The Truth Will Drop: Carter Peterson Mystery Series Book 5 Read online

  “I hear you. Letting an engine do some of the work sure beats having to use your back muscles all day long.”

  Everett pursed his lips as he nodded, adding more wrinkles to his ruddy, razor-stubbled face. “When you … when you, uh, go out on the water, it can be miserable. You don’t have any respect for it, well, sooner or later you’ll learn respect for it. You know, uh, you work hard enough you can make a living. And that’s all you’re going to reap, anyways, is a living.”

  I was about to pick Everett’s brain on his knowledge of recent shipping traffic in the area when Sarah walked back in the room. “Everett, I’m going to have you follow me down the hall. You can take a quick shower, then we’ll get working on that back of yours.”

  “Oh, yuh, yuh, OK,” he said and ambled off after Sarah.

  I couldn’t help but smile at how well she’d done, landing our first opportunity to get close to Moray’s operations without arousing suspicion. We’d still have to be careful, but being out there in a boat local authorities were accustomed to seeing would go a long way in keeping our identities and intentions under wraps.

  * * *

  I heard voices in the hall, letting me know Everett’s massage therapy session was over. I’d spent the past hour jotting down questions to ask him, hoping to get some insight into what he knew without saying too much about our intentions.

  I slid my chair back from the dining room table---just in time to see Everett wave, parka zipped and ready to leave. “Guess we’ll be seeing you folks tomorrow,” he said on his way toward the front door.

  “Uh … yep, OK, Everett. Have a good evening.”

  “Good night, Ev,” Sarah said as he stepped out into the harsh night air.

  “Wish you’d given me a heads-up before sending him on his way,” I said as Sarah came back inside and locked the front door. “I was hoping to ask him some questions before he left.”

  Sarah walked toward me and handed me a piece of paper with a few lines written on it. “Give me a little credit, will you? I’ve been doing that for the past hour.”

  I bit my tongue. “All right. Good. What have we got?” I asked as I looked over her notes.

  “The first one is a website that shows the movement of shipping traffic all around the globe, in real time. Everett said he goes on there a lot, just for fun.”

  “Nice. Hopefully, it has a search function.”

  “Sure does,” Sarah said. “He’s familiar with our ship, too. Said he’s seen it out on the river before.”

  “The Sandakan Sun?”

  “Uh-huh. I have to confess … I broached the subject with a little white lie. I told him Brian loves ships, and was thinking about becoming a mariner.”

  I waited for her to take a seat at the table before saying anything more.

  Sarah looked pleased with herself. “He’s taking us out on the Piscataqua tomorrow morning. We’re meeting him at ten, down at the public dock. There’s a freighter due in a little after eleven. Not our particular ship, but at least we’ll have the opportunity to watch Moray bring one in to dock. Maybe we can learn a thing or two.”

  I leaned back in my chair, impressed, and a little irritated. “Were you careful not to tell him too much?”

  “Of course. I told him I wanted to take some good pictures of a variety of ships and tugs for my son.”

  “Do we have a handle on who Everett knows, yet?” I asked.

  “He said he knows most of the local fisherman, but keeps to himself. Apparently, he doesn’t have much of a social life. Said he can’t remember the last time he had a real conversation with any of them.”

  I crossed my arms, leaned back, and looked up at the ceiling. “Doesn’t sound right to me, considering we found him sitting in the local fishing community’s watering hole.”

  “He told me he goes to The Ferry Landing a few times a week, sits in the same chair, has the same two drinks, and goes home. He said no one ever bothers him while he’s there.”

  “Kind of sad, really.”

  “You know, that’s what I thought at first,” Sarah replied. “I had him pegged as being a lonely old guy, but he seems to be perfectly happy doing his own thing. Said he enjoys the solitude.”

  “Yeah, I guess we tend to project our own fears on what we see around us. You know, make wrong assumptions.”

  Sarah gave me an odd look. “Are you saying you’re afraid of being alone?”

  “Not necessarily,” I replied. “But, I can’t imagine it would be all that much fun, either.”

  “Aww … you don’t have to worry about getting old and being alone,” Sarah said. “I’m not going anywhere, handsome.”

  I smiled. “Good to know.”

