“What am I doing, Ms. Jellico?” he asked, keeping his voice flat and monotone.
“Dragging your feet! Waiting until everyone forgets about Boyd and then it quietly gets ignored! I know how this works! Well not this time!”
“You can do whatever you think is necessary, but in doing so you might compromise the investigation. If you want Boyd’s killer found, you need to think about that.”
“I don’t—”
“Chief? Maggie Neese for you. She said it’s important,” Kim’s voice came over the speaker.
“Tell her I’ll call her back.”
“I don’t understand why it’s taking—” Linda began again.
“She said to tell you Steve was there,” Kim interrupted a second time.
Sean looked at his dispatcher through the glass and gave her a wave. “Tell her I’m on my way.” He turned his attention back to Linda. “Ms. Jellico, I assure you we’re still working on this. In fact, that call is about the case, and I need to go. I appreciate your concerns, but sometimes these things take time.” He pulled a card from his wallet. “This has my direct line and cell on it. If you have any questions, give me a call. Now, if you’ll excuse me. Kim, buzz me in. I need to get my keys.”
-oOo-
Sean pulled through the gate of the plant and drove slowly along the road, coming to a stop beside Steve’s truck.
“Back again already?” Sean asked as he rolled the window of his cruiser down.
Steve shrugged. “What can I say.”
“You’ve been dumping a lot of waste lately. Production must be booming.”
“Not bad.”
Sean stepped out of his car and casually walked over.
“You must really get tired of hauling this stuff out here all the time. Especially now, having to do it every two weeks.”
Steve flashed a quick grin. “Not really. It gets me out of the office for a few hours.”
Sean nodded, watching the thick, whitish, liquid pour down the hole and into the influent stream of the plant.
“Where’s all this stuff coming from?”
“What do you mean?”
“You used to come here once every six to eight weeks. Now you’ve been here three or four times in about the same length of time. That’s why I asked if business was booming.”
“We’re developing a new adhesive. It works great in the lab, but when we scale up for production, something happens to it. We’re not sure what or why, but the production batches are not ready for primetime yet, so it all goes to waste. We’re still working on it. I hope we find the problem soon because it’s costing me a fortune. What are you doing here?”
“I can’t remember if I told you, but I’m having Maggie test the river. I’m back to look at the results again.”
“Found anything?”
“Not yet, but that in itself may be telling.”
“What are you looking for, exactly?” Steve asked.
“Trying to prove, or disprove, a theory on why Thacker was killed.”
“What’s your theory?”
“Just an idea I had that maybe Thacker wasn’t as crazy as everyone thought he was, and he was actually onto something. He finally found what he was looking for, and it got him killed.”
“What do you think he was looking for?”
“Don’t know, exactly. That’s why I’m having Maggie test the river. If she can find what Thacker found, it may lead us to the killer.”
“But no luck so far?”
Sean twisted his lips to the side and shook his head, trying to give the impression of disappointment.
“No luck yet, but I haven’t given up. I’m pretty sure eventually I’ll have a break in the case. It’s just a matter of time.”
“Well, good luck.”
“Thanks, Steve. Good police work can only take you so far. After that, sometimes you need a bit of luck.”
Sean watched the large diameter pipe lying on the ground a moment. The torrent was down to a trickle.
“Looks like you’re about empty.”
“Yeah. I’ll rinse the truck off and get back to the plant.”
“Don’t let me stop you,” Sean said, but made no move to leave.
Steve paused a moment, shrugged, and then stepped to the side of the truck and opened a tool box. The way Steve was standing, Sean had the impression he was trying to block his view inside. Steve reached in and pulled out a pair of wire cutters before closing the box again.
As Sean watched, Steve cut the two zip ties wrapped around the locking handles, dropped the cutters and the severed ties into his back pocket, and then flipped the handles up. A quick jerk and the pipe came free.
The truck burped out a thick white glob that splattered to the ground as the hose came away. Holding the heavy looking metal coupling by one handle, Steve gently set the end of the pipe down before walking over to the spigot. He uncoiled a length of garden hose and opened the tap before dragging it back to the truck to spray off the stopcock with a strong stream of water. He pulled a lever around to close the opening as he continued to hose the mechanism down, directing the spray away from himself. Once he was satisfied the valve was clean, he turned his attention to the back of the truck and then the pipe laying on the ground.
“If you don’t get all the glue off, everything gets stiff,” Steve explained as he sprayed.
“Why doesn’t it stick to the inside of your truck?”
“It does, but the tank is stainless. When I get back to the plant, I’ll have a guy pressure wash the inside down with an acetone mix. It blasts the stuff right off, and then we pump it back into the holding tank and it goes out in the next load.”
Finished with the truck, Steve washed down the concrete pad, chasing the glue to the hole before he released the nozzle and tossed the hose aside. He removed the handle from the valve and placed it, along with the wire cutters, back inside the truck mounted tool box.
