Deadly Waters Pt. 04

"Ouch."

"Yeah. Three years ago, she asked for a separation. A year after that, a divorce. At least it was an amicable parting. What about you? Any kids?" he asked.

"No. Thank God."

He grinned. "There's a story there."

"No, not really. Like you, I'm divorced. After about ten years, we'd just drifted apart. Been divorced for, let's see, seven years now."

"That's rough. Sorry."

"I'm over it. The strange thing is, the thing that hurt my feelings the most was he seemed almost relieved when I suggested divorce. I'm glad we never had kids. It made the split a lot easier."

Sean nodded in understanding. "McKenzie, my daughter, was in high school when her mother moved out. She was old enough to understand."

"She stayed with your wife? Ex-wife?"

"Yeah. She was already enrolled in Bridgewater when the divorce was finalized, so when I got the position here, I sold all the stuff I didn't need and moved south. Now it's just me and Marmalade."

"Your dog?"

"Cat."

"You have a cat?" she asked, her surprise clear in her voice.

"What's wrong with me having a cat?"

She giggled. "Nothing. I have one myself, TC, but I always imagined guys as dog people."

"Nope. He belonged to my daughter until she went away to school. Now he's mine. He's getting old, but he's good company."

"Let me guess. He's an orange Tabby."

"Good guess. You deserve to wear that junior detective badge. How'd you know?"

She took another bite of her stew. "Just a guess. Good name for an orange cat though."

"What's TC stand for, if anything?"

"The Cat."

He laughed. "Really?"

Maggie grinned. "Really. He's a stray that adopted me. We found him at the plant one day. He kept hanging around so we started feeding him. One thing led to another…" she shrugged. "He lived at the plant for a year or so. He was always following me around the office or hanging out, sleeping on my desk in the sunshine, so I finally took him home. He's kind of an indoor, outdoor, cat. He comes in to sleep, and eat, and that's about it. When I go to bed he wants back out."

"I think Marmalade would have a panic attack if his feet ever touched grass. All he does is lie in the window on a cat perch, soaking up sunshine, and watching the world go by."

"Yeah, I haven't figured that out. I do all the work, and TC struts around like he owns the place… the ungrateful little turd."

Sean snickered. "My daughter told me this once. 'Dogs… You feed me, you love me, you protect me… you must be a God. Cats… You feed me, you love me, you protect me… I must be a God.'"

She giggled. "That's it exactly!"

They reached the end of the festival and circled, turning to stroll the length of downtown again. "Did you get your problem sorted out?" Maggie asked.

"What problem?"

"You were having a bad day the other day, remember?"

He grinned. "Oh yeah. Yeah, it's fine. The mayor and I don't see eye to eye on this Thacker case. He doesn't know why it's taking us so long to find Thacker's killer."

"Boy, do I know how that feels. Rudy's a good guy, and he cares deeply about Brunswick, but he doesn't understand why some things just take time. He sold insurance for a long time. He's used to wheeling and dealing, not the steady grind."

"How long has he been the mayor?"

She tossed her empty container into one of the trash cans and scratched her head. "Sixteen years? I think that's right. He's up for reelection this year." He grunted, causing her to grin. "No, he's always this way."

He chuckled. "I'm not sure I like you reading my mind."

Her smile widened. "I've been with the city seventeen years. I have a degree in chemistry, started working in the lab right out of school, and worked my way up from there. He's been like this forever. He was a councilman before he was the mayor. When he wants something, he wants it right now, but like I said, he really does have the best interests of Brunswick at heart. He's done a lot of good for the city. He's the one who finally pushed through the resolution to get the plant upgraded. Granted, they're ignoring it again, but when I really need something, I can usually get it, if not right away."

He studied her as they walked. He'd forgotten she'd been with the city as long as she had. If she'd worked for the city for seventeen years, she had to be older than he'd first thought. Though she didn't look it, Maggie had to be least forty.

"Maybe I'll get you to write my proposals for new computers if they turn it down this time."

"I don't think you want that. They're still mad at me over the spill."

"Weren't you cleared over that?"

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean they didn't want a scapegoat. That's the one thing I don't like about Rudy. If something goes wrong, the first thing he wants to know is 'whose fault is it?' Sometimes it's not anyone's fault."

