Ghost
River Jon Coon
Birmingham, Alabama
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CHAPTER 1
0900 Chattahoochee River Interstate Bridge, Florida Panhandle February, cold and windy
T
he first things Gabe Jones felt as he submerged were the lower body squeeze of the Viking dry suit and the chill. He added air from the suit’s chest valve until he was comfortable. Then he paused for his pre-dive prayer, a lifetime habit, and pulled his way down the buoy line. He adjusted the airflow to the Aga fullface dive mask as he descended. The first few feet of tannic brown river water were full of debris and trash, reducing visibility to mere inches. Gabe took two slow, deep breaths, forcing himself to relax, cleared his ears by putting his tongue on the roof of his mouth and swallowing hard, and thought, Charlie, why? As he descended the current increased. Gabe wrapped a leg around the line to steady himself and continued his drop. Soon he was fighting to hang onto the buoy line with both hands. The current grabbed his umbilical—the air hose, communications wire, and safety line bundle that was his lifeline to the surface. The umbilical’s drag was nearly enough to pull him off the buoy line. This is insane. And after years as an oilfield diver and then underwater criminal investigator, Gabe understood insanity more than most. He focused and pulled himself down the line. 1
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Trooper Charlie Evans, Gabe’s partner, had gone missing yesterday. He had been searching for a teenage girl reported to have jumped off or been thrown from the Chattahoochee River bridge. Her parents had begged—no, demanded—the team to find out what had happened to their daughter Mickey. Charlie should have waited. The team’s SOPs, standard operating procedures, specifically stated he should not have gone into the water without the rest of the dive team. But the grief-stricken parents didn’t want him to wait. Gabe could only assume Charlie had asked himself the same question Gave often asks, what he would do if the missing girl were one of his own kids? No question. Charlie had called Captain Brady, got permission to dive, and unpacked his dive gear. Charlie made the dive alone, in scuba, with no safety lines or umbilical, in the hope of finding the answer: was the girl really there, or had something else happened to her? No answers. And now Charlie was lost along with the girl. February was the absolute worst time to dive the river. Snowmelt from the Blue Ridge Mountains in northeast Georgia dropped the water temperature into the forties. Days of hard rains in Atlanta raised the water level ten feet, and the current ripped. Trash and trees roared downstream, ready to crush or snag anything they touched. Only for your best friend would you risk this kind of dive. Gabe had been Charlie’s instructor and mentor, best man at his wedding, godfather to both kids. It was like losing a younger brother. But Gabe had learned from and respected Charlie as well. Always a loner, Gabe admired Charlie for his outgoing nature and willingness to grab life by the horns. Thoroughly committed to family and faith, Charlie was always Marine-Corps positive: Go for it and kick butt. Except this time. Too much time had passed, and there was only one possible outcome. Find Charlie’s body. Give Carol and the kids closure. Help them through the pain.
