Deadly Waters Pt. 04

"Sean," he said, picking up his phone and bringing it to his ear, still reading the request from a local cub scout troop to have an officer come speak to the pack.

"Sean, this is Mayor Klinger. I want to see you in my office as soon as possible." It was clear from his tone Rudy wasn't happy.

Sean closed his eyes. "What is it, mayor?" he asked softly. It was Friday and the last thing he wanted was another conversation with Rudy.

"I'll explain it when you get here."

He was quiet a moment. "I'll be there in ten minutes." He slowly placed the handset back in the cradle, wondering what had Rudy wrought up this time. "Shit," he muttered before rising and picking up his jacket. "I'm going to city hall. I'll be back as soon as I can," he said as he stepped into the dispatcher's office. He handed the letter from the scouts to Claire. "Find out if somebody wants to do this. If not, assign it to Fish. It'll serve him right for taking vacation."

She grinned and took the paper. "I'll take care of it."

He nodded his thanks and stepped out of the office. It was a dreary, drizzly, day, and he smiled. In Boston, this would be snow, but he didn't miss it a bit.

"You wanted to see me?" Sean asked, rapping on the door frame of the mayor's office.

"Come in and shut the door," Rudy said.

Sean shut the door and then walked over and stood in front of Rudy's desk.

Rudy's office was large and paneled with expensive looking dark wood. On one wall, opposite the two large windows, was the seal of Brunswick cast in bronze. Photographs from the past hundred or so years chronicled the history of Brunswick and the men who'd occupied the office. The four chairs arranged in front of the huge, highly polished wooden desk, were massively built and trimmed in rich, brown leather. In another part of the room was a conference table in the same style as the desk, with eight matching leather chairs surrounding it.

"What in God's name are you doing?" Rudy asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Maggie Neese!"

"What about her?"

"People saw you in a city truck with her yesterday."

"So?"

"So, what's going on?"

"She's helping me try to get to the bottom of Thacker's death."

"Maggie?" Rudy cried. "Why would you want one of your primary suspects helping you investigate the death of Thacker?"

"Who said she was my primary suspect? I thought we went over this the other day. Besides, I need her expertise."

"In what?" Rudy cried again.

"I'm convinced there is more going on here than someone knocking off Thacker just because they didn't like him. The only thing that makes sense is Thacker discovered something someone didn't want him to see. I think he caught someone dumping illegally, and they killed him for it."

"Who?"

"If I knew that, I'd be paying them a visit right now. I don't know who, but that's the direction I'm going to start looking. I think Thacker knew when he filed the suit against the city he was full of bull, and was continuing to look for the real cause of the fish kills."

Rudy leaned back in his chair and stared at Sean a moment, clearly thinking over what he'd said. "You're saying he filed the suit against the city in order to flush out whoever was dumping illegally?"

"I doubt we'll ever have an answer to that question. He may have filed the suit as a way to raise awareness, or to toot his own horn, or some other reason, but I think, deep down inside, he knew he was full of sh… crap, and the city wasn't responsible for the kills. He wouldn't be much of a riverkeeper if he didn't have a basic grasp of hydraulics. Even I know crap won't go upstream, and I didn't know anything about where the stuff goes after I flush."

"You're telling me you think Maggie is innocent?"

"I don't think anyone at the plant had anything to do with Thacker's death other than pulling his carcass out of the ditch."

"How'd the body get in there?"

"Still working on that."

"You still think it's Steve?"

"I never said that."

"You implied it."

"I was only pointing out Steve was a better suspect than Maggie."

"I'll have you know I've known Steve Locoste for more than fifty years. We grew up together. Nobody has done more for this community than him."

"That doesn't constitute proof he didn't do it."

"I can't believe what I'm hearing! You're blaming Steve even though he and Thacker didn't know each other, even though Maggie and Thacker hated each other, and Thacker was trying to ruin her reputation and have her thrown in jail?"

"Are you saying Thacker had a case against the city?"

"No! I didn't say that!"

"Then why do you think she'd be worried about going to jail? According to Spangler, Thacker was going to get laughed out of court."

"I'm just saying, she's the one who had the most to gain by Thacker's death."

"Except for the person he caught dumping."