"Like the spill," he suggested.

"Or like you haven't found Thacker's killer."

"We'll get him, though. Not every murder is solved, but most are. The odds are in our favor."

"I have no doubt. We've got Boston PD's ace cyber-investigator on the force now."

"We do? What's his name? I need to talk to him," he asked, causing her to snicker.

Monday morning, Sean listened to the dull on hold music as he checked and signed off on his peoples' hours, so they could get paid. The music ended. "Pete Rodgers," a man's voice said. From his accent, there was no doubt this man was a native New Yorker.

"Mr. Rodgers, this is Sean McGhee, Chief of Police, Brunswick, North Carolina. I'm investigating the death of Boyd Thacker and I'd like to speak to you about Mr. Thacker's work."

"That was a terrible tragedy. Boyd was a good man and we're all shocked by his death. How can I help you?"

"I'd like to get a list of the complaints he's filed. I'm looking for any information that might lead me to his killer."

"I can get you that. It's all public record. How far back do you want to go?" Pete asked.

"As far back as Thacker goes, I suppose. How long had he been part of the riverkeepers?"

"I don't have that information at my fingertips. Several years."

"More than ten?"

"I honestly don't know."

"Then send me everything you have."

"I'll get it to you today. This is the first time we've had a member killed. Do you think it had something to do with him being a keeper?"

"That's what I'm trying to find out."

"What's your email address? I'll have someone pull those files and send them to you right away." Sean gave him his city email address. "If there is anything else we can do to help, let me know. We obviously want to cooperate in every way we can. We don't want people to think they can get away with killing a keeper."

"Don't worry. We won't rest until we find Thacker's killer."

"That's good to know. Expect the files in a few hours."

"Thank you, Mr. Rodgers. If I have any questions, I'll be in touch."

Less than three hours later, Sean's desktop computer chimed with the arrival of an email from the Waterkeepers Alliance, the umbrella organization that oversaw the various keeper environmental groups, such as baykeepers, riverkeepers, and coastal waterkeepers, among others. It took almost thirty minutes to print out the files. After sorting out and placing aside complaints that weren't related to the Brunswick area, that left Thacker filing three lawsuits and numerous complaints with the state.

One of the lawsuits was against the city for the spill after hurricane Chasity, but there were two other lawsuits against local companies. Those suits alleged LoCoste Adhesives and Prickle Dyes didn't have the proper containment dikes in place to contain spills. Additional complaints alleged that the runoff from their plants were contaminating Hickam Creek, and that contamination was flowing into the Siouan. Thacker had lost both suits but was appealing the ruling on the grounds the judge had misinterpreted one of the state regulations.

The various other complaints had to do with inadequate runoff control measures at construction sites, the launching of boats at unregulated locations was damaging the riverbank, and homeowners were improperly clearing their properties of growth along the water's edge. All in all, it appeared to Sean that Thacker was a busy-body looking for things to complain about, which Sean supposed, was his job.

Of more interest than the complaints were the lawsuits against LoCoste Adhesives and Prickle Dyes. Both plants were in a small industrial park at the very edge of town and Thacker had cited twelve violations, six at each plant. It seemed unlikely Steve or the owner of Prickle Dyes would risk everything with the murder of Thacker, especially since they'd won in court, but it was another piece to the puzzle, and two more people who might have a grudge against Thacker.

After reading through both lawsuits, he decided to contact both LoCoste Adhesives and Prickle Dyes and speak with the owners. A few minutes on the internet uncovered phone numbers for both plants and he picked up his phone and began to dial.

"Chief," Steve said as he greeted Sean in the lobby of his plant.

The lobby wasn't large, but it was welcoming with light beige walls, off-white ceramic tile floors, and comfortable looking, pastel blue, furniture. Prominently displayed on the back wall was the LoCoste Adhesives logo—an anthropomorphic glue bottle with muscular arms and legs—with the company name spelled out in large gold letters to the side. The glass front of the building allowed in plenty of light to make the lobby feel bright and airy.

"Steve. Thanks for meeting me on such short notice," Sean replied.

"No problem. Let's go to my office. You said you wanted to talk to me about the lawsuit Thacker filed?"