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Almost on bottom, Gabe brought his arm around the buoy line and held his wrist computer up against the dive mask faceplate. The white luminescent display showed the depth of sixtytwo feet. Even in his dry suit and fleece underwear, he was so cold he felt numb. His fins found bottom, and he dropped to his knees. The current pushed him downstream and slammed him into a twisted mass of steel beams, rebar, and concrete. He winced, grunted, and struggled to move, but he was pinned. He caught his breath, and shouted into the face mask com, “Jim, the current’s got me. Pick up the slack and hold it so I can pull myself out.” On the surface Jim Phillips, his dive tender for the past five years, replied, “Roger that. Picking up slack. Tell me when to stop.” Gabe felt the umbilical go taut and used it to pull himself forward. He crawled upstream into the shelter of a mountain of bridge debris, grabbed on, and caught his breath. “That’s good; I’m clear. Keep it tight.” “Roger that. All stop. You okay?” Jim asked. Before Gabe could answer, he heard, through the full-face mask com, the drone of the air compressor stop, leaving a deathly silence. “Compressor’s down, switch to reserve while I check it,” Jim said. “Switching to reserve,” Gabe said. He opened the valve of the reserve tank and took a deep breath. “I’m good, but no lunch breaks, man. This tank is only good for ten minutes, and I’m freezing down here.” Gabe decided to use those precious minutes to learn as much as he could about the site. He attached the line from a small cave-diving reel to the buoy line. Then he flattened himself to the bottom, to keep a low profile in the current, and moved in an arc against the taut hose package, working to
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his right until he’d gone as far as he could. He began to explore and visualize his surroundings. There were beams, with webs and flanges, and cross braces held together with large rivets. He followed a beam edge until he felt two small-diameter wires, which led to a two-inch diameter tube with a “V” pressed upward on the bottom side, resting in torch-cut notches across the widest part of the beam. Gabe recognized the package immediately. He’d set hundreds on salvage dives. He ran his fingers gently over it again, confirming what he was afraid he’d found. What is this doing here? It was an electric blasting cap and a shaped charge made from an extrusion of copper and filled with an explosive called RDX. It could blast through inches of steel like a hot knife through butter. NASA used shaped charges to separate the stages of the huge rockets that lifted astronauts into space. The technology was adapted for underwater salvage to cut huge bridges and twentystory oil platforms into sections small enough for cranes to lift. When intended for use underwater the explosives would be sealed in pressure-tight aluminum housings. But this one wasn’t. It was intended for land use only, and the network of trunk lines and branches should have all fired and cut the bridge into pieces before any of it hit the water. He checked the gauge on the reserve tank. Half-full, five minutes. What was Jim doing with that compressor? Gabe stretched forward and found a spider web of wire and several more shaped charges. Could Charlie somehow have set some of them off ? But how? Setting off the electric blasting caps required electric current. In theory it would be impossible to detonate them without it. But then what happened to Charlie? The compressor was still deathly silent. He checked his tank pressure again. Time to go.
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“Jim, forget the compressor. Pull me up. I’m almost out of air, and we’ve got live explosives.”
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Parked on the approach to the interstate bridge, Florida State Police Sergeant Wes Rogers put down his binoculars and picked up his chiming cell phone. “Yeah, he’s out of the water. Hard to dive without air,” he lit a cigarette, took a deep drag, exhaled, and then laughed. “They really should have checked that compressor.”
0945
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Zack Greenly sat across from Detective Bob Spencer and Lieutenant Liz Johnson. Wonder when’s the last time anyone took out the trash? Zack looked beyond the cops at the tight interrogation room. Full trash cans, cement floor, and gray metal folding chairs around a cigarette-burned steel table with uncomfortably bright florescent lighting made the room feel like a prison cell or an interrogation room from another decade. “Aren’t we done? I’ve answered your questions at least three times,” Zack said, coming back to the detective. “I’ve told you everything I know.” “Try to see this from our perspective,” Bob said while drumming his fingers on the table impatiently. “You say you drove out to the bridge in the middle of the night to see the stars. Beautiful girl, you want to be alone. I get that. You were just talking, but then, for no reason, she got out of the car and jumped off the bridge? You didn’t try to stop her. Everything was perfectly cool one minute, and the next minute, with no possible explanation,
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she’s gone. Sorry, I want to believe you, but so far, son, that owl don’t hoot.” Zack exhaled deeply and leaned forward, making solid eye contact. “As I told you, we were listening to the radio and talking. Nothing was wrong. She got out of the car and walked down to the bridge. We liked to look at the sky from the bridge. It was a beautiful night, tons of stars. I thought that’s where she was going. No big deal. “I should have gone with her right away, but one of my favorite songs was on the radio. I stayed to hear the end of it. As soon as it was over, I went to join her. When I got about halfway to the bridge, I thought I saw her, or something, fall from the walkway into the water. “But it was dark, really dark, and I’m not sure what I saw. I ran to where she’d been and looked everywhere. Then, when I couldn’t find her, I called you. That’s all I know. There’s not much traffic that late; that’s why we go. But there might have been a car. I don’t remember.” Thirty-five-year-old Lieutenant Liz Johnson looked up from her notes and picked up the questioning, “Zack, how long have you two been going out?” “Two years.” “Two years?” she sounded skeptical. “Two years of holding hands and looking at the stars? And you were all right with that? I doubt your school friends would believe it. A good-looking guy like you? You probably could have any girl at that school, isn’t that true?” He shifted in his chair, looking away. “We have boundaries. That’s all. I love her, and we have boundaries.” “But you wanted more.” Not a question.
