Deadly Waters Pt. 08

"Claire? Where's Kim? Isn't she scheduled to work today?" Sean asked the next morning as he entered the station.

"We switched shifts."

"Ah, okay. Listen, I'm going to be out of the office and away from my car most of the day. I have some business to take care of. I'll have a radio if anything comes up."

"Where're you going to be?"

"Sleuthing."

"Sleuthing?" she asked, her face and eyes crinkling with a quizzical look.

He flashed her a grin. "Yeah. I'm looking for something."

"What?"

"I won't know until I find it."

"Oh, one of those," she said, and then smiled back. "I do that when I'm buying clothes. What should I tell people if they're looking for you?"

"Unless it's the mayor, a member of the city council, or an officer, find out what they want and then tell them I'll get back to them tomorrow. Oh! Or Maggie Neese. If any of those call, let me know and I'll call them back."

"You got it. When do you expect to be back?"

"Tomorrow."

"Gotcha."

He unlocked the door and walked to the armory where he retrieved a radio from the charger. He returned to the dispatch office and looked at the back of the device. "Twenty-eight," he said, so she would know which radio he was using.

She jotted the number down on a pad. "Got it."

"I'll see you tomorrow?"

"No. Kim will be back tomorrow."

"Okay. Hold the fort."

She grinned, but then her smile disappeared in an instant. "9-1-1 emergency," she said into her mic as she began typing on her keyboard.

Sean slipped out without another word, leaving his people to their work.

Sean pulled to a stop at the turnoff to the forest, the first place he wanted to walk. He left the strobes flashing on his car as he got out and stomped around in the weeds, trying to determine if the ground was firm enough to take his car off the pavement. It had been rough going getting the car out the last time he was here, and it had rained since then. He finally decided it was worth a try and returned to his car. Having a smidge of experience from crossing the ditch once helped, and he made it without any trouble. The ground didn't feel soft or slick as the car banged and bounced along the rough track, following the path until he pulled to a stop just outside the clearing. He backed up, turned his car around, and then killed the engine. He stepped out into the near silence, shaking his head in amazement. Nowhere in Boston, maybe the entirety of all of Massachusetts, was it this quiet, the only sound the soft rustle of air through the trees.

He opened the rear door and pulled out the wad of white and orange flags he'd purchased the previous night. The flags, a piece of plastic around a thin wire, were used by contractors to mark all kinds of things, from sprinkler heads to defining the borders for landscaping. They also worked great for laying out a search grid. He stood in the most likely place where a truck would be parked if it were unloading into the river, and then stepped off fifty paces to his right. He stuck a flag in the ground, and then began walking as straight a line as possible away from the river, sticking a flag into the ground every ten steps with a quick snap of his wrist to avoid having to bend over.

He continued until he reached the edge of the clearing. He then turned ninety degrees left and repeated the process for one hundred steps. Another ninety-degree turn to the left, and he walked back to the edge of the river, placing flags every ten steps, one hundred yards from where he started. He moved ten paces toward his starting point, and walked away from the river, once again setting flags every ten steps.

He repeated the back and forth, placing flags as he went, until he'd covered the entire area. Now that he knew he'd be walking in a straight line and not miss an area. He returned to his starting point and began to slowly walk down the center of the path he'd laid out, carefully examining the ground as he moved, turning over leaves with his feet and looking in, under, and around fallen trees. As he walked, he picked up the outmost flag and dropped it, signaling the area had been covered.

He didn't know what he was looking for. Anything that could tie Steve or Boyd to this location. If he could find that, he could get a full forensic team in and really scour the area. It didn't have to be much. There probably wouldn't be any DNA evidence left after being out in the elements this long, but the forensic team might find something. Even a fingerprint on the underside of a chip bag, protected from the elements, would be enough.

He worked his way across the clearing, stopping to collect cans, bottles, and chip bags, if they weren't obviously years old. Handling the items with gloved hands, he carefully bagged them, writing a number on each bag with a marker. He then wrote a corresponding number on an orange flag and stuck that in the ground where the item was found before leaving the bag behind and continuing with his search.