When Steve turned his back, Sean took a step to the side so he could see around Steve’s body. Before Steve could close the cabinet, Sean saw a pair of weights on a shelf inside. He only got a quick glance, but they appeared to be the same as the weights used on Thacker.
Steve began to coil the pipe onto the holder mounted on the truck.
“What’s the other pipe for?” Sean asked.
“It’s just an extension in case one pipe won’t reach.”
As he watched Steve work, Sean realized he had everything he needed in front of him. The zip ties were the same color as those found binding Thacker’s body. He couldn’t be sure, but the weights inside the tool box appeared to be the same, or very similar to, what was used to weight Thacker down. And lastly, the handle on the valve certainly could be used to cave someone’s head in.
Steve finished loading the pipe onto the truck, and then sprayed everything down one more time, before turning off the water and curling the garden hose back up on its stand.
“That’s it,” Steve said as he wiped his hands dry on the back of his pants.
“I won’t keep you then. Maggie is probably wondering what I’m doing out here.”
Steve grinned. “Probably. I’ll see you around,” he said with a wave before walking to his truck and climbing into the cab.
Sean watched as the big International shuddered to life, heaved itself out of the pit, and growled away, the truck barking and grunting as Steve ran it through the gears. He stood, watching, until Steve made the corner at the back of the plant. He sauntered to his car, giving Steve plenty of time to get ahead of him, and then followed Steve back to the admin building.
He drove past Steve’s idling truck and pulled into a parking space in front of the building. Steve was just inside the door, filling out the dump book. He stepped past, saying nothing, and turned down the hall to the lab.
“You seen Maggie?” he asked Alex.
“Is she not in her office?”
“I didn’t look.” He stepped out of the lab and walked down the hall. Steve was gone, so
as he passed the entrance, he paused to look at the book.
“See anything interesting?” Maggie asked as she stepped up beside him.
“Maybe. I have a question.”
He nodded his head down the hall. They stepped inside her office and closed the door.
“Why would Steve have weights on his truck? Can you think of a reason?” Sean asked.
“What kinds of weights?”
“They looked like the same weights that were on Thacker, the kind that go on a barbell.”
Maggie stroked her cheek as she thought. “I have no idea.”
“He also told me the zip ties he uses to hold the pipe on the truck are required by law. Is that true?”
“I don’t know for sure, but I know everyone does something, so I would assume that’s true. I’ve seen the city truck guys wrap theirs with duct tape.”
“And you can’t think of a legitimate reason for Steve to have a pair of weights on his truck?”
“The weights weren’t very big, were they?” she asked.
“No. The ones on Thacker were only ten pounds each.”
Maggie took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “The obvious reason would be to hold the discharge pipe down for some reason. But why?” she mumbled, almost talking to herself.
He watched as her eyes became distant for a moment, then refocused on him.
“Okay… assuming your right, if he’s dumping into the river, his waste would create a slick. That’s something you can see, so maybe he’s using the weights to hold down the end of the pipe so that he’s injecting the waste deep under water. That way, if the stuff rises to the surface and is seen, it’s well away from where he’s dumping.” She shrugged. “That’s just a guess, though. Why didn’t you ask him?”
“I didn’t want to tip my hand just yet. I found a couple of places that were out of the way enough he could probably get away with dumping without being seen. It only takes him what, twenty or thirty minutes to unload? Not a lot of window to get caught. If he were to do it in the middle of the day, when most people are at work…”
“You really think it’s him?”
“I do now. The weights that looked like those found on Thacker being on the truck, the zip ties, and seeing the handle he uses to open and close the valve on the truck, it all fits. Now I just have to prove it.”
“Can’t you arrest him based on what you found? Or at least get a search warrant?”
“Maybe,” Sean said, drawing the word out. “It would be iffy at best. I really need something more concrete than he happens to have the same zip ties and weights as those found on Thacker’s body on his truck. Especially since they are such common items and have legitimate uses.”
“That’s not enough? What else would it take?”
“Someone seeing the truck somewhere it reasonably shouldn’t be, or someone saying something that is contradictory to what Steve is saying. Something like that. Something that makes for a reasonable suspicion that Steve is the man we’re looking for.”
“Sorry. I can’t help you. The only thing I’ve got is he’s showing up more often than normal.”
“Yeah, I asked him about that. He said they are having production problems.”
She made a face and gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “There you go.”
“Yeah. If he did do it, he’s damn clever.”
“What are you going to do?”
He smiled. “Be more clever than him.”
Twenty-Five
When Sean returned to his office, he opened the Thacker file and thumbed through it until he found what he was looking for. He studied the photo of the weights that had been attached to Thacker’s body for a moment. He’d only gotten a quick look, but from what he saw, the weights on Locoste’s truck were the same size, shape and color as those in the photo.
He stood up and walked down to the dispatcher’s office.
“Kim, do you know where I can buy individual free weights?”
“Free weights?”
“Yeah, those things that go onto the bar weight lifters use.”
She thought about it moment. “No, not really. Maybe one of the sporting goods stores in Raleigh or Fayetteville. Hang on, I bet Chips knows.” She pressed a button on her console to activate her mic. “Unit 1016, 10-21 the station. The chief wants to talk to you.”
