“Good morning, Ms. Bar. I need a favor.”
“No you don’t,” she snickered. “You need me to work. You still in Utah?”
“No, at my father’s house in Florida. I wouldn’t interrupt your weekend if it wasn’t important.”
She exhaled. “I know. Just trollin’. What can I help you with?”
“Please search a Dr. Lila Falls. F-A-L-L-S. She would have rented a vehicle recently in Northeast Florida. See if you can find it. I need to confirm her location.”
“You could at least provide me with a challenge,” Bar chuckled. “Give me a second to get to my laptop and log into the secure network.”
Momentarily, Tolen heard her typing on a keyboard. What Tiffany Bar lacked in professionalism, the young CIA analyst made up for in talent. A few seconds later, she said, “She rented a Ford Explorer from Avis at JIA. It’s equipped with Onstar. Hang on, and I’ll get you an exact location. Huh, now that’s interesting… You want to take a guess where it’s parked?”
“About 26 miles upriver from Green Cove Springs, at Lonnie Wurn Boat Ramp in Jacksonville.”
“Ouch, not even close, Tolen. The gray Ford Explorer, Florida license plate X48 0PL, is stationary, engine off, at the Old Shands Bridge Boat Launch parking lot only a few minutes south of you.”
****
At the edge of the cove, cloaked by the treeline, a boat sat idly in the channel. A figure with binoculars watched Samuel Tolen chat on his phone, then make his way back to the house. Hatred smoldered within. Yet, the figure knew patience was a virtue. The right time would soon present itself.
CHAPTER 7
Fawn Cortez-Roberson left her home in Fernandina Beach early and drove south on I-95, arriving in Green Cove Springs an hour and a half later. She was unfamiliar with the small town, but given its one and only main thoroughfare, Orange Street, she quickly found her destination and parked on the east side of Spring Park.
She had heard about the bizarre incident at the springs yesterday and was anxious to follow up. A journalist by trade, Fawn had other reasons for being here today. For once, she was not chasing a story, but she was looking for answers.
The grounds of the riverside park were already busy. Children darted about the play sets set within the oak trees. Parents stood close by on the padded tarp or sat on the aluminum benches. The event at the spring yesterday had caused quite a stir, yet it appeared people had moved on with their everyday lives.
Fawn made her way down the sloped walkway toward the spring boil where the water rose from the ground. To her right, a long, covered area protected six picnic tables on a cement pad. Fawn reached the boil where three kids, ranging from eight to ten years old, peered over the low cement rail.
“Wow! Look at the colors!” the youngest exclaimed.
“Yesterday a body came out of here!” an older boy said excitedly.
“That’s creepy,” the third one said, wide-eyed.
Fawn stared down into the large cement collar. Silver, green, and blue lights reflected off the irregular walls leading up from the crevice below, born of a combination of minerals and crystal clear water. A strong sulfur smell hung in the air.
Fawn walked to the edge and placed her hands on the top of the cement rail. She leaned forward, admiring the boys’ fascination. The three looked at her nervously until one motioned to leave, and they scurried away up the embankment toward the playsets.
She again peered into the boil, searching, her eyes wandering the depths of visibility.
How was it possible a body had flowed forth from this spring?
She watched as water rose to the surface, swirled in an easy fashion, and angled through the vent leading to the public pool. She set off on foot following the flow. She passed the fenced public pool. On the far side, within the fenced area, was the back of an aged two-story building that formerly served as City Hall, with its front facing Walnut Street. The entire back of the building and pool were enclosed in an eight-foot-high, dark green, chain-link fence.
At the end of the fence, the paved walkway turned the corner and dropped several steps before paralleling the spring run. The water escaping from the pool through the slatted portal into the spring run created a soothing, serene splash. Fawn slowly turned to her right to follow the path of the 200-foot run toward the river.
Frankly, she didn’t know what she was looking for, but what had occurred here yesterday was not only bizarre, it matched the description in the text perfectly.
