Sunken Graves Alan Lee (reading e books .txt) 📖

In some ways losing was better than winning because it took the pressure off. A crushing observation.

Jennings was returning to his apartment when his phone started buzzing with text messages. The first few were from Coach Murray.

>> Get this, Jennings… after the game last nite, we r loading the buses and Lynch grabs my arm. That sasquatch tells me next year I’ll b looking 4 a job and I’ll b lucky 2 b coaching a middle school team.

>> AFTER WE GOT TO THE FKN STATE FINALS!!

>> I almost hit him. I don’t know about anything, man.

Jennings read the words again. Set the phone down and thought over a good reply. He was still formulating when Craig Lewis texted too.

>> Mr. Jennings, perhaps we should meet again. I cannot help but think something MUST be done about Peter Lynch. This old man is tired of doing nothing.

Jennings sniffed to himself.

Me too, Craig. Got any great ideas? Cause I’m running on empty.

And then a third text. This one from Daisy Hathaway and it raised the little hairs on his neck.

>> Mr. Jennings. I hope you don’t mind a Saturday night text. But I’ve been thinking all day and I have a plan. A crazy, ridiculous plan to catch Peter Lynch in the act. Would you like to hear it?

He’d received the texts within sixty-seconds of each other. Now they beckoned from his phone. A coincidence? Or perhaps a supernal sign from above?

He’s killed before. He’ll kill again. It might be you or Daisy, his phone cried.

Missing girls in California. Ripped ears. A hook through her mouth. Modern Monsters. Kelly Carson. Benji in agony.

He typed a reply. Copied and pasted it to all three.

Can you come over right now?

Coach Murray arrived holding a six-pack of Miller Lite by the empty rings; he’d already finished two.

Jennings said, “Did you go see Benji first?”

“Yeah. That was a good idea. Kid’s a mess.”

“He needs new father figures. You give him a beer?”

“Hell no. I need these.”

Craig Lewis knocked on the door and raised a bottle of white wine. He smiled at the two men, abashed. “I know wine isn’t allowed on campus. But I’m more brave after a glass.”

Daisy Hathaway entered and made a face that nudged Jennings, indicated he should’ve informed her that Murray and Lewis would be there too.

She took the computer chair. Murray lowered onto the carpet. Jennings and Lewis sat in the two kitchen chairs. The blinds were closed.

A council of war.

Jennings felt like they were meeting in a deep coal mine where the air was combustible with firedamp and consequence.

Murray cracked another beer, sucking at the foam. Said, “I hope they catch me drinking. Lynch already said I’m gone. What else they gone do? Fire me twice?”

“You’re not truly fired, are you?” said Hathaway.

“Not yet. I know for damn sure I’ll hear from Gordon Monday about how disappointed the titans are. But he won’t mean the titans, he’ll mean Lynch and the other old white guys Lynch bullies around. Good chance my contract won’t be renewed next year.”

“That’s outrageous,” she said,

“Disappointed is such a white-guy emotion.”

“But you reached the state finals.”

“It ain’t about winning right now. It’s all about one man.”

Lewis had poured wine into a coffee mug and his legs were crossed. “That one man has dirt on the other titans, I hear. He can sway them.”

Jennings leaned forward and rubbed his hands together. “Let’s get to it. We’re here to talk about Peter Lynch and the threat he poses. You texted me tonight about him and we each bring something to the table. Murray, you know he beats his boys and he’s going to fire you. Hathaway, err, Daisy, he is making increasingly inappropriate advances on you and you got to witness his rage. Craig, he humiliated you in public and you know he’s well connected and you’re fed up with doing nothing.”

“I am.”

“Let me tell you what I know,” said Jennings.

He did. Like a dark mystery playing out, the ending not written yet. His conversation with Kelly Carson. The sealed evidence of abuse. Kabir Patel and the compromised local press. Modern Monsters and rumors of missing girls in California. The note from Lynch attached to the squirrel. The cops beating him up and their threat to kill him. Lynch’s sexual advances on Hathaway. The private detective who couldn’t find enough proof.

Jennings concluded, “I found out yesterday, you know police chief Buck Gibbs? He raised the Lynch boys. He’s their adopted father, though it isn’t legal.”

Hathaway sucked oxygen in a gasp and Lewis said, “Oh my dear Lord.”

“Gibbs was a young cop and he took them out of a neglectful home and kept them. Peter Lynch is his son.”

“Oh! The note. He erased Peter’s fingerprints!” Daisy’s hands shook. “It makes sense! That note we took to the chief, Gibbs wiped it off before fingerprinting it.”

Jennings nodded. “I think so too.”

“Maybe getting fired’s a good thing. I should get the hell out of here,” said Murray.

“Some fine investigative work you’ve done, Mr. Jennings.”

“Thanks, Craig, but it’s meaningless if I don’t act.”

“If we don’t act,” said Hathaway.

Murray drained his beer and tossed the empty can toward the trash, missing. “The hell can we do? Lynch’s brother controls the legal system. His old man has the cops. He buys his own press. He literally owns the school. We got nothing.”

“We have the state police and federal government,” said Jennings.

“And tell them what? Can’t prove a damn thing.”

“Not yet. We need proof.”

“Not ever. We’re done. This is like a sundown town and we got to get our asses out.”

Craig Lewis set down his mug. He stood.

They tilted their heads up to look at him.

“Daniel. Do you remember? What I said?”

The exact memory Lewis meant flashed into Jennings’ mind. Their conversation at the restaurant.

“You asked me about evil,” said Jennings.

“That’s correct. I did. And?”

“You asked me if evil existed. More specifically, if a person could be evil.”

“Keep going.” Lewis smiled like a teacher pleased with his class. The smile