"Yeah. I'm still trying to get my head around this case. Nothing about it makes sense, so I've backed up another step to try to come up with something. I got some information from the Waterkeepers Alliance, and in there I saw Thacker had sued both you and Prickle Dyes."

Steve's office was in the corner of the building with floor to ceiling windows on two sides. It was pin neat, with dark commercial carpeting and furnished with a large wooden desk and a pair of brown leather guest chairs. Set apart from the desk, to form an informal meeting area, were four comfortable-looking pastel green chairs circling a low table.

Steve motioned Sean to a seat in the conversation group, taking another chair for himself. "That's right." He shook his head and smiled. "That Thacker, he was a real piece of work. If you were to spit into Hickam Creek, he'd be jumping up and down about pollution."

"So, there was no merit to his charges?"

Steve shrugged. "We were cleared on all counts. Despite what the environmentalists think, most people don't want to pollute the environment. I know I don't. I have to drink the water too, you know, so we follow all the state regulations about the disposal of our waste."

"But that wasn't even what the suit was about, right?"

"Right. Thacker was complaining our containment dikes were inadequate. I have a fifteen thousand gallon holding tank for our liquid waste. Our dikes are designed to hold fifteen thousand gallons. Now, I suppose if the tank was completely full and it ruptured, and we just kept right on running, pouring more waste into the dike, yes, it would overflow and run into the creek, but really, why would we do that? That's just stupid. The courts seemed to think so too."

"That's what he was complaining about?"

"More or less. He contends there's supposed to be a safety factor we don't meet. The thing is, if we let the tank get completely full, it overflows when we run, and then we have to clean it up. We don't do that. I've only seen the tank above seventy-five percent once, and that was because of some extenuating circumstances. We typically pump it down at around fifty percent."

"He was appealing," Sean pointed out.

"I know." Steve grinned. "I have Richard Spangler on retainer. He beat him once… he'd beat him again."

"The city attorney?"

"The same. He's very good at his job."

Sean grunted. "What did you think of him suing you?"

Steve grinned again. "I know where you're going with this. Did I like Thacker? No, not really. He cost me time and money, but did I dislike him enough to kill him? No. I have a family to think about. Why would I kill the guy, especially since I beat him in court?"

Sean nodded and glanced around the office. There were pictures of Steve with an attractive older woman, most likely his wife, as they smiled at the camera while wearing straw hats and leis, with the beach and ocean in the background. Other pictures had Steve with a boy that appeared to be sixteen or seventeen, or with a much younger woman, probably his daughter, and a few with him holding a tiny, sleeping, infant in his arms as he beamed at the camera. Steve hardly seemed like the killer type.

"I had to ask. Nobody seemed to like him very much, but at the same time, nobody really has a motive to kill him, either. Like you said, he lost. What did you have to gain by killing him?"

"Exactly."

"Do you always drive the waste truck?"

Steve's face split into a huge grin. "Yeah. Remember the extenuating circumstances I mentioned? There's a story there if you want to hear it."

"Sure."

"About ten years ago, when we moved into this facility, I had one of my guys driving the truck to the wastewater plant. What I didn't know at the time, because the guys on the floor were covering for him, was he was leaving and being gone for three, four hours. I found that out one day when he had an accident. The accident wasn't his fault, but Brunswick's finest gave him a sobriety test, and he failed. While he was out, he was making a stop and—" Steve curled the first three fingers down, leaving only the pinky and thumb extended, and made a drinking motion. "The woman sued, and won. My truck insurance was going to go through the roof. So now, Locoste Trucking handles the hauling of our waste. It has one truck, one employee," Steve paused and gave Sean a jaunty little wave and a beaming smile, "and one customer."

"Makes sense."

"I know you're just doing your job. Don't let Rudy bully you."

"Sorry if I offended you in my office the other day."

Steve grinned. "I'll admit, having you name me as a primary suspect gave me the rush of impending doom, but in hindsight, I can see why you would say that. The body had to get in there somehow, and I guess I could have hauled him in my truck. You're welcome to take a look at it if you want. The truck lives here, in a shed out back."

"If you don't mind."

"Not at all. Come on, I'll show you."

Steve walked Sean through the plant, explaining how they made a variety of adhesives, mainly for the furniture industry. Brunswick once had a large presence in the furniture manufacturing and textiles industries. The textile mills were gone, and Brunswick Furniture had scaled back their production considerably as cheaper overseas competition cut into their business, but they were surviving as a smaller, high-end manufacturer.

