Deadly Waters (A Sean McGhee Mystery Book 1)

by T. Alan Codder

  Steve grinned again. “I know where you’re going with this. Did I like Thacker? No, not really. He cost me time and money. But did I dislike him enough to kill him? No. I have a family to think about. Why would I kill the guy, especially since I beat him in court?”

  Sean nodded and glanced around the office. There were pictures of Steve with an attractive older woman, most likely his wife, as they smiled at the camera while wearing straw hats and leis, the beach and ocean in the background. Other pictures had Steve with a boy that appeared to be sixteen or seventeen, or with a much younger woman, probably his daughter, and a few with him holding a tiny, sleeping, infant in his arms as he beamed at the camera. Steve hardly seemed like the killer type.

  “I had to ask. Nobody seemed to like him very much, but at the same time, nobody really has a motive to kill him, either. Like you said, he lost. What did you have to gain by killing him?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Do you always drive the waste truck?”

  Steve’s face split into a huge grin. “Yeah. Remember the extenuating circumstances I mentioned? There’s a story there if you want to hear it.”

  “Sure.”

  “About ten years ago, when we moved into this facility, I had one of my guys driving the truck to the wastewater plant. What I didn’t know at the time, because the guys on the floor were covering for him, was he was leaving and being gone for three, four hours. I found that out one day when he had an accident. The accident wasn’t his fault, but Brunswick’s finest gave him a sobriety test, and he failed. While he was out, he was making a stop and—”

  Steve curled the first three fingers down, leaving only the pinky and thumb extended, and made a drinking motion.

  “The woman sued, and won. My truck insurance was going to go through the roof. So now, Locoste Trucking handles the hauling of our waste. It has one truck, one employee,” Steve paused and gave Sean a jaunty little wave and a beaming smile, “and one customer.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “I know you’re just doing your job. Don’t let Rudy bully you.”

  “Sorry if I offended you in my office the other day.”

  Steve grinned. “I’ll admit, having you name me as a primary suspect gave me the rush of impending doom, but in hindsight, I can see why you would say that. The body had to get in there somehow, and I guess I could have hauled him in my truck. You’re welcome to take a look at it if you want. The truck lives here, in a shed out back.”

  “If you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all. Come on, I’ll show you.”

  Steve walked Sean through the plant, explaining how they made a variety of adhesives, mainly for the furniture industry.

  Brunswick once had a large presence in the furniture manufacturing and textiles industries. The textile mills were gone, and Brunswick Furniture had scaled back their production considerably as cheaper overseas competition cut into their business, but they were surviving as a smaller, high end manufacturer.

  Steve led Sean out through the back of the plant. “There it is,” he said, pointing to his truck.

  Under a shed, beside a large tank, sat a gleaming white International medium duty, tandem axle truck with a large shiny tank on the back.

  “Take a look if you want,” Steve offered.

  They walked to the truck and Sean gave it a cursory glance, but he’d need a forensic team to go over it to really learn anything.

  “Clean,” Sean said as he looked the truck over.

  “Yeah. We power wash it after every load. We’re hauling glue, and if that stuff hardens on the truck, it’s there forever. I learned that the hard way with my last truck, so I’m trying to take a little better care of this one.”

  Sean opened the door and stepped up on the fuel tank to take a look inside. It was as clean on the inside as it was the out.

  “Thanks,” he said as he stepped down and shut the door.

  “No problem. I want Thacker’s killer caught as much as you do. People come to Brunswick to live because it quiet and safe. We want to keep it that way.”

  “I’m sure we’ll get him, eventually. We’re just running down leads.”

  “If I can help you, you know how to reach me.”

  “Thanks, Steve.”

  “Anytime. Want to see anything else?”

  “No. I think I have what I need. I’m going to go see your neighbor next. Mind if I walk around the plant? It’s such a nice day. I love the weather down here.”

  Steve chuckled. “Not at all.”