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“Of course I wanted more. I’m a guy. But that wasn’t our deal. We agreed to wait.” He was surprised when she leaned toward him a little to break the distance between them. Her voice was softer, intimately encouraging his agreement. “Is that what you were talking about? Did you want to change the rules? Look at me; tell me I’m wrong.” Zack thought of the many nights he and Mickey had gone to the river’s edge and how badly he’d wanted to change those rules. But she was firm. They would wait. It would be worth it. He looked down at his hands, at the white line around his ring finger, where his class ring had been. The ring he’d given Mickey that night. You’re wasting your time. I’m not telling you anything.
S
“The fuel tank air vent was closed,” Jim said as he helped Gabe out of his gear. “But that’s impossible. It’s on the list. I opened the valve before I checked it off. I swear it was open when you started the dive.” “Everything all right here?” Portly and gray-headed, state police Captain Brady was doing the asking. He was on scene along with several other of the state police commanders. Bringing home the body of a fallen brother was a high-priority mission. “Yes, sir,” Gabe answered. “Compressor went down. But I had my bailout tank. No problem.” “The current pinned him, Captain. I could barely bring him up. We could have lost him too,” Jim said, frowning at Gabe. Gabe gave him a dirty look, and Jim went back to coiling the umbilical. “We need to shut this down, Gabe. Jim’s right. The current’s too strong; it’s too dangerous. We’ve lost other men here before Charlie. Shut it down. Do it now.”
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“Wait, Captain, it’s not that bad. With more weight to handle the current, we can do it. We need to bring Charlie home.” Jim looked up and said, “He found explosives, Captain. Live explosives.” “Explosives? You sure?” Brady glared at Gabe. “Yes, sir, shaped charges. But with electric blasting caps. They can’t be fired without an electric current.” Thanks a lot, partner. Gabe gave Jim an I’m-going-to-kill-you-trooper stare. Whose side are you on, Jim? We have to find Charlie. Brady’s jaw tightened. “Trooper, I just gave you an order. Shut this down now. No one dives here, and no one else dies here. Pack it up. I’ll tell the commander.” “Yes, sir,” Gabe replied and rubbed the stubble on his chin. More deaths? What’s going on? After getting out of the dive gear and into fleece-lined coveralls, Gabe grabbed a mug of hot coffee and sat in his truck with the heater going full blast. He checked his phone and winced when he saw a call waiting from Charlie’s wife Carol. Gabe hit call back and waited. Carol answered, “Gabe, is it you? Have you found him?” “Not yet. I just came up. Captain shut us down. Not sure what’s going to happen next. How are you doing?” “Not so good, really. Paul’s on a rant, Emily’s in shock. Me too.” “Of course. What can I do?” “Just be careful and come when you can. The kids would like to see you.” She took a deep breath and exhaled with a sigh, “Me too. I feel so lost.” Gabe’s second call was to the highway department. While he waited on hold, Gabe unzipped his coveralls and turned down the heat in the truck. He sat quietly, unable to shake the shock of
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Charlie’s death and feeling the same devastation Carol was. In the center console cup holder was the stainless insulated mug Charlie had forgotten again. Forgotten so often in fact, a bronze plaque should have labeled the cup holder as “Reserved for Charlie Evans.” Gabe looked fondly at the cup and resolved again to do whatever was necessary to find out why his best friend was dead. A voice on his phone brought Gabe back to real time. “The guy you want to talk to is Jewels Peterson. He was the state engineer from the late sixties until he retired five years ago. Hang on. I’ll get you a number.” “Thanks,” Gabe answered. He’d called the highway department in hopes of finding someone who remembered the accident Captain Brady mentioned. The helpful voice came back with a number and address for Peterson. Gabe thanked him and called the number. “Mr. Peterson, this is Trooper Gabe Jones with the state underwater criminal investigation team—” “You’re with the dive team?” “Yes, sir,” Gabe said. Apparently Peterson’s hearing wasn’t the best. “My team has been diving on the I-10 bridge. I have some questions about an accident fifteen years ago.” “You’re diving on the I-10 bridge, you said?” “Yes, sir. And just one quick question: There’s an old steel bridge there. Shouldn’t it have been removed as soon as the new bridge was done?” “Yeah, I know about it. You’re right; it shouldn’t be there. I’ll be happy to talk with you, but could you come out here? I don’t get around very well. You watch yourself and come see me as soon as you can. I’ll explain everything. You got that, son?” Peterson said. “Yes, sir. I appreciate your time.” Good. Whatever that old guy knows is more than we’ve got now. I bet it’s going to be a good story.