“10-21 means call?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“One of these days I’ll learn all the codes.”
Kim grinned and slyly pulled a laminated card out from under the computer keyboard.
“Want a cheat sheet?”
Sean chuckled. “No, that’s okay. I’m not too proud to ask you to tell me in English until I learn them all.”
A moment later the main number began to ring. “Brunswick Police Department,” Kim said into the phone, and then handed it up to Sean. “It’s Chips.”
“Chips, I have a question. If I wanted to buy individual free weights, where would I go?”
“Free weights? Like weight lifting?”
“Yeah. I’m looking for a specific ten-pound weight, and I’m hoping to purchase it locally.”
There was a pause. “Does this have anything to do with Thacker?”
“It does.”
“I don’t remember what the weights look like, but I’d try Dick’s and Omega Sports in Fayetteville.”
“Thanks, Chips.”
“You need any help?”
“Not at the moment. My advice is to stay as far away from this as you can get. I’m afraid it’s going to get ugly.”
“It’s Locoste, isn’t it?”
“I’d rather not say, for obvious reasons.”
“Gotcha, but if you need some extra hands, I’ve got two.”
“Thanks, Chips. I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Go get ‘em, chief.”
Sean grinned and hung up the phone.
“Kim, I’ve got something to take care of. I’ll be out of the area for a while. If anyone comes looking for me, tell them I’ll get back in touch with them.”
“You got it. When do you expect to be back?”
“Two, maybe three hours.”
She smiled. “I’ve got your back.”
“Thanks, Kim,” he said, and then stepped out of the office.
With one or two exceptions, Brunswick had a professional and dedicated police force.
He went back to his office and picked up the photo of the weights along with his keys. It was time to get crafty.
-oOo-
He was on his way back to Brunswick from his final stop. Both Dick’s and Omega had individual weights of the proper size, but neither of them looked anything like the one in the photo. When he got back to the office, he’d Google it and see if he could find a match on-line.
He exited the interstate, and as he rolled to a stop at the end of the ramp, he could see Brunswick’s Wal-Mart across the street. He needed to make a left, but on a hunch, he backed up and pulled into the right turn lane. Wal-Mart had everything, and he wondered if they had weights.
It took a bit of wandering around before he found the small sporting goods section tucked away in the back of the massive super-store. With a little more searching, he found the aisle that contained the weights and weight sets, and smiled in triumph. He checked the photo to be sure, but neatly stacked on the bottom shelf were 2.5, 5, 10, and 25 pound weights of the same style as the weights in the photo.
He picked up the one of the ten pound weights and carried it to the front where he used a self-checkout register, pocketing the receipt so he could expense it back to the city. Walking out, he checked the time. It was almost three, but he decided to follow up with his idea.
He drove to LoCoste Adhesives, following the road around to the back of the plant where he knew the truck was parked. He was looking for someone who worked among the tanks and machinery at the back of the plant, someone who would be familiar with the loading of the truck.
He rounded the corner and
rolled to a stop, watching a man wearing a helmet work among the tanks, a bright, flickering light flashing on his body. He was in luck and wouldn’t have to track someone down. Leaving some space between himself and the welder, Sean stepped out of his car, weight in hand, and approached the man, being careful to not look directly at the arc.
“Excuse me!” Sean called.
The man turned and pushed his welding helmet up. “Can I help you?” he asked as he got to his feet.
“Yeah. Sean McGhee, Brunswick Police Department.”
“I didn’t do it, I swear!” the man said with a grin. He removed his heavy gloves and helmet, laying the items aside, and then walked toward Sean. “Frank Reynolds. How can I help you?”
“Nice to meet you Frank. I bumped into Steve at the wastewater treatment plant earlier today and I think he left this,” Sean said, extending the weight to Frank.
“Okay. I’ll put it back on the truck,” Frank replied, taking the weight. “You didn’t have to bring it all the way out here. He could have picked it up the next time he was there.”
“I didn’t mind. I wanted to get another look at the place anyway. Steve gave me a quick tour of the facility the other day, but I didn’t see much back here. Business must be booming, huh?”
“Pretty steady. Why?”
Sean shrugged. “Just asking. Steve has been making a lot of trips to the wastewater plant lately. I just assumed business must be up.”
Frank looked at him and Sean could see the creeping suspicion in his eyes.
“Like I said, production’s been pretty steady,” Frank said slowly.
“That’s good. Better to have a steady run, I suppose, than peaks and valleys.”
“Yeah.”
“Have you gotten your production problem sorted out?”
“What production problem?”
Sean waved it off. “Nothing. I thought Steve said he was having some problems, and that’s why he’s dumping so often.”
“No,” Frank replied, his tone telegraphing that he was becoming uncomfortable with all the questions. “We’re not dumping any more often than normal. We’re hauling out a load every two or three weeks, just like always.”
Deadly Waters (A Sean McGhee Mystery Book 1) Page 21