There was a cluster of banana trees against the far bank. Near them, a sign read:
Danger – S N A K E S – Keep out of run
Not a comforting thought.
She continued down the sidewalk, which paralleled the run. Small cypress stumps pegged either side of the grassy bank like teeth. Farther on, a small but eloquent footbridge crossed the stream, leading the sidewalk across to the other side and out toward Walnut Street. To the left, a public pier stretched nearly 300 feet over the water, making a dogleg turn at the end.
Fawn moved, never taking her eyes off the run. She could only imagine how strange the sight must have been with the water turning blood red and pieces of human tissue floating upon the surface. About the only thing authorities had been able to deduce so far is that it was the remains of a man.
For Fawn, this brought a small level of solace. At least it wasn’t Lindsey McSweet.
She carefully stepped down into the ravine near the edge of the water to take a closer look at the spring water channeling through the run. She did so tentatively, remembering the warning sign about snakes. The run appeared to be no more than several inches deep at any given point. The bed of the stream was mostly white sand with patches of dark algae. It struck her as odd that she saw no life, no small fish of any sort in the crystal-clear moving water.
From where the footbridge crossed the stream, the water continued out another 60 feet before merging into the tall grass reeds and flowing into the St. Johns River. Another sign repeated the first warning:
Danger – S N A K E S – Keep out of run
The first sign had been effective. The fact that town officials felt compelled to repeat the warning caused Fawn to pause. She retreated back up the ravine.
She moved past the footbridge and gazed outward at the river. At the shoreline, the land and water met in thick grass reeds that created a natural barrier.
Fawn walked along the spring run until she reached the grass reeds. Something in the foliage caught her attention. With the warning sign still fresh in her mind, she gingerly stepped alongside the bank trying to get a better view. The reeds held numerous black objects, dozens, maybe more. She couldn’t make out what they were.
Exhaling, Fawn looked around. “Cortez, this isn’t the smartest thing you’ve ever done.” With that, she stepped into the shallow moving water. It was far colder than she would have ever guessed, even with her tennis shoes on. Anxiously watching the water, she took a small step forward, more shuffling than walking, to help stir the stream bed and give any creatures advance notice she was coming. Several more shuffles and the grass thickened to the degree that she could barely see the water. It was among the foliage here that she saw the small black objects.
More than ever, Fawn was concerned about snakes that might be hiding amid the brush. Yet with the numerous black objects now within reach, she leaned over and placed her hands in the running water where the reeds acted like a strainer. When she lifted her hands, she examined the contents as the water drained out.
In the palm of her hand were a half-dozen minnows, blackened to a crisp.
Stunned, she looked down in the reeds now realizing she had considerably underestimated the numbers.
There were thousands of dead, charred minnows trapped in the reed bed.
CHAPTER 8
Curt redialed Lila’s number and left it on speaker. After eight unsuccessfu
l rings, he hung up. “I heard, ‘I’m at, hey….south….....springs!’ Is that what you heard?” His voice was tight.
“Yes,” Scott responded. He could hear it in Curt’s voice. The brief message from Lila had Curt unnerved.
“Do you think she’s referring to this area? Green Cove Springs?”
“Possibly,” Scott said. He had wound his line in and rushed to pull up the anchor. “Were you aware she was nearby?”
“She’s my ex-wife. I wasn’t sure she was on this planet,” Curt said, quickly reeling in his line. “Let’s get back to the house and over to Green Cove Springs.”
Within a minute, Scott had the Skiff Craft skimming across the water, taking them back to Taylor Barton’s riverhome. Twenty minutes later, they secured the boat on the lift, briefed Scott’s wife, Kay, then walked out the front door. Curt led the way and nearly barreled over Sherri Falco and her daughter, Tina, as they came up the walkway.
“Oh, hey,” Curt said, looking from Sherri to little Tina. It was obvious he had been caught off guard by their presence. Curt gave Scott a quick ‘thanks-for-letting-me-know-she-was-coming-over’ scowl.
“Curt,” Sherri greeted him with no emotion in her voice.