It took Sean more than three hours to walk the area, leaving behind a litter of orange flags, one for each of the fourteen items he'd accumulated. Rudy was going to shit when he got the bill for the analysis of all the items, but it couldn't be helped.

He grimaced as he straightened, arching his spine with his hands in the small of his back and rolled his head around, before twisting side to side. He was stiff from walking with his head down for so long and he was trying to relieve the tightness in his shoulders and lumbar area. He took pictures to document the location of where each of the items had been found, and then picked up the evidence bags and placed them in the trunk of his car. He needed his flags for the next location, so he began walking the grid again, picking them up as he went. Collecting the flags was considerably slower, and required more stooping, than putting them out, and his back was soon aching again from the constant bending over. Grimacing in discomfort, he tried to twist the kinks out of his back as he walked back to the car, his flags in hand.

After he started his car, he glanced at the clock. It was almost lunch time, but the second place he wanted to check was much larger and covered in tall grass. It was going to be slow going there, and he wanted to get as much ground covered today as possible, so he decided to skip lunch. Knowing what to expect at the ditch, he made a hard run at it the first time. Motor roaring and dirt flying from the rear tires, the car struggled up the last few feet of the embankment and onto the road. It took him over an hour to find the second location. Once he got out of town, all the roads looked the same, and he'd obviously made a wrong turn somewhere. He was about to give up, pull over to the side of the road, and use the satellite view on the map function of his phone to try to find the field and trees he was looking for, when he stumbled across two tracks along the edge of a tobacco field. He wasn't entirely sure it was the right path until he came to the field behind the line of trees.

The area was much larger than he remembered and his heart sank when he saw the size of it. There was no way he could cover the entire field today, and he didn't have enough flags to mark it all off anyway. As he exited the car, he decided to mark off as much of the field as he could, and then leave the last two rows of flags in place before marking off the next section. He'd leap-frog his away across the meadow like that until he was done. He just hoped someone didn't move his flags after he left for the day so he'd know where to start in the morning. Taking a deep breath to fortify himself for the task ahead, he started at the river and began to lay out his grid.

Sean was about half-way through his ninth batch of five hundred flags when the sun began touching the tops of the trees. He'd been right, he wasn't going to finish today, and it was doubtful he would finish tomorrow if he went all the way to the tree line. He'd narrowed the width of his grid lanes to only one step wide, afraid he'd miss something in the tall grass and weeds if they were spaced any wider. There'd been a lot of litter nearer the river, but most of it was sun bleached and obviously old. Out here, in the field where the weeds were tall, there was only the grass to worry about. He didn't have to bag anything, but it still took time to push the growth aside with his feet to examine the ground beneath.

He was near the edge of his flag boundary when he spotted it. With a rush of excitement and a triumphant grin, he crouched and picked up the mottled green rectangle, flipping it over to look at the screen. He found the power button and pressed it. The screen lit up, displayed the Verizon logo, and then immediately went off again. He'd found what he was looking for. They hadn't recovered Thacker's cell phone, assuming it was lost in the oxidation ditch at the plant, and he prayed to all the police gods that this was Thacker's. He dropped the phone into an evidence bag, planted an orange flag, then headed for his car. He'd come back for the rest of the bags, and the flags, tomorrow.

Sean's car rocked to a hard stop in front of the station. He jumped out and hurried into the lobby, giving Kim a wave as he passed. The Samsung Galaxy S3 used the same micro-USB charger as his own phone, and he had one at his desk. Putting on another pair of gloves, he carefully removed the phone from the bag and laid it on his desk before plugging his charger into it. He saw the charging light come on and he smiled to himself. Again he turned the phone on, his smile growing with satisfaction as it began to boot. The watertight case had saved it from the rain. He waited until the phone booted, and then stared at the lock screen. He supposed it was too much to have hoped the phone wouldn't be locked.

