touching her lips. It was a very flirty pose that she was good at, and Sean felt that tingle of attraction again.

  “It would be my pleasure,” he said, returning her smile.

  They finished eating, talking about whatever came to mind. Sean was in no hurry to go, enjoying Maggie’s company as more than just a distraction from work.

  “As much as I don’t want to go,” he said, slowly spinning his wine glass on the table between his fingers, “Marmalade probably thinks I’ve forgotten about him and he’s going to starve.”

  Maggie smiled, her eyes warm. “Thanks for inviting me to dinner,” she said, and then twisted for her purse.

  “I said it was my treat,” he reminded her.

  “I don’t mind paying for my own meal.”

  “My treat, seriously. What kind of date would it be if I made you buy your own dinner?” he asked with a slight grin.

  “So, it is a date?” she asked, her eyes dancing and her tone playful.

  “You said it was when I put the lasagna on your plate.”

  She grinned, holding her purse up so he could see it. “Last chance,” she warned as she smiled.

  “I’ve got it.”

  She dropped her purse. “Then thank you very much. I’ve had a lovely evening.”

  He looked down as he smiled to himself. So had he. He placed his credit card in the bill folder and set it at the edge of the table.

  “You’re welcome. Thank you for keeping me out of my own head.”

  “Bad, huh?”

  “Not good.”

  “But you’ll be alright?”

  “Oh sure. I just tend to think too much if I’m alone.”

  “Marmalade is there.”

  “Yeah, but he gets in my lap, goes to sleep, and then I might as well be alone. He acts like he’s exhausted from having to sleep all day.”

  “I’ve always lived around here. I can imagine it’s hard when you don’t have friends close.”

  He shrugged.

  “Tell you what. Anytime you don’t want to be alone in your head, as you said, give me a call. If I’m not busy, you can buy me dinner. How’s that for a great offer?” she asked, obviously trying to lighten the suddenly somber mood.

  He chuckled. “Best offer I’ve had in months.”

  “Seriously. Give me a call. I won’t even make you buy dinner.”

  He smiled and nodded, strangely touched that she made the offer. “Thanks, Maggie.”

  “My pleasure.”

  After paying the check he walked her to her car. He felt the pleasant warmth of her company, that unidentifiable something that comes from being attracted to someone and wanting to be with them. He thought about kissing her, but like the last time, decided not to. She was no longer a suspect, but he didn’t want there to be even a whisper of scandal, so he settled for opening the car door for her.

  “Thanks again, Maggie. I enjoyed it.”

  She plopped into the car. “So did I,” she said, looking up at him with a big grin.

  He smiled at her and pushed her door shut. He watched until she backed out and then pulled away with a cheerful wave. He raised his hand in return and then made his way to his own car.

  Thirty-Two

  “Good morning, magistrate,” Sean said. “I’m here for a warrant for the arrest of Steven T. Locoste. 3086 Turkey Trot Lane, Brunswick, for the murder of Jonathan Boyd Thacker.”

  “Murder?”

  “That’s right.”

  “You found what you were looking for?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Show me.”

  As before, Sean went over the file, glossing over the parts Hank had already seen, and then showing him copies of the spreadsheets where he’d worked out Locoste was generating more waste than he was properly disposing of.

  “Anything else?” Hank asked when Sean had finished.

  “Yes. I found these audio and video recordings on Thacker’s phone, which I recovered at what I believe is the murder scene. I transferred them to my computer.”

  Sean booted his computer and clicked on the video file. Hank watched the entire clip before commenting.

  “Is that Locoste’s truck?”

  “Yes. It’s hard to tell in the video, though it’s the right type and color, but in the audio, Thacker reads off the plate number. The plate is registered to Locoste Trucking. I’ll play the audio clips in the order they were recorded. There are three of them, probably because the VAR function of the recorder ended each clip when there was a moment of quiet.”

  He played the clips, and again Hank sat quietly until they were finished.