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The truck was warm, and Gabe needed to shed his heavy dry suit underwear. While he called his friend Detective Bob Spencer, Gabe stepped out of the truck and peeled out of the thick polar fleece. He put his phone on speaker and put it on the tailgate. “Get anything out of that kid?” Gabe asked. “Not really. My first impression is he’s lying through his teeth,” Bob replied. “First impression?” Gabe asked. He rolled the drysuit and bagged it. “Yep. His story is halfway believable, but the pain’s not there. He said he loves her, but he’s way too calm. So either he didn’t love her, or she’s not dead. But, after listening to him for a couple hours, I’m not sure which.” “Did she really go off the bridge?” “I listened to his 911 call at least ten times. He sounded plenty scared. Like I said, his story doesn’t work for me, but I don’t have a clue what might have really happened. However one thing is for sure: if Charlie got killed for nothing, there’s going to be hell to pay. “One other thing,” Bob went on. “I went to command and asked them to assign you to this case. We need your perspective, and there may be lot more diving. Hope that’s all right with you.” “Yeah, that’s fine.” “Great. Keep me posted, and I’ll call you if anything changes.” “Roger that.” Gabe put the cell phone back in his pocket and sat transfixed, staring at his empty coffee mug. Would those two kids fake a death? He placed another call, this one to his dive tender. “Jim, I need a favor. Get the gear and meet me tonight at the river. Ten should be late enough.”
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“Are you nuts? After what the captain said, you want to go against orders and do a night dive in that current?” “It’s always night down there, man. Look, we have to find Charlie and that girl. I can’t do it alone. Are you in or not?” “Okay, but you could be making a career decision for both of us. If I do this, you owe me. Big time.”
2200
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The compressor was running smoothly. Gabe sat on his bench while Jim helped him adjust the five-legged rubber harness, called a spider, that held the Aga mask in place. Jim patted him twice on the shoulder, and without speaking Gabe got up and backed down into the river. Jim kept the umbilical taut so the current would not add additional strain. Gabe picked up the line running out to the buoy line and pulled himself down into the dark swirling water. On the buoy line he dropped a couple feet, paused, closed his eyes, and repeated his pre-dive prayer. Then he said to Jim, “Online, descending.” “Roger that, descending. Be careful.” Next came the part Jim couldn’t ever know about: the reason for this off-the-books night dive. Blessed—or cursed; he was never sure which description fit best—with a special gift, Gabe could make the dead “talk.” It only worked underwater, but he was able to get information no one else possibly could. And he could create light through the blackest water and really see what the darkness held. In order to use his gift and keep his secret, Gabe had to dive alone. Now growing numb
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with cold, he reached up to the side of his full-face mask, loosened the wing nuts securing the com-wire, and pulled it off the mask. Then he shouted, loud enough to literally raise the dead, “Charlie Evans, awake!” A ball of pearl white light flashed from Gabe’s outstretched hand, allowing him a clear view of the bridge remains strewn across the river bottom. Gabe’s stomach tightened when he saw Charlie’s twisted corpse in the wreckage. “Oh, man,” he said softly. Impaled on the twisted steel of the old bridge, what was left of Charlie Evans stared back at Gabe through the frigid water. A misty white radiance emanated from Charlie’s body, taking luminescent human form. As Gabe watched, horror and shock overwhelmed Charlie’s ghost as he realized his own demise. Gabe moved in, closing the distance between them. “Oh no. This can’t be real, can it?” Charlie’s spirit asked. “I’m afraid so. Can you tell me what happened?” “Looking for the girl. Couldn’t find her. Beams and boulders, wires and snags. Got tangled. There was a flash, then . . . but how did you . . . how can you?” “It’s a long story, man. I’m just glad I found you.” “I’m dead, right? That sucks. There’s so much I need to do. Carol and the kids—” Gabe’s heart ached as he grasped for the right words. “They’ll be okay. I promise.” “Not just okay. Loved and protected. Just like if I’m still there.” Charlie’s face twisted in agony. “Promise me.” The last thing Carol needs is a guy like me, Gabe thought. But what he said was, “I promise. I’ll look out for them. Don’t worry.”