Curt forced a smile to Tina. “Um, we’re in a rush.” He passed by them, with an awkward wave.
“Scott,” Sherri asked tentatively, turning her attention to him, “is Kay busy? I need to talk to her.” He sensed distress in her voice. Scott wasn’t sure if it was Curt’s presence or something else.
“Let yourself in,” Scott said. He smiled, turned, and continued out to the car.
A minute later they turned out of the deadend, secluded road onto State Road 13 and headed to Green Cove Springs in Curt’s Mustang.
“Gee, thanks for letting me know my ex-girlfriend was coming by,” Curt said.
“Tina’s going to spend a few days with us playing with Cody. Sherri has a report due and needed quiet time for a few days to get it done. Honest, Curt, I didn’t know what time they were coming by.”
The drive led them over the Shands Bridge and across the St. Johns River, passing only a few dozen feet from where they had just been fishing. Curt began to make a series of calls to Lila’s friends and family to see if anyone knew her whereabouts. He did so without explaining why. Scott realized he was trying not to alarm them. He did an admirable job masking his emotions, but Scott knew his friend well enough to detect the concern in his voice. Curt and Dr. Lila Falls might be former husband and wife, but Scott had witnessed their bond, and it was clear they still held a great deal of affection for each other, even though Scott was sure each would prefer to be tortured to death before confessing such truth.
The trip from the riverhome on the east side of the St. Johns River to the small town of Green Cove Springs on the west side took 15 minutes. The sleepy riverside town had a modest population of 7,000, yet felt even smaller, if that was possible.
After coming off the bridge and traveling several miles on Highway 16, Curt turned the Mustang on Highway 17 and reached the first outcropping of small establishments: an Elks Lodge, a gas station, a Chinese fast food restaurant.
“Where are we going?” Scott asked.
“Let’s check in with the local police and see if anything has been reported.”
“That’s a long shot.”
Curt turned to his friend. “It’s all I’ve got.”
****
Tolen drove to the south in his rental car. Within minutes, the appearance of strip malls, grocery stores, gas stations, and other developments signaled he was nearing the town limits. The architectural progress seemed like overkill to support Green Cove’s population, and new home communities, which first sprouted north near Orange Park, were slowly pushing closer and closer to Green Cove Springs on the 12-mile stretch of U.S. 17 that separated the two cities. It was not hard to envision a day when the communities would eventually merge and Green Cove Springs would lose its quiet, small-town charm.
He passed over the short roadway bridge at Governors Creek. Passing a fast food restaurant, the street was interspersed on either side with empty lots from out-of-business car dealerships that gave the small town reason to be the self-proclaimed “Little Detroit” in the early 1970s, only to watch the businesses wither away in the following decades. Farther beyond, in the heart of town, Tolen passed a series of large, connected buildings that made up the Clay County Courthouse. As small a town as Green Cove Springs was, it was still the county seat, and the multi-level courthouse was an uncharacteristically large and prominent fixture in a town where few two-story buildings existed.
Tolen reached the north end of town, passing the Elks Lodge, and turned left onto Highway 16, which led to the Shands Bridge. A half mile before reaching the bridge, Tolen turned left down a road that led to the Old Shands Bridge Boat Launch. As expected for a summer Saturday, trailer-towing vehicles flooded the parking lot. Fortunately, from Tiffany Bar’s description, Tolen quickly located Dr. Falls’ rented Ford Explorer and confirmed the license plate number. The trailer and the back tires of the SUV were still damp. Tolen got out of his rental vehicle and felt the hood.
It was warm but not hot to the touch. He attributed most of the heat to the sun. He estimated the SUV had not been run for several hours. Tolen went back to his car, wrote a note, and left it on the windshield of the SUV. In it, he asked that Dr. Falls call him. Before leaving, he scanned the few people on the long cement pier. There was a man bringing a boat in, and a man and boy launching a second vessel. Other than that, the dock was clear.
