Deadly Waters Pt. 06

"Is that what he said?"

"Yes," Steve said. "I know he shouldn't have been out drinking, and he especially shouldn't have been giving beer to minors, but I don't know that you had to bring him home in a patrol car."

"I assure you, Mr. Locoste, Ryan had more than one beer."

"How do you know? Did you test him?" Rudy asked.

"No, but I could smell the alcohol on his breath. Because he's underage, even if he did only have one beer, I would have still had to have taken him home, or taken him to the station. Would you have preferred picking him up at the station?" Sean asked, looking at Steve.

"No, of course not," Steve replied.

"So, what's the problem here?"

"The problem is Sharon Locoste used to be Sharon Millbrooke," Rudy explained.

"That doesn't mean anything to me."

"The Millbrookes are the most influential family in town. They've donated land to the city for several projects and are one of the city's largest benefactors."

"So, that means her son gets a pass?"

"No, that means I expect you to handle certain situations with tact," Rudy said.

"Tact? As in just, you know, overlook certain things?"

"That's not what I'm saying at all," Rudy said. "But did you have to take him home in a squad car? Why couldn't you have called his mom and dad to come get him. All the kids for that matter?"

"It was two o'clock in the morning. I hardly think anyone noticed." He looked at Steve. "You really think me calling you in the middle of the night and telling you to come get your kid before I arrested him is better than what I did?"

Steve frowned. "No, but he clearly wasn't drunk and--"

"Allow me to remind you, in North Carolina, if you're under twenty-one, it's illegal to consume alcohol. The minute the wheels turned on his truck, I would have been obligated to arrest him for DUI." Sean looked at Rudy. "Unless you're telling me I should have just looked the other way."

"I'm just saying Bill would have--"

"I'm not Bill," Sean interrupted, his tone making it clear he was tired of having to remind people of that.

Rudy glared at him. "No, no you're not. Thank you, chief. That's all."

Sean gave Rudy and Steve a perfunctory nod as he rose and walked out of the office. He trotted down the steps, sat down in his patrol car, and rubbed his forehead. He could feel a massive headache coming on. "Mayberry my ass," he muttered as he started his car and backed out of the parking space.

Brunswick was worse than Boston for the meddling of politicians... and that was saying something. While he could understand that Rudy saw it as his duty to listen to the concerns of the citizens of Brunswick, what he couldn't understand was his unwillingness to stand up for what he knew was right. If Rudy didn't like Sharon Locoste complaining about him bringing her son home in the back of a squad car, how would he like it if people found out city council members, and their families, got special treatment? That wasn't a conversation he'd want to have, and he suspected Rudy felt the same way, or would if it ever came up. He hardened his resolve as he wheeled the cruiser into the station parking lot. So long as he was chief, everyone would be treated the same, regardless of who they were. If Mayor Rudy Klinger didn't like it, he could stuff it and find himself a new police chief.

"Sean? Maggie."

"Good afternoon, Maggie," Sean said. "What can I do for you?"

"Steve is here again."

"It's only been two weeks since he was there last."

"I know. That's why I called."

"Have you talked to him?"

"No. I didn't know if I should."

"You did the right thing. Don't do anything. I'll be right there."

He hung up the phone and rose. As Ian Fleming said, 'Once is happenstance, twice is coincidence, three times is enemy action.' Steve Locoste was dumping for a third time when he should have only been there once. Something was off. He hadn't looked at the Thacker case in more than a week, since the night he trotted the kids home in the back of the police car. The case had become stone cold, but now he had a break. Steve's dumping pattern had changed. Why?

He quickly walked through the lobby. "Have to check on something. Be back later," he called to Claire as he banged out through the lobby door and hurried to his car.

As he drove to the wastewater plant, he thought about what he wanted to say to Steve, and then decided not to say anything. If this was the break he was looking for, he didn't want to spook him. He would talk to Maggie first, find out if there was any legitimate reason for Steve to be back again so soon, and then take it from there. If Maggie had something, he could use that to pressure Steve. If she didn't, he could always talk to him later if he decided it was necessary. The last thing he wanted to do was go in, guns blazing, only to find out there was a simple and logical explanation. The Locoste situation was still a touchy subject. He and Rudy had reached an uneasy peace, and he didn't want to mess that up.