He really needed to unlock the phone to make sure it was Thacker's. He tried a couple of obvious patterns to unlock it, but quickly exhausted his attempts and the phone locked him out. He left the phone charging as he opened his laptop. It was time to get creative. It took him only minutes to find what he was looking for and he grinned to himself in victory. There was a hack to unlock the phone. He watched the video and then carefully read the instructions for bypassing the lock screen. Leaving his computer on the web page in case the hack didn't work, he turned the phone back on and pressed Emergency Call. As it was designed to do, the phone gave him the option to dial. He pressed Emergency Contacts and another screen appeared. Now it got tricky. He pressed the Home button and then immediately pressed the power button. The phone switched off. Mentally crossing his fingers, he turned the phone back on... and got the lock screen again. Pursing his lips in annoyance, he checked the steps and then tried it again, with the same result. He returned to the video and watched it a second time. It appeared he was doing it right, and the voice in the video did say it was timing dependent.

He spent the next fifteen minutes muttering under his breath as he tried over and over to crack the phone. He was about to give up and take the microSD card out of the it, to inspect it on his computer, when he turned the phone on and was rewarded with a background of water.

"Yes!" he hissed to himself, adding a small fist pump in celebration.

He flipped through the phone, called up the email app, and looked at one of the emails. It was Thacker's phone. He'd almost certainly found the location of Thacker's murder. Now, if he could just place Steve in the same location. He called up the camera and selected the photo album. If he could find a picture of Steve, or his truck, at the clearing, that would be enough of a connection for an arrest warrant. The first thing on the list was a video and he pressed the icon to start it playing.

I've noticed some sort of greasy film on the water, a breathless voice said. The camera bobbed and weaved slightly as it slowly panned around, showing water, and occasionally, the gunwales or bottom of a dull green, flat-bottomed, jon boat. I can't tell what it is, but it's been getting less dense as I move upstream. I haven't seen it for a while, but that doesn't make any sense because it should be getting thicker and easier to see. I haven't seen anything to cause it, but I'm... The speaker lowered his voice and his tone became questioning. Hang on a minute.

There were some thumps and bumps as the video whipped about before it became still. There was nothing but blue sky and white clouds for a long moment, with no sound other than that of vigorous paddling followed by the sound of bushes and limbs scraping against thin aluminum. The video spun crazily again and then steadied, the camera moving slightly as the operator found an opening in whatever brush or fallen tree he'd ducked into to hide his presence. It was small and distant, but farther upriver on the opposite bank, there was clearly a truck of the same type and color as Steve's tanker parked near the river. A pipe was running from the back of the truck into the water.

I can't say for sure that's the source of the slick, but obviously something is going on, the voice whispered. It was clear whoever was talking on the video was concerned that they'd be overheard in the quiet of the river. The video panned with dizzying speed and then showed the man who was speaking. Thacker's face was round with a close-cropped brown beard, tinted with red, below his lively eyes and small, pug nose. He was wearing a black skull cap with the Waterkeepers Alliance logo, a stylized white sturgeon, embroidered on the front. I knew there had to be something going on! he whispered to the camera, his voice soft but excited. The video again whirled to focus on the truck. There was no way all those fish were dying because of runoff from farm land, I don't care what anyone said. Nobody believed me when I said it wasn't natural, but now I've got the proof! There was a moment of silence as the video played. I don't see anyone at the truck, but there has to be someone there. After another long moment of silence, a man appeared from behind the truck. He had the same general build as Locoste, although he was too far away for a clear ID. There you are, you bastard. Now I've got you! There was another long pause, and then the sound of something scraping along the boat. I'm going to go over there and find out who he works for, Thacker whispered. I'm going to stop videoing, put the phone in my pocket, and just record audio.