  “Is that Locoste’s voice on the recording?”

  “Locoste is known to me and it sounds like his voice.”

  “Then I’ve heard enough,” Hank said. “I assume you’re going to execute the warrant today?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Please wait outside.”

  -oOo-

  “You’re warrant, chief. Good luck,” a tiny Asian woman said, handing him the warrant.

  “Thank you,” he replied, taking the document.

  He hurried to his cruiser, started his car, and then pulled out his cell and dialed.

  “Brunswick Police Department, how may I help you?”

  “Terri, it’s Sean.”

  “How can I help you, chief?” Terri asked.

  “Who’s on duty?”

  “Fish and Chips, Donner and Caswell. Caswell is working an accident at the moment.”

  “Okay. Have Chips meet me at LoCoste Adhesives in forty minutes.”

  “I’ll get him rolling.”

  Sean acknowledged, tossed his phone into the passenger seat, and then put his car in gear and backed out of the parking spot. As he drove to LoCoste Adhesives, he mulled over all the possibilities. Locoste could submit without protest, he could run, he could struggle or he could engage them with a weapon. The most likely scenario was that he’d submit, and the least likely was that he’d start shooting, but the other two scenarios were also possible.

  That’s why he wanted Chips with him. He wanted the option of non-lethal force if Steve decided to put up a fight. He hadn’t qualified with a Taser yet, but it was something he was going to do as soon as possible.

  He was sitting in the road leading into the small light industrial park, out of sight of the LoCoste Adhesives plant, when Chips’ cruiser pulled to a stop behind him. Sean stepped out and Chips flipped on his beacons.

  “We’re going to arrest Steve Locoste, calm and professional, just like the last time we were here,” Sean said as he stopped beside Chips’ cruiser.

  “You got him on murder?” Chips asked.

  “I’ve got him.”

  Chips lips thinned. “Are you expecting trouble?”

  “I hope not, but be prepared.”

  “Does he know we’re coming?”

  “No.”

  Chips licked his lips and then squirmed deeper into his seat. “I’ve got your back.”

  Sean gave him a curt nod and returned to his car.

  They drove into the LoCoste Adhesives compound, their strobes dark. As Sean walked to the entrance, he clipped his badge to his belt.

  “I’m sorry, Chief McGhee. You can’t come in here. Mr. Locoste said you’re not allowed on the property,” the woman who doubled as the receptionist said. It was the same woman who had greeted them the last time they were there.

  “I have a warrant for the arrest of Steven Locoste,” Sean said, holding up the document so she could see it. “Where is he?”

  She went pale. “Uh, yes sir. He’s in his office. Do you want me to…?” she stammered, her voice soft and shaking.

  “I know where it is. Chips, with me.”

  As they walked down the hall, they heard the shrill horn of a fire alarm.

  “Shit!” Sean barked as th
ey began to run.

  They skidded around a corner in time to see Steve running past outside the full-length windows. Sean pushed Chips toward the slowly closing door, silently ordering him to give chase as he dashed back the other way.

  “Which way out the back?” Sean called as he reached the lobby area. “Which way?” he shouted again.

  “That way!” the woman who greeted them yelled as she pointed to a door.

  He turned, yanked open the door, and ran down a hall, crashing through another door just as a white Ford pickup raced backwards out of a parking space. Its tires squealed as it rocked to a stop before they howled again as it rocketed away.

  “Shit!”

  He turned back to the door, but it wouldn’t open, requiring an electronic card to unlock.

  “Dammit! This way!” Sean cried as Chips pounded to a stop then turned to follow him.

  As the officers rounded the corner of the building on the run, they saw Steve’s truck roaring past on the road. Steve had a hell of a head start, but maybe they could run him down.

  “Call it in!” Sean panted as they reached their cars.

  He threw himself into the driver’s seat, yanked the car into reverse, and matted the throttle the moment the engine started. Rear tires howling in protest, the car roared backwards out of the parking space before it squealed to a stop. He jammed it into drive and floored it again, flipping on his strobes and siren as the car bellowed, straining for speed.