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An intense glow flared in Charlie’s eyes. “Not good enough. They love you. You have to be the one. Give me your word.” Gabe saw two blinding white lights coming down river behind Charlie. “We’re running out of time. They’re here.” “This is so wrong, Gabe. I’m counting on you.” He glared into Gabe’s eyes waiting for an answer. The right answer. “Whatever I can. I promise.” Gabe felt an ache as though he were the one stabbed by the steel beam. How could he— “You’ve got another problem,” Charlie said. “Look behind me at the new bridge. There’s nothing holding up that pier.” The pier was hanging off the bridge with its base fifteen-feet above the river bottom. As they watched, it bounced as trucks went over the unsupported span. Before Gabe could comment, Charlie pointed toward the two bright lights coming toward them. “What’s that?” Gabe saw the panic in Charlie’s eyes and tried to assure him, “It’s your time, Charlie. It’s okay. They’re here to take you home.” “No! Not yet. Stop them. I’m not ready!” In the brilliant light, two six-winged angels appeared, now on either side of Charlie, who again tried to speak, to protest. Their light grew brighter. Gabe covered his eyes until the painful intensity passed. When he reopened his eyes, Charlie and his angels were gone. Now the oppressive, heavy blanket of dread returned, leaving him with only Charlie’s silent, mutilated corpse. Heartbroken at the loss of his best friend, alone and freezing cold, in water black as the inside of a coffin, Gabe sank to his knees and moaned like a wounded animal. When Gabe reconnected the com-wire, Jim was frantically trying to reach him. “Gabe, are you all right? Talk to me!”
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“Jim, pick me up. I’m done.” He was exhausted and stumbled back to the buoy line as Jim pulled in the umbilical. On the surface, Jim looked distinctly unhappy. “I tried to tell you we’ve got company,” Jim said quietly and nodded toward a big, unhappy man standing in the rain. Rain pounded them. Captain Brady, his uniform soaked, stood on the bank. He began to yell even before Jim could get Gabe to the bench. The rain stung as it hit Gabe’s face. He covered his eyes and squinted to focus on the captain. How did he find out we were here? “Are you out of your mind?” Brady yelled as rain dripped from his nose. “What are you two doing back out here after I specifically ordered you not to go back in the water? Get this gear back to the dive locker, and I want you both in my office at oh seven hundred. Is that clear?” “Yes, sir,” Gabe answered. “Jim is not . . .” “If he was stupid enough to come out here with you he most certainly is. Both of you. Oh-seven hundred.” “Captain, there’s something you need to know,” Gabe attempted. “Oh-seven-hundred and not one minute later. Understood?” Brady snorted. It could have been fire.