A moment later, the clip ended. Sean felt a chill. It was the first time he'd heard Thacker's voice, a deep, rich, baritone that was pleasing to the ear. He exited the camera and flipped through screens until he found an audio recording app. He opened it, and found the latest file. The program was obviously some kind of voice activated recording app because all he heard was heavy breathing, the rustling sound of a body plunging through tall grass, and the rapid scrape of cloth against the phone's microphone. That continued for several seconds then there was a hard thump, a grunted cry of pain, the sound of scrambling, and then a few seconds of silence before the recording ended. He went back to the next oldest recording and started it playing.

You don't know what you're doing! Wait! Thacker cried, his voice full of terror. There was a heavy thud and Thacker cried out in pain an instant before the sound of another, harder, thump. There were some bumps and scrapes, the sounds of heavy breathing, the groaning of someone in pain, and then silence, before the recording ended.

Sean went back to the next older recording and pressed play.

What are you doing? Thacker's voice asked.

What? a second voice, very faint, replied.

What are you doing? Who are you? What are you dumping into the river?

Dumping? I'm not dumping! I'm, uh... the second voice replied, closer and clearer this time.

Don't give me that! Who are you?

Why don't you mind your own business? This is private property! the second voice yelled, much louder and clearer now.

Sean felt another chill. The second voice was almost certainly Steve Locoste.

Who are you? Thacker demanded again. I'm reporting you to the state! What's your name? Who do you work for?

You need to get out of here! You don't know what you're talking about!

Who are you? Thacker yelled.

None of your goddamned business! Get out of here!

CZ 5865.

Get the hell out of here!

There were the sounds of a brief struggle then a thump.

You asshole! I'll have you arrested for assault for that! Thacker snarled.

You're not doing shit! Steve yelled in return.

Wait a minute, Thacker said, his voice suddenly much more placating. What are you doing? Wait a minute! Just wait!

Too late, Steve said, his voice deadly calm.

You don't want to do this! Thacker said, and then there were some sounds of movement. Put that down! You need to think about what you're doing!

I am thinking about it, Steve said, his voice almost too faint to hear.

Wait! Thacker cried in panic. Just wait! You don't have to do this! Stop! We can talk about this!

There was a reply by Locoste, but it was barely audible and unintelligible, followed by silence until the recording ended less than a second later.

He stared at the phone a moment, his lips thinned and narrowed. He went back another recording.

Testing... Thacker said before the recording ended.

He went back one more recording, but it was a meeting discussing proposed water quality standards, and he ended it after listening to only a few seconds. He could see it in his mind's eye. Thacker had snuck up and confronted Steve, and there'd been a brief struggle. Thacker had been pushed, or fallen, and Steve had approached Thacker with something in his hand and hit him with it, but it wasn't a killing blow. Thacker was likely injured, realized he was in mortal danger, and ran. Steve had probably chased him, and Thacker had tripped and fallen, or at the very least, stumbled.

If the phone had been in a shirt pocket, which is where he'd have put it for the best chance to pick up voices, he could easily imagine the phone falling out. It was likely that Thacker had run again, since there was no other audio, but the fall or stumble had slowed him enough for Steve to catch and kill him. The only question was, why hadn't Steve picked up the phone and disposed of it? He thought about it a moment and decided that there were only three possibilities. Steve had either forgotten about it in his panic, didn't know Thacker had the phone, or hadn't been able to find it after it had fallen from Thacker's pocket. In the end, the why didn't matter. He had his smoking gun.

Sean dialed the Lizard Lick Creek WWTP main number. "Maggie Neese," he said when the phone stopped ringing. He'd tried her direct line first, but as expected, he'd gotten her voice mail.

"She's gone for the day. Can I take a message?"

"Do you have her cell or home number?"

"Who's this?" the voice demanded.

"Police Chief Sean McGhee."

"Oh! Uh... yeah... hang on. It's right here... somewhere," the voice said. Sean heard the soft bump of the phone being placed down, followed by the sounds of papers being shuffled, before the handset was picked up again. "Here it is! You ready? Its 919."