  He raced down the drive, barely slowing before throwing the car around the corner and out onto the road, the car skidding on the edge of control. He saw Steve’s truck swing around the corner at the end of the industrial park, the truck blowing thick black smoke as Steve gave it the beans.

  Sean grabbed the mic. “Dispatch! Locoste turning north onto… whatever road the industrial park is on!”

  “North onto Eighty-two. Units are responding,” Terri said, her voice clipped, clear, and professional.

  Sean could see Chips coming hard behind him as he braked, checked for traffic, and then wheeled his car onto Highway Eighty-two, the cruiser’s tires howling in protest as he flung the car around the corner. On the highway, he buried the throttle and the car once again howled as it gave it’s all in pursuit. His cruiser had much greater acceleration than Steve’s truck, and he was slowly reeling him in, when the truck’s brake lights came on, the vehicle making a sudden right.

  “Locoste turning right onto Waverly,” Chips said over the radio.

  Thank God for Chips, Sean thought. He didn’t have time to read the street signs.

  “Pursuit. Dispatch. Additional officers are moving to intercept.”

  “Locoste turning left onto Highland. He’s heading out of town,” Chips said.

  Sean watched as Locoste’s truck didn’t make the turn and skidded across the road and down into the ditch. The truck bellowed, black smoke pouring from the exhaust as it clawed its way out of the ditch, but it was a fatal mistake. By the time Steve was back on the road, Sean was directly behind him, Chips arriving behind Sean a moment later.

  Sean picked up his mic. “Dispatch. McGhee. I’m on him.”

  “Dispatch. Chips. Have someone try to get ahead of him on Glennhaven and Pettijean.”

  “Fish acknowledges. Heading to Glennhaven,” his voice came over the radio.

  “Donner acknowledges. On my way to Pettijean,” Will Donner added an instant later.

  With Sean and Chips right on his bumper, Steve led them out of town, though at a slightly slower speed, while weaving to back and forth to prevent Sean or Chips from getting in front of him. Apparently, Steve had given up on trying to outrun them, but Sean had no idea how they were going to stop the big Ford.

  They could try the Precision Immobilization Technique—the PIT maneuver—that some police forces used, but he didn’t want to try to spin Steve’s truck until they had no other choice. He’d never been trained on how to properly execute the maneuver, and he suspected that Chips was in the same boat.

  The PIT maneuver could be dangerous if done improperly, and he didn’t want to injure Steve if possible. They also didn’t have the bull bars on the front of their cruisers to protect them, so they could easily disable their vehicles and allow Steve to escape.

  “Fish on twenty. Have you passed?” Fish asked, letting the pursuing officers know that he had arrived on location.

  “Coming up on you now, Fish,” Chips said.

  “Donner in position.”

  A moment later, Sean saw the strobes of Fish’s cruiser blocking the road. At almost the same instant, Steve braked hard, causing Sean to nearly rear-end him. The backup lights came on and the Ford roared backwards, slamming into Sean’s car. Sean floored the throttle and twisted the wheel hard to the right, the engine of his Dodge roaring as it pushed, the rear of Steve’s truck whipping around as his car shoved past. It wasn’t a textbook PIT maneuver, but it worked.

  Chips quickly accelerated up beside him, putting the nose of his car almost touching the front of Steve’s truck as Fish did the same to the rear. The three officers bailed out of their vehicles, their weapons drawn.

  “Hands where we can see them! Hands where we can see them!” Chips yelled as they approached in a crouch, their weapons pointed at the side glass.

  Sean yanked the door open, one hand still on his pistol, reached in, and dragged Steve out of the truck and down onto the ground.

  “Down on the ground! Keep your hands where I can see them!” Sean bellowed.

  Fish and Chips moved in, their weapons still on Steve, as he lay on the ground, his arms out in front of him.