Rudy paused a moment. "You're sure someone is performing illegal dumping?"

"No, I'm not sure, but it fits the facts better than any other theory I've come up with. I'm going to run with it until something better comes along."

Rudy stared at him a moment. "Tomorrow is the stew festival. The environmental whackos are still threatening to disrupt the festival. We can't allow that."

"I've got extra officers on duty tomorrow."

"It's not enough. They're keeping this on the front page. I had WRAL and ABC11 in my office yesterday, questioning me about the festival and Thacker's murder."

"Isn't that what you want, coverage for the festival?"

"Not that kind!"

"What do you expect me to do?"

"I don't know! You've had almost two weeks to make an arrest, and nothing. Now I find out the most likely suspect is helping you."

"Okay, mayor. You want Maggie arrested? Convince me she could have done it. Explain to me how she managed to get Thacker into the plant and into the ditch without anyone noticing." Sean crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm waiting," he added after a moment.

"Maybe she carried him next to the fence like Steve said," Rudy suggested, but his tone made it clear he knew he was reaching.

"How much do you weigh, mayor?"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"I'm guessing about, what, two sixty, two seventy? That pretty close? You think you could carry a three hundred forty pound man the hundred yards you think Maggie did? That's the same difference in weight between Maggie and Thacker. But let's assume she is wonder woman and could manage to carry him. How did she kill him? Did Thacker just stand there and let her walk up to him with a pipe and cave his skull in? If they hated each other that much, don't you think he'd be a little nervous and suspicious of her carrying a weapon? Or are you saying she somehow managed to overpower him?" Sean paused. "I'm still waiting," he prompted.

"Maybe he didn't know what she was going to do?" he replied, looking down at the top of his desk.

"Or, maybe, she didn't do it. Maybe Thacker surprised someone dumping illegally and he confronted them. Maybe they killed him in a moment of panic. Maybe that someone was a man. Maybe it was out in the boonies somewhere where no one would notice. How do you like my idea?"

"That doesn't explain how the body got into the plant."

"There was a delivery made to the dump pit in the time frame the ME placed the time of death. The dump pit is only a few dozen yards from where the body was found, and you have to drive right by it to exit the plant. You can't see the office from where the body was found, which means the people in the office wouldn't be able to see the body being dumped. It wouldn't be hard to drag a body out of truck and throw it over the wall and into the ditch."

Rudy glared at Sean. "You really think a city councilman did it?"

"To be honest, mayor, I don't know. The ME's report can't fix the time of death very precisely because he's not sure how being in the oxidation ditch affected the decomposition. We also had the city vac truck in there around the same time, though not in the window the ME gave me, and another employee of the plant was in the area where the body was found. All these people are much better suspects than Maggie. Why are you trying so hard to convince me it's her?"

"Why are you so reluctant to consider it?" Rudy countered.

"Because the facts don't support it."

Rudy slowly stood, placed his hands on his desk, and leaned forward.

"I think you're in over your head. I thought you were just what this city needed, but I was wrong. I'm going to ask the city council to formally ask for your resignation."

"I offered you my resignation before and you didn't take it. You can fire me, but I won't resign. Not now. You can go on record as having me fired because you don't like the fact I consider one of your buddies on the city council a suspect." Sean glared at him. "You do what you have to, mayor, but until you fire me, I'm still the chief of police and I'll follow the clues wherever they take me."

Sean pivoted on his toe and stomped out, slamming the door behind him. He banged out of city hall and trotted down the three steps to his car.

He was so mad he wanted to hit somebody, one person in particular, but it wouldn't do to have the chief of police punching out the mayor. He fell into the seat of his cruiser then sat for a moment, taking several deep breaths to let the anger go, and then started his car.

He drove back to the place the fish kill was discovered and parked on the side of the road with his emergency strobes flashing. He looked the area over, and the more he thought about it, the better he liked the idea that Thacker caught someone doing something illegal. As much as he hated to admit it, Steve Locoste was his most likely suspect, but a city councilman? He was going to have to be damn sure of his facts. The thing that bothered him was the why of it. Locoste had a contract with the city to dispose of his waste. Why would he risk dumping illegally? And where? It made no sense, but he couldn't come up with anything better.