0730 State Police Barracks
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“I take full responsibility,” Gabe said after listening to the captain yell for a full thirty minutes. He and Jim were standing at attention in the captain’s office. Beyond the glass office walls, staff tried to
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look busy and avoid staring, but Brady’s shouting carried beyond the glass door and windows. They had rarely heard or seen the old man this angry. “That’s it? You take full responsibility for disregarding a direct order? And would it be too much effort for you to tell me why?” The room was cluttered, dimly lit, and in need of a good cleaning. A package of nicotine gum lay open on the desk, and by the way the captain was fidgeting, he was obviously a man in need of a smoke. He picked up two of the tabs and chewed vigorously. The pause in his shouting gave Gabe a chance to plead his case. “Captain, I’ve been trying to tell you . . . there’s another issue. I made the second dive to confirm what I discovered on the first one.” “Okay, I’m listening.” “At least one of the piers has scoured out. It’s hanging off the new bridge, fifteen feet above the bottom. You could drive a truck under it. That bridge could collapse any minute.” “What?” “There’s nothing left holding up that bridge span, just big holes in the mud where the footing should be. That kind of damage takes years, Captain. I told you about the shaped charges. I wanted a better look, and there’s a web of wires and charges down there.” “You said the charges had electric blasting caps. How can they be set off without an electric current?” Brady asked. “I’ve been thinking about that. Maybe there are some kind of tripwire detonators that work underwater. The only way to find out is to keep diving. If Charlie was murdered, don’t you want to know who and why?” The Captain pulled the nicotine gum out of his mouth and smashed into a piece of paper as though squashing a bug. Then
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he slammed his fist on his desk and turned away from Gabe and Jim. When he finally turned back, he looked tired, defeated, and his voice was soft and an octave lower. “This has gone way too far.” “What do you mean, sir?” “Fifteen years ago, the bridge inspection team was called to do an inspection on the old steel bridge after it collapsed, and they lost a diver. I don’t remember his name. The body was never recovered. Word came down that the area, both bridges, was now off limits: too dangerous. Only a special team of divers allowed.” Brady swiveled his chair to stare out the window. In the yard below a color guard raised the flag while a bugler played the call to colors. Brady waited. When the flag was up, he turned back to Gabe and Jim. “When that girl went missing, what could I do? We couldn’t wait days or weeks for someone to come up from Dade County. How would I explain that to her parents or to the press? “So I ignored the SOPs when Charlie asked permission to dive and told him if he thought he could do it, he could make the dive. I sent him to his death. I should have known he was too gung-ho to wait for back up. How can I ever face his wife?” Brady looked back out the window into the training yard below. The color guard was gone, and squads of students were forming for physical training. “We have to stop this, Gabe. We have to stop this and make sure Evans is the last man we ever lose on that bridge. Meet me at my house tonight and bring Nick Doyle. We’re going to need his EOD team to clear the explosives before we do anything else. There’s more to this story. I’m going to regret it, but I have some things to show you tonight.” He wrote the address and handed Gabe the note. “Best keep this between us for now. I’m afraid the gators are going to be coming faster than we can outswim them.”
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“Yes, sir,” Gabe answered and looked at Jim who looked equally perplexed. “He had kids, didn’t he?” Brady asked. He shook his head, and Gabe couldn’t tell if it was from disgust, sadness, anger, or all three. As they left his office, Gabe heard Captain Brady swear under his breath, “What have we done?”
1030
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Charlie, you don’t know what you’re asking. Gabe turned into Charlie and Carol’s neighborhood. I love your family, but I’m not the one to fill your shoes. If they ever found out the truth about me, they’d have me committed. He pulled the truck to the curb and took a few deep breaths to calm himself in the same way he did to begin a dive. “Help me,” he said softly as he sat, eyes closed, waiting. He turned off the truck. Carol Evans met him at the door and buried her head in his chest and sobbed. He held her gently and waited. She eased away, blotted the tears, and led him into the kitchen. A tall, lean, gray-headed, mustached man in jeans and boots stood up from the table and offered Gabe his hand. “Tom Bright,” he said. “Carol’s dad.” “Captain Bright,” Gabe said and took Tom’s hand, remembering the tall man was a retired Texas Ranger who looked every inch like the real deal. His family helped start the Rangers, and their history goes all the way back to the Alamo Still drying her eyes, Carol excused herself and left the two men at the antique oak table beneath the rustic wagon wheel chandelier. Bright poured coffee, then sat. “Terrible thing,” Bright said. “Charlie was a fine man. I couldn’t have hand-picked a better partner for Carol. Got any idea what happened?”