Twenty minutes later, after returning to his father’s house, Samuel Tolen made his way to the dock boathouse and lowered the Bayliner into the water via the electric wench. He grabbed a life jacket and an extra five-gallon can of gas and stowed it away near the transom. The boat had not been run in some time, and Tolen was pleased it started almost immediately. After allowing the engine to idle for a moment, he threw it in reverse and backed it from the slip, expertly maneuvering it out into the shallow cove. Tolen knew the depth could be problematic, especially now during low tide, but he had spent many hours on the water with his father as a youth and was very familiar with the underwater contours of the cove. He knew exactly where to guide the boat to remain at maximum depth and ensure the prop did not run aground.
At the mouth of the small cove, Tolen idled to the left, aware of the shoal before him. He passed it easily and pushed the throttle forward as he reached the main channel. The craft planed, sending a rooster tail of water shooting up in its wake. The river had a slight chop from a southeast breeze, and Tolen settled the boat into a favorable speed. Almost immediately, he had to negotiate the countless Styrofoam buoys marking the underwater crab traps that stretched out across the watery landscape. Blue crab fishing was an occupation for many in the area, and by the looks of the buoys that dotted the landscape, competition was thriving.
Tolen’s initial target was the area around the Old Shands Bridge Boat Launch. Tiffany had provided him a description of the craft Lila Falls had rented. Armed with this information, he soon reached the launch, where activity had picked up. He dropped the throttle, and the boat settled into a crawl near the end of the pier. Tolen pulled a pair of binoculars from a compartment near the steering wheel. He verified Dr. Falls’ rental SUV was still on shore, sitting in the parking lot. Then, still using the binoculars, he conducted a visual sweep of the immediate area. He spotted one boat in the distance, smacking the waves in the channel. A female with flowing dark locks wearing a skimpy two-piece bikini and a sun-coated tan was at the helm. A man in swim shorts stood to her side. They were definitely not who he was looking for.
Tolen made a call to Dr. Sheila Shaw.
She answered on the first ring in a worrisome tone. “Tolen? Any word on Dr. Falls and the graduate assistant?”
“No. Dr. Shaw, if I may, what was the purpose of looking for evidenc
e of Fort Caroline? Its original location has been an unsolved mystery for years. What prompted the renewed search?”
There was a brief hesitation. “Protocol. After hurricanes strike a seaboard area, the Smithsonian follows up in the rivers and coastlines where potential archaeological sites may have been uncovered by wave activity. In this case, they were looking for evidence of Fort Caroline in the riverbed.”
“Did they have any business farther south on the river? I found Dr. Falls’ rented SUV and empty boat trailer parked at a launch in Green Cove Springs.”
Dr. Shaw’s surprise was evident. “Why, no, none that I’m aware of. That means they reloaded the boat after diving off Ribault Bluff this morning, hauled the boat by trailer, and relaunched farther upriver. That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Unless it’s connected to her message: ‘Made a spectacular discovery! Will be in touch soon. Looking for confirmation.’ ” Tolen added. “I’m on the water now. The St. Johns flows up from the south and takes a long jag to the northeast before straightening out and continuing north again. Green Cove, where they relaunched, is on this massive bend in the river. I’ll check the area on the water to the northeast and southwest of here.”
The call ended. Tolen took a moment to make a mental map for a systematic search of the area. He would first travel east and check Palmo Cove and its offshoots, Six Mile Creek and Trout Creek; two heavily traveled and fished deepwater channels.
Tolen gunned the engine and again the boat lifted on plane. Within minutes, he passed underneath the towering swell of the Shands Bridge that rose at the southwest end of the span. The wind had increased even more in the main channel, and he had to keep his speed down. The sun was warm, and the air was thick with the smell of the river.
Cruising along the water brought back memories of his youth. Tolen and his father had spent countless hours fishing on the St. Johns. The river environs always had a gentle, calming effect on Samuel Tolen. In recent years, he often yearned for the serenity this natural setting brought.
Evil in the Beginning (The God Tools Book 2) Page 5