He glanced at the clock in the car. It was too late to do anything now. Maggie left work at three-thirty. He needed someone with local knowledge, someone who knew all the little places where someone would have access to the river and reasonable privacy. If someone's at the water's edge with a three-thousand-gallon tank truck, they're probably not fishing. His lips tight, he gave his head a shake in frustration. Monday he'd contact the Waterkeepers Alliance and see if Thacker had gone after anyone else. He had a thread and he'd pull it until it ended… or the mayor had him fired.

He'd been looking forward to spending the next twenty years in a nice, quiet, little southern town, dealing with parking complaints and barking dogs. He snorted out a laugh and gave his head another shake as he pulled back onto the road, flipping off his beacons

Sean strolled down the center of Main Street. It was a glorious day, bright and sunny, with the temperature hovering around fifty. The ten blocks of the downtown area had been blocked off with barricades and patrol cars with their strobes flashing. A couple of officers directed traffic around the festival as another four officers, plus himself, mingled in the crowd. So far, no protestors had shown up, or if they had, they hadn't made a nuisance of themselves. This was what he wanted to spend his time doing, mingling and chatting with the people he'd sworn to serve and protect. He walked by another vendor hawking stew, breathing deep and enjoying the smells. He'd never heard of Brunswick stew until Rudy had mentioned the festival, but he'd done a little reading on it last night. He found it funny that both Virginia and Georgia claimed to have originated the stew, but the City of Brunswick, North Carolina, had claimed it for their own.

"Hey, chief! Want to try the best stew here?" a lady called, waving him over.

"Sure," he grinned as he adjusted his path.

He'd already tried the best stew at the festival three other times. To his undiscerning palate, the previous three had been excellent, but had tasted almost the same. The short, gray haired, dumpling of a woman dipped a small portion from a large cast iron pot into a sample cup and handed it across the table along with a tiny plastic spoon.

"This is my family's secret recipe. We've been making it this way for a hundred years," she said.

"Thanks." He took the container and spoon. He dipped a spoonful out, and after blowing it cool, popped it into his mouth. The stew was loaded with meat and vegetables in a hearty thick sauce. It was terrific, just like the other three he'd tried, though this one had potatoes in it, which he liked. "This is really good," he said as he finished the sample, causing the woman to beam with pride. "Can I get a pint?" he asked as he pointed to the smallest of the containers.

The woman's smile spread even more. "Pint or half-pint?"

"The small one."

"Half-pint. Coming right up." She filled the smallest of the three Styrofoam containers stacked on her table. "That'll be three dollars."

"I don't need a lid," Sean said as he pulled out his wallet. "It's my lunch." He handed her a five. "Keep it," he added as she reached into her apron for change.

"Thanks, chief!"

"You're welcome. I might be back for a quart later to take home with me."

"I'll set you one aside."

He chuckled. "No, don't do that. I wouldn't want to deprive anyone else of a chance to have some. Do you have a couple of napkins?"

"Here you go," she said, handing over several brown paper napkins and a full-size spoon.

"Thanks, Ms…?"

"Nelson. Wanda Nelson."

"Nice to meet you, Wanda."

"Nice to meet you too," she replied. "What do you think of Brunswick so far?"

"You make good stew here," he said with a smile, hoisting the container slightly.

Wanda laughed, and then turned her attention to a young couple as they approached. He wandered away, stirring his stew to help it cool. "Need a break?" he asked Paul when he reached the barricade.

Paul Limbrose was close to thirty and had been with the force for less than a year. Tall and lanky, with sandy blond hair cut short, large brown eyes, and a broad nose, he was the department clown. Always quick with a smile and a pun or joke, he was terrific when working with the public, like today.

"I'm good, thanks," Paul replied and then looked at the container in Sean's hand with exaggerated attention, his eyes forced wide. "Lunch? And more importantly, did you bring me some?"

"You want this?" Sean asked, offering him the container. "It's so hot it probably killed anything from me that was on the spoon."

Paul chuckled. "No, but thanks. I'm going to go get something when Chips relieves me."

Sean slowly stirred the contents of the container. "I never even heard of this stuff until a couple weeks ago, and now I think it's the best stew I've ever had. I'm going to have to be careful or I'm going to get fat living down here."