  As Steve went back inside, Sean strolled around the end of the plant, thinking. Like Fish had said about Harbaugh, Steve didn’t come across as the cold-blooded killer type. He wasn’t defensive and he’d offered to show him the truck. The truck was suspiciously clean, but his explanation for why made sense. It might still be illegal dumping, but even if it was Steve, he had nothing in the way of evidence to prove it.

  He pulled out of the LoCoste Adhesives compound and drove a short way up the road before pulling into the Prickle Dye facility. LoCoste and Prickle were the only two businesses in the light industrial park, the rest of the lots weed choked and awaiting development.

  “May I help you?” a woman asked as he stepped into the small lobby that shared space with the office area.

  Sean had to work to not stare. The woman was youngish, and would be attractive if she weren’t sporting a piercing through the center of her nose, holes the size of nickels in her ears, and hair the color of a stop sign.

  “Sean McGhee. I’d like to speak with Robert Willis. He’s expecting me,” he said, giving her a pleasant smile.

  “If you’ll have a seat, I’ll let him know you’re here.”

  The lobby was small and appeared to have been carved out of the cubicle farm, with beige walls and gray carpeting. The walls were plastered with pictures of women in brightly colored dresses and furniture in loud colors. Sean had just taken a seat in one of the three vibrant red chairs when a balding, fat, man waddled down the aisle.

  “Chief McGhee? Bob Willis. How can I help you today?”

  Bob Willis appeared to be in his late fifties to early sixties, with a shiny dome and close cropped gray hair along the sides. His face was soft and red, with at least two chins too many. He was wearing dark trousers, a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and a bright blue tie hanging in a loose knot around his neck.

  Sean rose. “I’d like to talk to you about Boyd Thacker.”

  Bob grimaced then gave his head a jerk. “Let’s go to my office.”

  Sean followed Bob as he wheezed his way back to a small office piled high with papers and binders on every flat surface.

  “Have a seat,” Bob said as he removed a short pile of binders from a guest chair. He dropped them into the floor before circling behind his desk and sitting down. “How can I help you?”

  “I understand you had some difficulties with Thacker,” Sean said as he stepped around the binders and sat down.

  Bob’s faced hardened. “You could say that. Thacker was nothing but a loudmouth blowhard who liked to see his face on television.”

  “You didn’t like him?”

  Bob flashed a grin. “Does it show? No, I didn’t like him. I wish I could say I’m sorry someone punched his clock, but I can’t. I didn’t appreciate him coming in here making all those false claims.”

  “About your containment dikes?”

  “That, and everything else.”

  “What else?”

  Bob shook his head. “It was nothing. Just him running his mouth. I heard him on the television flapping his gums about the fish kills, poisoning the water, and all that other rot. That was right after we kicked his ass in court. While he was doing that, we had a couple of the news stations out here asking questions. They seemed to think maybe Prickle Dyes might have had something to do with the kills. Let me tell you something, chief. We strictly follow every guideline we’re given by the state. If something is getting into the water, it isn’t from us
, and I didn’t appreciate the fact he was implying it was.”

  Sean smiled. “It doesn’t seem like Thacker had a lot of friends.”

  “He was an asshole,” Bob said firmly. “If he had concerns about what we do here, he could have come in here and asked politely, and I probably would have shown him. I have nothing to hide. Instead, he goes to court and makes these accusations. If we have a spill and it gets into the water, people are going to notice.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because the creek will turn colors. Most of our waste isn’t anything but water and dye. We evaporate off most of the water so we don’t have to pay to dispose of that. What’s left is a concentrated dye. Trust me, chief, if we spilled enough to matter, someone would notice. People get upset if the water turns weird colors.”

  Sean snickered. “Have you ever had a spill?”

  “Oh sure. You can’t operate very long without something happening. A hose breaks, or something like that. It’s just part of running the business. What you should ask is, ‘have we had a spill that reached the creek?’ The answer to that is no. That’s what the containment dikes do. If it happens, the dikes contain it until we can clean it up. You should see our concrete pad. It looks like something out of a bad acid trip.”