He pulled to a stop between two of the yard trucks in front of the plant admin building, using the bulk of the pickups to help hide his car. His car was unmarked, with its emergency strobes hidden, so it didn't stand out like a regular patrol car, but every little bit of discretion helped. He stepped out of his car and, for a moment, watched Steve standing beside his truck. Steve was on the far side of the plant, and it was difficult to see clearly, but he appeared to be looking at something in his hand, probably a phone, as his truck unloaded. He certainly didn't act like someone trying to hide something.

Maggie was standing inside the door as he entered. "Thanks for calling me," he said as the door slowly swung shut behind him.

"I didn't know if it would help or not, but I figured better safe than sorry."

"You did great. This may be the break I was looking for. Any idea why he's back already?"

"No."

"How unusual is it for him to be back so soon?"

She nodded her head down the hall. He followed her into her office, and then she closed the door. "Very," she replied as she circled behind her desk and sat down. "I checked to make sure I was remembering right after I called you. I was. Every six to eight weeks was his norm. Now he's been here three times in six weeks, four times in nine, if you count the last load he dumped before the body was found."

"Any reason you can think of to explain the change in his routine?" he asked as he sat down.

"Oh sure. He could be drawing down his storage tank for some reason. They screwed up a production run. His production could be up. He changed his formula or procedures and he's generating more waste. It could be something else. Normally I wouldn't have even thought about it, except what you said about patterns stuck with me."

He gave her a nod. "Any spikes in the river test?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary. It rains, we see spikes, but those are expected."

"I'm going to ask you some questions. Can I trust you to keep them in the strictest confidence?"

She gazed at him a moment, her eyes wide. "What kind of questions?"

"Theoretical at this point."

"I guess, why?"

"You'll understand when you hear the questions. Do I have your word?"

"Yes."

"The stuff Steve is dumping, could it cause the fish kills?"

"It's an organic waste, so sure, if there was enough of it."

"Would it take a lot?"

"Define 'a lot?'"

"A truck load. A truck the size of Steve's."

She sat back, her eyes wider still. "You think Steve is dumping illegally?"

He held up his hands in a placating gesture. "I don't think anything. I'm just asking questions."

She paused, clearly thinking about it. "I'm not sure. I'd guess it's right at the limit. If the conditions were right, yeah, it probably would." She continued to watch him. "I see where you're going with this."

"Does it fit all the facts?"

She paused again. "Yes, but why would he do that? It makes no sense."

"Follow the money. What do you charge him to dump a load?"

"We charge based on the amount of BOD contained in the waste. If I remember right, we charge him a thousand dollars a load. That's for a full truck."

"BOD... something Oxygen Demand, right? Biological?" he asked, his brow furrowing as he tried to recall what she'd told him.

"Biochemical. The measure of how much oxygen the bugs in the water need to breakdown the waste."

"So, if he disposes of three loads for every one he brings here, he's saving three grand. If he does that eight or nine times a year, that's twenty-seven thousand dollars. In a couple of years, he's saved enough to buy a pretty nice new car. In ten years, over a quarter of a million."

"Why would he take the risk, though? That makes no sense. If he gets caught, the fines would wipe out any savings he's had, and he could go to jail."

"People don't think they'll get caught. How long have these kills been going on?"

"I don't know. Years." He looked at her with a faint smile. "You think Thacker caught him dumping?" she asked.

"Think about it. No spikes in the river since Thacker turned up dead and Steve has been here two or three times more often than normal. It all fits."

"It does fit, but you're accusing a city councilman of illegal dumping."

"I'm not accusing anyone of anything... yet... but for the first time in this case we have opportunity and motive."

"If you're right, how are you going to prove it?"

"That's a different problem, but at least now I have something to pursue."

Maggie slowly shook her head. "Sean, you need to be careful with this. This will cause a huge stink. You'd better be sure."

"This is all theoretical at the moment. I have no evidence he's done anything wrong, and I'm not going to accuse him of anything unless I'm sure, but I think a little more checking on Mr. Locoste is in order. Who would I talk to if I wanted to find all the places where a truck like Steve's could get to the river?"

"I showed you where we sampled."

"I know, but I mean someplace more private. Someplace you're not likely to be seen."

