Ghost River Jon Coon (free reads TXT) 📖

Carol said, “We want to make a fair offer, Stony, so how about I get it appraised, and we agree on a price?”

“Get the appraisals. Best hurry, don’t know how much longer . . . I’d have lost it years ago if Gabe hadn’t offered to pay the taxes.”

“As quickly as we can,” she promised.

“Stony, what else can we do?” Gabe asked.

“When it’s time, could you bury me by the river? I always loved it there. There’s an old family cemetery. Most of the markers were wood, and they’re gone now, but you could put up a stone for me. That would be great. Invite Ramona and Christina, and give them the money. God knows they earned it putting up with me.”

“I know the spot. It’s a deal,” Gabe said and again shook his hand. He left phone numbers with the staff with instructions to call if there were changes. Back in the truck, Carol was in tears.

“You didn’t tell me you’ve been paying the taxes,” she said. “When did that start?”

“A while back. One way or another he’d have lost the place, and I’ve always liked it. I couldn’t afford to buy it, but this way I’ve been able to enjoy it, and he’s had something to look forward to. You know, a place to come home to. I hope that made doing the time easier for him.”

Carol said, “How sad to die alone like that in prison. It’s heartbreaking. Surely there’s something more we can do?”

“Like we promised, we can turn that family plot into a real cemetery with a stone marker. Give him something that will last.”

CHAPTER 29

0800

Chattahoochee River Bridge

Former Navy explosive ordinance disposal diver Nick Doyle joined Gabe after weeks on sick leave. Still sore from his gunshot wound but bored with idle recovery time, Nick was eager to get back in the water. So was Gabe. They arrived at the bridge slightly after dawn Friday morning, and the McFarland crews were already at work.

Gabe parked the truck, and when they got down to the water they saw huge stacks of old bridge beams dumped along the river bank being cut up for sale as scrap. But the surprise was Wilson Corbitt’s mangled boat, covered in mud, drying in the morning sun. The cabin roof was crushed like an empty soda can.

“Oops,” Gabe said. “Didn’t see that coming.” Gabe found Billy, McFarland’s lead diver, and asked about the boat.

“We found it under the bridge wreckage. Had no idea what the bucket had grabbed until we got it to the surface. A McFarland VP got all excited when we called it in. He came out to see it, Tuesday, I think, but he didn’t want to get muddy, so he told us to get it pumped out. We sent for the pumps, but they haven’t shown up yet.”

“He didn’t find anything?” Gabe asked.

“I don’t think so, ’cause he was pretty angry. Told us not to touch it till he got back.”

“Did he tell you what he was looking for?” Gabe asked.

“Yeah, he asked us if we found any bodies. How weird is that?”

“Billy, who was that VP?”

“He’s a big shot. I think his name is Bodine, Bo Bodine. That’s it. Why, what’s up?”

“I’m not sure yet, but Bodine is dead. It happened two nights ago. If there are bones, they’re evidence in a murder case. Nobody touches that boat. Got it?”

“Sure. Murder?”

“Afraid so.”

“Anything else?”

Gabe was thinking it was going to be a lot easier to recover Wilson Corbitt’s body with the boat on the surface. He wouldn’t have to dig it out of the mud in that squashed cabin in sixty feet deep. “Was that the last time anyone saw Bodine?”

“No, now that you mention it. The night watch told me Bodine came back that night. He walked out onto the approach span and tossed something into the water. The watch said it looked like a computer, a laptop. Said Bodine had a good arm, got it downriver a good ways.”

“Thanks, that helps.”

“No problem, but while you guys have things shut down, my guys are out of a job. Any idea how long?”

“Hopefully not long at all. My partner and I are going looking for that computer. It would help if we could use your big compressor and long hoses.”

“Sure, anything you need.”

Jim got good help from Billy and the McFarland dive crew. Gabe and Nick quickly dressed and prepared to set up a jackstay search pattern on the bottom. Anchors, spools of line, and surface floats with dive flags were unloaded from the dive van and dropped into position. With everything in place, Gabe and Nick went through Jim’s critical scrutiny, got a final okay, and made the short step off the long boat into the tannic, dark water.

They bobbed back to the surface only long enough to grab the buoy line, do a com check and dump the extra air from the dry suits. Shortly they were both on bottom, flattened against the current, moving up either side of the search line, probing the sandy, muddy bottom for the lost computer.

Most of the bridge steel was gone. Small pieces, with sharp edges, remained, threatening their rubber dry suits. Caution was required, but they still worked to the end of the line in good time. They moved the fifteen-pound mushroom anchor roughly six feet, keeping the bottom line taut, and worked their way back. Search. Move the anchors. Search. Repeat. Nothing. Repeat again. Still nothing. An hour passed in what felt like ten minutes. Jim called them up, and hot coffee was waiting.

“You covered a lot of bottom,” Jim said. “Do you think it could be buried?”

“No, I don’t think a laptop would be heavy enough to sink in. My guess is the current carried it farther downriver beyond the reach of these hoses. But we know it’s not here, and that’s a start,” Gabe answered.

“Look on the bright side,” Nick offered, “if we keep