Ghost River by Jon Coon (best non fiction books of all time TXT) 📕

“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 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.

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.”

“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

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 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