"For illegal dumping?" she asked. He smiled and pointed a finger at her. "Let me ask around."

"Keep the why to yourself. Tell them I'm looking for..." He paused, twisting his lips to the side as he tried to think of a plausible excuse.

"Kids partying?" she suggested.

He grinned. "Perfect! Yeah, we've had complaints of kids out cutting boats loose and tearing up property."

She smiled. "I'm sure someone around here would know, or knows someone who does."

"That would be great. Thanks."

"What are you looking for?"

"At the moment, is it even conceivable there's a place this could happen? If there isn't a place, or I can't find it, if every place is too public, or too easily seen, or too rough for his truck to get into, I can drop it right there. I'm not convinced it is Steve, but I've finally got something to work with."

"I understand."

"Thanks." He stood and looked out the window, craning his neck to see the dump pit, but it wasn't possible from his angle. "He should be about done. I wonder if he's left already? I don't want him to know I was here, if possible."

"Want me to check?"

"Would you? Thanks."

"Wait here," she said as she stood and stepped out of her office. She was back a moment later. "It looks like he's washing his truck down. Give him another ten minutes or so. He'll have to stop and sign the dump logbook, but then he'll be on his way."

"Where will he come in?"

"Front door."

"Shit! He'll see my car for sure. I need to go. Thanks for the help. Let me know if you find someone who can show me around," he said in a rapid-fire cadence as he stepped out of her office.

He hurried down the hall, and as he stepped through door, he could see Steve looping the garden hose around the holder. He didn't slow, threw himself behind the wheel of his car, and quickly backed out of the space. As he turned to exit through the gate, he saw Steve crawling up into the cab of his truck. He smiled to himself as he floored the throttle to make his getaway.

When he arrived back at his office, Sean pulled the Thacker file and thumbed through it again, looking over the information it contained. Adding Steve's name into the mix didn't clarify anything and didn't make some obscure or confusing bit of information suddenly snap into focus. There simply wasn't anything there. Even if he was right, and it was Steve, he had no evidence, not even enough for a search warrant. He needed something else, something to tie Steve to the body, even if it wasn't conclusive. He was onto something, he could feel it, but hunches and gut instincts wouldn't get him a warrant.

He reached over, picked up his phone, and quickly dialed a number. "Maggie Neese," she answered.

"Maggie, I need you to do me a favor. I need you to bill all the testing you're doing on the river for me to my department."

"You want me to do that?" she asked, her puzzlement clear. "I think I can eat it."

"No, I'd actually like you to bill me for it. Also, the next time Steve is in dumping a load, please give me a call."

"Okay, if that's what you want. Can I ask why?"

"Better you don't know, just in case this comes back and bites me in the butt. If anyone asks, tell them it's because I have the budget for it, it's part of the Thacker investigation, and leave it at that."

"Okay, but there's another reason?"

"Yes, Ms. Junior Detective. Any more than what I've told you, you're better off not knowing."

"Okay, if you say so."

"Thanks. I owe you."

"Always glad to help law enforcement. Anything else you want me to bill to your department? I'll be happy to help even more."

He chuckled. "No, that'll do for now."

"When this is over, you'll tell me what you're up to?"

He grinned. "Nosy. Yeah, when I can."

"I'm going to hold you to it."

His grin turned into a smile. "Yes, I'm sure you are. I'll talk to you later." He hung up, and then immediately dialed again. "Sean McGhee for Mayor Klinger," he said when Rudy's receptionist answered the phone.

"Certainly. One moment," she said before she was gone.

He listened to on hold music for thirty seconds while waiting on Rudy. "Sean. What can I do for you?" Rudy asked, his voice cool but polite.

"I just wanted to let you know I've asked Maggie to keep testing the river every day, looking for spikes in BODs. That's going to affect her budget. I've told her to bill it to my department as part of the Thacker case."

"Why are you doing that again?"

"Part of my investigation into the death of Boyd Thacker. I have an idea on why Thacker may have been killed, and testing the river is part of trying to prove, or disprove, the idea. I just wanted to let you know the extra costs were coming and why."

"Thanks for letting me know," Rudy said, but Sean could hear the confusion in his voice. "Just don't bankrupt the city."

"This is important, but I'll keep that in mind. Thanks."