  “I give up! Don’t shoot!” Steve cried, his voice full of panic.

  Sean quickly holstered his sidearm and jerked Steve’s hands around behind his back.

  “I’ve got him!” Chips said, his Taser still pointed at Steve.

  Fish holstered his pistol then took the cuffs from his belt and quickly secured Steve’s hands. The moment the cuffs were on, Chips weapon went to high ready, pointing at the sky, and then into his holster.

  Sean rolled Steve over, and then helped him sit up.

  “Are you injured?” Sean asked, his manner curt from the annoyance of having to chase Steve down and the adrenaline still coursing through his system.

  “No,” Steve said, refusing to meet Sean’s eyes.

  “You’re in a whole heap o’ trouble, boy,” Fish drawled, his accent as thick and slow as cold molasses. When Sean looked at him, Fish smiled. “Don’t mind me. I’ve just always wanted to say that.”

  Sean snickered. “Help me get him up.”

  With Fish on the opposite arm, Sean helped Steve to his feet.

  “Fish, take him in.”

  As Fish loaded Steve into his cruiser, Sean looked at the bent truck and his own car.

  “Shit,” he muttered under his breath.

  His car was making a wet spattering sound as green coolant pattered onto the pavement in a thin stream. He reached in and switched the engine off.

  “Chips, better get the fire department out here to clean this mess up, and a couple of wreckers.”

  “Damn, chief. Is that going to come out of your pay?” Chips asked, drawing out the first word, and then snickering.

  Before Sean could answer, Chips was talking into the mic clipped to his shoulder.

  “Fire department and tow are on the way,” Chips said. “You okay?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  “Well, you were just run over by an F350,” Chips said, jerking his thumb at the truck as if the answer were obvious.

  Sean shook his head. “No, I’m fine. Let’s see if we can get these cars out of the road,” he said as Donner approached in his own patrol car, his emergency beacons flashing.

  While Chips moved the truck out of the middle of the road, Sean pulled his car forward and to the side, turned the engine off again, but left the strobes flashing. The battery was going to be dead in short order, but that was the least of the car’s problems.


  -oOo-

  It took over an hour to get the car problem sorted out, and as they winched his car onto the rollback, Sean realized he had no idea what to do with his car or Steve’s truck.

  “Where to, chief?” the rollback driver asked as he began to strap down his car.

  “City maintenance shop I guess. Take the truck to the police station.”

  “You got it.”

  “Can I catch a ride with the pickup?” Sean asked. He’d stayed with his car when Donner, and then Chips, left to respond to calls.

  “Sure, no problem.” The driver glanced over at the other truck. “He’s about ready to go. Just tell him you need a ride to the station and to drop the truck there.”

  -oOo-

  While the driver unloaded Steve’s truck into the far corner of the parking lot, Sean walked in through the back entrance and down the hall to the two cells.

  The cells were small, eight by twelve, with concrete block walls, a stainless-steel bench to sit on, and a thick door with a window. The cells had no comforts, but they weren’t intended for long term housing of a prisoner.

  “You doing okay?” he asked through the grating in the door that allowed an officer to converse with a prisoner without having to shout.

  Steve stood up and walked to the door, but he was unable to meet Sean’s gaze. “Yeah. I’m really sorry.”

  “Yeah, well, save it. Spangler still your attorney?”

  Steve met Sean’s gaze a moment, then looked down again. “Yeah.”

  “I’ll give him a call and let him know you’re here.”

  Steve looked up, his eyes haunted. “Thanks.”

  “You need anything? Anyone you want to call?”

  “No,” Steve replied, his gaze turning down again and his voice full of regret.

  “Okay. Sit tight. I’ll check back on you in an hour or so.”

  “Thanks.”

  Sean left Steve and walked down the hall to his office. He sat down at his desk and looked up Spangler’s number.

  “Richard Spangler, attorney at law. May I help you?” the female voice, probably Jacquelyn, asked.