Steve led Sean out through the back of the plant. "There it is," he said, pointing to his truck.

Under a shed, beside a large tank, sat a gleaming white International medium duty, tandem axle truck with a large shiny tank on the back.

"Take a look if you want," Steve offered.

They walked to the truck and Sean gave it a cursory glance, but he'd need a forensic team to go over it to really learn anything. "Clean," Sean said as he looked the truck over.

"Yeah. We power wash it after every load. We're hauling glue, and if that stuff hardens on the truck, it's there forever. I learned that the hard way with my last truck, so I'm trying to take a little better care of this one."

Sean opened the door and stepped up on the fuel tank to take a look inside. It was as clean on the inside as it was outside. "Thanks," he said as he stepped down and shut the door.

"No problem. I want Thacker's killer caught as much as you do. People come to Brunswick to live because it's quiet and safe. We want to keep it that way."

"I'm sure we'll get him, eventually. We're just running down leads."

"If I can help you, you know how to reach me."

"Thanks."

"Anytime. Want to see anything else?"

"No. I think I have what I need. I'm going to go see your neighbor next. Mind if I walk around the plant? It's such a nice day. I love the weather down here."

Steve chuckled. "Not at all."

As Steve went back inside, Sean strolled around the end of the plant, thinking. Like Fish had said about Harbaugh, Steve didn't come across as the cold-blooded killer type. He wasn't defensive and he'd offered to show him the truck. The truck was suspiciously clean, but his explanation for why made sense. It might still be illegal dumping, but even if it was Steve, he had nothing in the way of evidence to prove it.

He pulled out of the LoCoste Adhesives compound and drove a short way up the road before pulling into the Prickle Dye facility. LoCoste and Prickle were the only two businesses in the light industrial park. The rest of the lots were weed choked and awaiting development.

"May I help you?" a woman asked as he stepped into the small lobby that shared space with the office area.

He had to work to not stare. The woman was youngish, and would be attractive if she weren't sporting a piercing through the center of her nose, holes the size of nickels in her ears, and hair the color of a stop sign. "Sean McGhee. I'd like to speak with Robert Willis. He's expecting me," he said, giving her a pleasant smile.

"If you'll have a seat, I'll let him know you're here."

The lobby was small and appeared to have been carved out of the cubicle farm, with beige walls and gray carpeting. The walls were plastered with pictures of women in brightly colored dresses and furniture in loud colors. Sean had just taken a seat in one of the three vibrant red chairs when a balding, fat, man waddled down the aisle.

"Chief McGhee? Bob Willis. How can I help you today?"

Bob Willis appeared to be in his late fifties to early sixties, with a shiny dome and close-cropped gray hair along the sides. His face was soft and red, with at least two chins too many. He was wearing dark trousers, a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and a bright blue tie hanging in a loose knot around his neck.

Sean rose. "I'd like to talk to you about Boyd Thacker."

Bob grimaced then gave his head a jerk. "Let's go to my office."

Sean followed Bob as he wheezed his way back to a small office piled high with papers and binders on every flat surface. "Have a seat," Bob said as he removed a short pile of binders from a guest chair. He dropped them onto the floor before circling behind his desk and sitting down. "How can I help you?"

"I understand you had some difficulties with Thacker," Sean said as he stepped around the binders and sat down.

Bob's face hardened. "You could say that. Thacker was nothing but a loudmouth blowhard who liked to see his face on television."

"You didn't like him?"

Bob flashed a grin. "Does it show? No, I didn't like him. I wish I could say I'm sorry someone punched his clock, but I can't. I didn't appreciate him coming in here making all those false claims."

"About your containment dikes?"

"That, and everything else."

"What else?"

Bob shook his head. "It was nothing. Just him running his mouth. I heard him on the television flapping his gums about the fish kills, poisoning the water, and all that other rot. That was right after we kicked his ass in court. While he was doing that, we had a couple of the news stations out here asking questions. They seemed to think maybe Prickle Dyes might have had something to do with the kills. Let me tell you something. We strictly follow every guideline we're given by the state. If something is getting into the water, it isn't from us, and I didn't appreciate the fact he was implying it was."