Ghost River Jon Coon (free reads TXT) 📖

pulled on the tanks, backplate and wing, cleared his Aga full-face mask, and checked his computer. Holding tightly to the anchor line, Gabe worked his way, hand over hand, to the bottom sixty feet below.

When he landed on the bottom, he checked the anchor, making sure it would hold. After his brief dive prayer, Gabe stretched out his arm into the darkness and on his command, a ball of light flashed from his hand, lighting a large area of the river bottom.

“Richard Greenly, awake!” Gabe shouted. A faint cloud of light swirled in front of him, up out of the bottom debris, gradually becoming more intense, taking human form.

“I’m here,” the spirit responded. Greenly’s ghost was a young man with short, military-style hair, a solid build, and a gentle face.

“Richard, tell me what happened. How did you get here?”

“We were in the boat. Something hit me. Stu and Rogers were the only ones there. It had to be—”

“Who?”

“Rogers and Stewart. The heads of the dive team.”

“Okay, so what happened?”

“Wilson Corbitt told me his fiancée knew her dad’s company was cheating to get contracts. He said he could prove it, and there would be disastrous problems with the other bridges they’d built because of it.”

“Did you tell Rogers or Stewart what Corbitt suspected?”

“No. Rogers is my boss, but I don’t trust him. I’m pretty sure he’s bent. Taking money for turning in false inspection reports.”

“Why did you make the dive?”

“Rogers set it up, said they needed to inspect the old bridge, which had just collapsed. Make a plan to salvage it.”

“Do you know what happened to Wilson Corbitt?”

“Not really. He asked me about going to Peterson, my father-in-law, to tell him what was going on. I told him don’t do it, that I thought Peterson was the reason for whatever was going on, but I don’t know if he listened. I never got to talk to him after that. He and his fiancée disappeared right after the bridge collapsed. I hope they went back to England, but I’m worried.”

“You said the company was cheating. Do you know how?”

“I don’t know. But Corbitt said he did.”

“Was your father-in-law involved?”

Greenly’s eyes flashed. “He had to have been behind it.”

“That’s why you argued with him?”

“I did. I thought I could get him to talk, but all he did was threaten Helen and me. I didn’t have proof, but I believed Corbitt.”

“Any idea how long this had been going on? How many bridges might be involved?”

“Corbitt was looking into that. He was afraid there were several more, not just in Florida.”

Behind them Gabe could see the bright light of angels burning through the distant darkness. “Not much time. Your wife and son are okay. We’ll do everything we can to make this right.”

“Don’t trust Helen. She’ll do anything to protect her dad. And please, keep Zack away from Peterson. He’s poison. And be careful. I’m your proof. Those guys are killers.” Enthralled by the beauty of his escorts, Richard fell silent. Two large six-winged creatures of pure radiant light. Just before their wings covered him, he looked back at Gabe and said, “Please, watch out for Zack. He’s a good kid in a bad situation. Thanks for coming to find me.”

Gabe’s jaw tightened. Back in the water freezing my butt off, talking to ghosts. Fighting well fires and salvaging platforms is looking better than ever. Wonder if anyone’s hiring?

Paul’s court appearance was set for two p.m. When Gabe stepped down from the truck Paul asked, “Why the dress uniform?”

“To show respect for the court,” Gabe answered as they walked toward the courthouse. “Like dressing well for church, it shows respect, that we take seriously the business at hand.”

Paul often challenged his mother’s insistance he be neatly dressed in slacks and a button-down shirt, tucked-in, and polished shoes, when many of his friends dressed more casually for their services. He’d never thought it was because his church took the business of worship more seriously. His mother was more composed than at their last meeting with Gabe. She stood behind Paul, quietly waiting.

“So, here’s how it works, Paul,” started Gabe. The court has the power to send you to juvenile hall or give you community service. You do not want to spend the next six months in juvie.”

“What do I do?” Paul asked. He was staring at the swirls in the marble floor, wondering if they had come from molten rock flowing like melted ice cream.

“Remember this. There are two parts to seeking forgiveness: confession and repentance. You need to convince the judge you know what you did was wrong and that it will never happen again. So be polite, apologetic, reformed, and willing to accept whatever comes down from the bench. Don’t speak until spoken to, make good eye contact, and take this more seriously than a snake in your sleeping bag. Got it?

“Yeah, I got it.”

“Yes, sir would be more appropriate,” his mother corrected.

“Yeah, okay. Yes, sir.” Paul looked away, wanting to escape.

“That’s better,” Carol said.

In the courtroom Paul studied the judge, a robust, stoic woman in her sixties, who appeared to be in no mood for smart-aleck kids with attitudes. Whatever assurance he’d walked in with melted quickly as the two cases before his ended in offenders being taken out in handcuffs to do real jail time.

Paul pled guilty with humble contrition and an appropriate number of “yes, ma’ams.” He followed Gabe’s instructions to the letter, but getting busted and appearing in court had a surreal feel. It wasn’t happening and certainly not to Paul. It had to be some kind of sick joke. Gabe and Carol were silent until called. After hearing Paul’s plea, the judge addressed Carol.

“Mrs. Evans, I understand you have recently lost your husband. This has to be a tough time for you and your family. I want to extend our sympathy and condolences for your loss.”

Carol stood to answer. “Thank you, your honor.”

“I remember your husband well. He was a fine officer, and I know he would