  Sean chuckled again. “What do you think caused the fish kills?”

  Bob shrugged. “I have no idea. Not my area of expertise. I’m just a number cruncher.”

  “What about your neighbor, LoCoste Adhesives? Do you think Thacker’s suit against them had any more merit than the one against you?”

  “Beats me. You’d have to ask them. Steve seems like a pretty upstanding guy to me, though. I’ve been leaning on him to get sewer service out here, but he abstains on every vote dealing with it because it would be beneficial to him, and he doesn’t want people to start bitching about conflict of interest.”

  “Huh, I didn’t know that. Any idea why he would do that?”

  “Abstain? Just what I told you. The city promised to bring in sewer as soon as the business park got its first tenant. That was ten years ago. We’re still waiting.”

  “What’s the hold up?”

  Bob made a sour face. “What do you think? Money. According to Steve, with just the two of us out here, we wouldn’t generate enough revenue to pay for the construction. He told me if we could get another couple of businesses to commit to moving in, he’d start pushing for it, but until then…” Bob paused. “I admire he’s putting the city ahead of his own best interests, but the city council is on record stating the line would be built when the first tenant went in. The lines are in the ground in the park, they just need to be hooked into the city’s system.”

  “Who was first?”

  “Locoste, and then a few months later, us. I thought for sure with Locoste moving out here, the sewer project was a done deal. Stupid me.”

  “So you have to truck your liquid waste into town?”

  “Yeah. We hire a contractor to do it because, as I said, we evaporate off a lot of the water so only have to take a load every six to eight months.”

  “Can you think of anyone who wanted Thacker dead?”

  Bob snorted. “Everyone who knew him?”

  Sean chuckled then rose. “Thank you for your time.”

  Bob rose with him. “Despite the fact I might go piss on his grave, I hope you catch Thacker’s killer. I don’t like the idea of someone getting away with murder in my town.”

  Sean nodded. “I’m sure we’ll get him. It would be a lot easier if everyone who had contact with Thacker didn’t dislike him so much. My list of people with a grudge against him keeps getting longer.”

  Bob chuckled. “Sorry.”

  Fifteen

  “Hey, chief,” Fish said as he sauntered into Sean’s office in the middle of his three to eleven shift. “Crack the case yet?”

  Sean grinned and then shook his head in mock shame. “Hardly. I just got back from talking to Steve Locoste and Bob Willis. The more I dig, the deeper the hole gets. Sit down a minute.”

  Fish folded himself into a chair.

  “Fish, I’m taking you off the case.” Sean held up his hand when Fish’s face crumpled. “Hear me out. This is turning into a political hot potato and I don’t want you anywhere near it. The mayor is looking for someone’s head, and if he gets one, I want it to be mine, not yours.”

  Fish was quiet for a moment. “Is that really all it is?”

  “I offered my resignation over a disagreement about this case. Does that answer your question?”

  Fish stared at him a moment. “What’s the problem? Can you tell me?”

  “Sure. He wants an arrest.”

  “Who?”

  “He doesn’t care.”

  “What? That’s crazy!”

  “Now you see why it would be better if you took a step back from this. I’ve been over what you did and I can’t find anything you missed. You’ve done good work on this, but if someone is going to take a fall, it’s going to be me.”

  Sean watched as Fish’s face hardened. “That’s not right. What does he expect us to do?”

  “Don’t worry about it. This is no reflection on you at all, understand? This is for your protection.”

  “That pisses me off, chief… pardon my French.”

  Sean grinned. “I’m not too happy about it either, but this is the way it has to be.”

  “I understand. And thanks. If I can help…”

  “I know how to find you,” Sean said, finishing his officer’s sentence.

  Fish sat still a moment then rose. “This sucks so bad,” he muttered as the turned away, but then pivoted to face Sean again. “Thanks, chief, for having my back.”

  “It’s what I’m here for.”