Paul grinned. "My wife makes it but," he lowered his voice and looked around as if spies were eavesdropping, "it's not as good as most of the ones here. Don't tell her I said that."

Sean chuckled. "Your secret is safe with me."

"I think it must have something to do with the pot. Everyone cooks it in a big cast iron pot, but we don't have one."

"Maybe you should buy her one."

"You married?"

"Not anymore. Why?"

Paul grinned. "Is it because you bought your wife a pot as a gift?"

Sean chuckled again. "Okay, I see your point." He paused. "See anybody who looks like trouble?"

"Nobody."

"Maybe the planned protest fizzled because it's the first nice day we've had in a while."

"Maybe. Or maybe they realized showing their asses at a family fun day makes them look bad," Paul suggested.

"If we're lucky. If anybody shows up, don't make a scene. Just let me know."

"You got it."

Sean gave him a grin then turned and wandered back into the crowd, working his way to the other end.

"That stew any good?" a woman's voice asked behind him.

Sean turned and smiled at Maggie, and then glanced at the nearly empty container. "It was awful." He paused, his smile spreading. "Actually, I like it. One of the best stews I've had. Filling too."

She nodded in understanding. "The town has been doing this for years, since the eighties I guess. Whose is that?" she asked as she jerked her chin at the container.

"Wanda…" he began, and then paused, his eyes narrowing as he tried to remember the woman's last name.

"Wanda Nelson?"

"Yeah! That's her."

Maggie nodded. "She wins almost every year. They serve the same stew in their restaurant all winter. It's a local favorite. George W. Bush made a stop in there for the stew once. His picture is hanging on the wall."

"I'm not a Brunswick Stew expert, but of the four I tried, I like this one the best. It must be the Irish in me. I like the potatoes."

"Yeah, I like it with potatoes too. In fact, I think I'll go get some."

They slowly walked to Wanda's tent. "Hey, Wanda. How're you doing?" Maggie asked as she stepped up. "I'll take a half-pint."

"Pretty good. That silly grease trap is still giving us fits. I keep telling the plumber there's something wrong with it, but he can't figure out what it is. Here you go, sugar," Wanda said, handing Maggie a container and a spoon.

"If you'll give me back that five I gave you a few minutes ago, I'll give you this ten for her stew," Sean said, holding out the bill.

"You don't have to do that," Maggie protested.

"My treat, for helping me out."

Wanda exchanged the bills. "Thanks again, chief."

"You're welcome."

"Give Triangle Plumbing a call," Maggie said, speaking to Wanda. "They can come out and TV the thing and tell you why it keeps overflowing. It's who we use."

"Thanks, dear. I'll mention it to the plumber."

"You know her?" he asked as they ambled away, Maggie stirring and blowing on her stew to cool it.

"I know most of the restaurant owners in town because we have to inspect them. Wanda's grease trap keeps backing up into the city's lines and plugging them with grease. I've been waiving her fines because she's trying to get the problem fixed."

What does 'TV it' mean?"

"The plumber will come out and run a tiny little waterproof camera down in the trap and take a look around. What the camera sees is displayed on a screen. There's probably some long technical sounding name, like real time video inspection, or something, but we just say TV it and everyone knows what we're talking about."

"I had no idea there was so much to this sewer stuff. I never thought about it. I use the toilet, give it a flush, and that's it. I didn't realize all the science going on."

She giggled. "No kidding. All the crap people flush down the toilet, it all becomes my problem sooner or later."

"Well I, for one, am glad we have people like you to do it," he said with exaggerated gallantry.

"Why thank you, kind sir," she replied, laying on the accent. "You never did tell me why you moved to Brunswick. You said you were looking for a change. What kind of change?"

He shrugged. "Slower pace. Less stress. Warmer weather."

"How'd you do?"

"Two out of three ain't bad."

She giggled. "Can I guess which two? What about your family?"

"Mom and Dad moved to Florida several years ago. I'm actually closer to them now than I was before. My daughter is a Junior in Bridgewater, studying history."

"I didn't know you had a daughter. Are you married?"

"Not anymore."

"Oh. Sorry."

He smiled. "It's fine. My wife said she needed to find herself. She did. In the arms of a doctor at the hospital where she works."