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Gabe put down his cup. “River bottom is covered in junk steel from an old bridge that shouldn’t be there. No viz. You can’t see the inside of your mask, and the current’s running like a prop blast. If that’s not enough, I found shaped charges still wired into a circuit. Not much chance of detonation without electricity, but until we know what happened it’s better to eliminate any possibility of setting one off. He was diving scuba, no safety line or umbilical. In that mess, anything could have happened.” “Would your SOPs allow that?” Tom asked. “No, sir, not at all.” “Then why?” “The girl’s family put a lot of pressure on him to recover the body. Like they thought he was going to rescue her. I was on another project, and I guess Charlie decided not to wait. He called it in, and our captain gave him permission to dive. But it was a bad call.” “You said you found shaped charges. Have you ever used them?” “Oilfield platform salvage projects. Also helped salvage a couple old steel bridges like the one we’re diving on,” Gabe answered between sips. “If done right, using explosives is a lot safer than sending guys with torches. I never wanted to be the guy making the last cut on a bridge, just before the whole thing comes crashing down.” Before Tom could respond, Carol returned, picked up the coffee pot, and asked, “More coffee?” Her red hair was brushed, green eyes dried, and face freshened. Even with a heartbroken expression, she was still a stunning woman. Gabe smiled then shook his head. “Will you dive again?” Tom asked. “Sounds like a nightmare down there.”
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“We have to know what happened. Our captain shut us down, but we’re meeting him tonight. Hopefully he’s going to change his mind. But I’ll bring Charlie back regardless. I promise.” “Oh, Gabe, be careful.” Carol swept her hair from her eyes and looked at him sadly. “Charlie wouldn’t want you risking your life. If it’s too dangerous, don’t dive again. We can wait until the current goes down and diving is not so bad.” “We can’t ignore the bigger issue. That bridge won’t wait. It could collapse at any minute. Finding Charlie is important, but if that bridge falls in we could have another Minneapolis or West Virginia on our hands.” “I understand, Gabe,” Tom said. “It’s a bad situation. Just be as cautious as you can.” “I appreciate your concern,” Gabe said staring into the bottom of his coffee mug. “How are the kids doing?” He looked up at Carol and thought about Charlie’s last request. How will this broken family ever be whole again? Carol put down her cup and stared at him. “Thank goodness my dad is here. He’s been keeping them sane. Emily is really sad. Paul is angry, looking for someone to blame.” “I’m angry too. And if there is someone to blame, I promise—” Tom raised his hand as though stopping traffic. “Go easy, Gabe. One of the important things I learned from forty years in the Rangers is don’t get mad. Get smart and get a conviction. Anger brings tunnel vision, and then we miss important details. If there is someone to blame, don’t let your anger help him get away with it.” “Thank you for the advice. It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. Sorry it’s under these circumstances.” Gabe saw the goodness in the man and felt the loss and pain.
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20 | Jon Coon
“Anything I can do to help, just ask.” Tom put a hand on Gabe’s shoulder. “Roger that. There’s nothing my guys won’t do for Charlie.” Gabe stood up. Tom shook his hand with a solid grip. Carol hugged him and held close to his arm. “No more tears,” she said as they walked to the door. “Charlie couldn’t stand cry-babies. We’ll get through this and get on with life. I’m not going to spend months or years crying over something I can’t change.” “It will take some time, Carol. Let the healing come at its own pace. Call me if you need anything.” Carol was still on his arm and pulled him closer. “Gabe, there was a reason you and Charlie were best friends. Next to my dad, he admired you more than anyone. Please be careful. We couldn’t stand to lose you too.”
Ghost River PADI.indd 20
10/16/19 9:04 AM