  “Still. I don’t think Chief Horton would have been willing to take the heat for us.”

  “I’m not Bill.”

  Fish gave him a slightly sad smile. “No. No you’re not.”

  -oOo-

  Sean rocked back in his chair, removed his glasses, and rubbed his eyes. The Thacker case was going nowhere. He was going to talk to Harbaugh tomorrow and pull on that thread a little.

  He’d thought he was on to something with Steve Locoste, but after talking to him this afternoon, he wasn’t so sure. Steve didn’t act the least bit nervous talking to him, and nothing he said sounded forced or made up. On a hunch, he’d looked up the accident report for his previous truck, and it was just as Steve described.

  He was sure it came down to Harbaugh or Locoste, but which one? He’d thought it was Harbaugh, but then decided it was more likely Locoste, but now he was swinging back to thinking it was Harbaugh again.

  He grunted, took a deep breath, and then put his glasses on. The truth was, it could’ve been either of them. They both had the opportunity to dump the body, but neither seemed to have the motive or the opportunity to kill Thacker. If it was one of them, he didn’t have a clue which one.

  He was packing up to go home when his desk computer chimed. He thought about ignoring it, but he hated to leave emails unopened. If the city council would approve his new computers he could do this from home, but until then, if he wanted to read his work emails, he had to do it in the office.

  He opened the first email just as another arrived. The email was from someone named Suzie1974, and it showed a Brunswick police car sitting in a parking lot. He wasn’t sure what he was seeing or why Suzie was sending him a picture of a patrol car. Before he finished puzzling over the picture, two more emails from Suzie arrived. He opened the second one, and there was a closer picture.

  His mouth hardened. There was an officer sitting in the car, and he appeared to be sleeping. He closed the picture and opened the third one. This one was taken from another angle, and he could clearly see Officer Daniel Brady sitting in the car, his head tipped forward and resting on his chest. With a sinking feeling of dread, he opened the fourth. It was almost the same photo as the previous one, but the time stamp showed it was taken
twenty minutes later.

  He clicked reply. Thank you for bringing this to my attention. Sean McGhee, chief of police, he typed then hit send.

  Pursing his lips in anger and frustration, he stood and walked down the hall and into the dispatcher’s office. Michelle, a heavyset woman of about forty with shoulder length blonde hair, wide set dark eyes, and a prominent nose, quickly tucked her magazine out of sight in a desk drawer. The night shift was tough, and so long as his dispatchers did their job, he wasn’t going to bust their chops too much for doing what it took to stay awake and alert.

  “Chief. I thought you were already gone.”

  “Not yet. Get Officer Brady in here right now.”

  “Right away, sir.”

  Sean nodded as she turned to her task. She could probably tell from his tone and the look on his face he wasn’t happy. He turned, strode back to his office, and then printed out the four photos to cut down on the denials when Danny arrived.

  Fifteen minutes later, Danny stepped into Sean’s office. Officer Daniel Brady was in his late fifties with a round face going soft with age, small eyes and a large nose. His hair was thinning and going gray, and he was carrying at least fifty pounds more than he should. Sean was surprised Danny could pass the basic fitness test, and suspected that his test results had been fudged a little.

  “You wanted to see me, chief?” Danny asked, his voice deferential. Michelle had obviously clued him in that something was up.

  Sean slid the four photos across the desk. Danny picked them up, his face going pale.

  “I can explain,” he said as he looked up from the photos.

  “Let’s hear it.”

  “I’m, uh, taking a cold medicine. It made me sleepy. I know it was wrong, but I thought it was better to grab a quick nap than risk falling asleep at the wheel. Sir.”

  “I see. If you’re that sick, you should have called in. You’re suspended for two weeks without pay.”

  “What?” Danny cried. “For this?”

  “That’s right, for this. You said yourself you knew it was wrong, but you did it anyway. I’m not going to have my officers sleeping in their cars. That undermines the trust and respect of this department, and I won’t have it.”