He hung up the phone and leaned back in his chair with a satisfied smile. He'd put the wheels in motion. Now he just had to let them turn. He couldn't remember if he'd mentioned to Steve that he was testing the river. If he hadn't, he was certain the news would get back to Locoste now, and if he had, it would keep the pressure on. If Steve was dumping, that should be enough to keep him from going back to his old routine. He needed to keep Steve honest, for a little while longer, while he was digging.

"Sean," he said, absentmindedly bringing the phone to his ear.

He was filling out Claire's review. He hadn't been on the job long enough to give anyone a proper review, but Claire's was due, and he'd use the opportunity to give her feedback on her performance.

"Chief McGhee? This is Randy Lowell. I heard you're looking for someone to show you around on the Siouan?" The voice sounded young and had a slight tremor in it, as if the speaker was nervous.

"That's right. Did Maggie put you in contact with me?"

"Kinda. Tim Johnson is my uncle, and he works for Ms. Neese."

"How old are you, Randy?"

"Thirteen."

Sean smiled. "Does your mom or dad know you're talking to me?"

"My mom is standing right here, listening."

His smile widened. "How are you Ms. Lowell?"

"I'm fine. Tim said you were looking for someone to show you all the places you can get a car to the river?"

"That's right. I'm looking for someone who knows the area to show me around."

"Randy probably knows more about this part of the river than just about anyone. He and his dad fish all along the river here, and have for years."

"Where's your husband, Ms. Lowell?"

"He's a long-haul trucker. He's out of town for another couple of weeks."

"In that case, would you mind if I borrowed your son for a few hours?"

"So long as it doesn't affect his schoolwork, that'll be fine. It's not dangerous, is it?"

"No ma'am. I just want him to show me all the unofficial places where people can drive to the river. How does day after tomorrow sound?" Sean asked, picking the nearest Saturday. "If he takes me around, I'll treat him to lunch."

There was a pause, and he could imagine Randy and his mother having a quick discussion. "That'll be fine. Would you mind signing off on some paperwork? This will apply toward a merit badge Randy is working on."

"Not at all. I can show him anything else he needs while we're at it. If you'll give me an address, I'll pick him up and drop him off." Ms. Lowell rattled off their address and Sean jotted it down. "How long do you think this will take, Randy?"

"Not long. A few hours maybe."

"Pick you up about nine, Saturday morning?"

"In a cop car?"

Sean could hear the excitement in Randy's voice. "In the chief's car," he replied, pitching his voice to make it sound like something special.

"Awesome!"

"I'll see you then... and Randy... thanks. This'll be a big help. Thank you too, Ms. Lowell." He hung up the phone and grinned a moment before returning to his task.

Saturday morning, Sean pulled into the driveway of the Lowell home. It was a modest red brick house with faded white trim and a slightly overgrown yard. There was a ten-year-old slate blue Honda Pilot sitting in the carport, with a peeling and dusty, brown over white, eighties model Chevy pickup sitting in the yard to the side. Behind the truck, the tongue of its trailer supported by a section of a felled tree, was a drab green jon boat with an ancient 9.9 horsepower Evinrude outboard attached. He walked to the front door and pressed the doorbell. He heard the chime inside, followed almost immediately by the yapping of a small dog. After a moment, the door opened.

"Ms. Lowell? Sean McGhee, Brunswick Police Department. Nice to meet you."

The overweight woman smiled and stepped back. "Won't you come in? Trixie, get away," she fussed, pushing at the dust mop of a dog with her foot. "Randy! Chief McGhee is here!"

"Putting on my shoes!" a voice called from the back of the house.

"Randy is so excited to get to do this. It's all he's been talking about."

"I'm glad to have his help, Ms. Lowell."

"Call me Martha."

"I'm glad to have his help, Martha," he repeated.

"Ready!" Randy said as he stepped around the corner and into the cluttered living room, a huge smile on his face. Randy was average in height for his age, about five feet, but was carrying some extra pounds.

"Here you go," Sean said, handing Randy a Brunswick PD ball cap.

"Thanks!" Randy replied, taking the cap. He removed his well-worn camouflaged cap with an embroidered fish on the front, tossed it into a chair whose cushion was protected by a towel covered in dog hair, and replaced it with the cap Sean gave him.