  “Oh, I almost forgot the most important part of my conversation with Everett. I’ve got to say, this was a little uncanny. OK, so, he told me a story about an experience he had out on the river a couple years after 911 happened. He was still working as a lobster fisherman at the time.”

  “He said it was a typical day, mid-season, and he was hauling traps on the Maine side of the river, about a quarter mile down from the dock where Frenchie Taylor was killed. He told me there were always two motors running on his boat, so it was hard to hear much of what was going on around him while he was pulling traps.”

  Sarah paused for a moment. “Get this … the poor guy had a mild heart attack on his boat, because he was boarded by armed men. They took him completely by surprise.”

  I nodded. “BMD, right?”

  “Huh? I don’t know what that means, but it’s not what he called them.”

  “Well, they might have used a different name back then, but they’re a division of Homeland Security. Everything was in transition after 911. The Coast Guard went from being controlled by the Department of Transportation to falling under the jurisdiction of the Department of Homeland Security. Happened late in 2002.”

  “Yeah, Homeland,” Sarah said. “According to Everett, they told him he was fishing in a security zone. Then, a few weeks after he recovered from the trauma, they made him move dozens of his traps.”

  “I’ve heard more than a few stories about how overzealous those guys were back then. Believe it or not, they’ve mellowed out.”

  “What does BMD stand for?”

  “Borders and Marine something or other. Hold on,” I said as I grabbed my phone. “I’ll look it up.”

  “I think it sucks that they’d deliberately scare the living daylights out of someone who was obviously just trying to make an honest living.”

  “Yep, I agree. OK, here it is. Stands for Borders and Maritime Security Division. They break it down even further. Carol’s son must work for the MSST: Maritime Safety and Security Team. Says they’re a quick response force capable of rapid nationwide deployment via air, ground or sea transportation in response to changing threat conditions. Their mission is to provide shore-side anti-terrorism protection for strategic shipping, high interest vessels, and critical infrastructure.”

  “Sounds right,” Sarah said. “Anyway, Everett told me we need to stay to the far side of the navigation channel while we’re out there. That particular dock is a designated security zone.”

  “Sorry. What did you say?” I asked, distracted by the photos of the BMD’s intimidating fleet of special purpose boats.

  Sarah repeated what she’d said about the channel, then asked, “Do you think these guys are going to be a problem?”

  “Not if we’re careful,” I said, choosing to keep quiet about the fact they had weapons mounted to the bow and stern of every single response craft. I expanded the screen on one of the photographs, trying to figure out what it was about the boat that seemed familiar. “Do me a favor, would you please?”

  “What do you need?” Sarah asked.

  “Grab your laptop and play the Frenchie Taylor video for me.”

  Sarah left the room while I continued to study the details of the 25 ft. Safe Boat Defender-class vessel used by the BMD. The longer I stared at it, the more
convinced I became.

  We had a problem.

  “What is it? Did you find something?” Sarah asked as she returned. She dragged a chair over next to me, took a seat, and positioned the computer so we could watch the video together.

  I hit play then handed my phone to her, the expanded view of the vessel’s bow still on my screen. “Not sure. You tell me.” I watched the action unfold to within the last ten seconds or so, then hit pause and pointed. “Look. Right here.”

  Sarah leaned in while holding my phone up next to the computer screen. A few seconds passed before it hit her.

  She slapped her hand down on the table. “Looks like the same kind of boat.”

  Chapter 7

  I sat back and took a deep breath, the implications of what we’d just discovered unsettling.

  “What does this mean?’ Sarah asked. “Are we into something we shouldn’t be?”

  I squeezed my chin. I hardly knew what to think yet, never mind what I was going to tell her.

  “Carter?”

  “I don’t know. I … I wish there was more on the video. A conversation. A better view of the vessel. Something.”

  “Well, do we know whether or not it’s a government boat?” she asked, pointing at the screen. “I mean, do they even sell those boats to the general public?”

  “They do, but … these are military-grade vessels. Slim chance Joe Average would be floating around in one, shooting videos of operations within a security zone. The footage looks like it was recorded from mid-river. The state line runs directly up the middle of the Piscataqua, which places that boat on, or near, the New Hampshire side.”

  “In other words, you’re pretty sure it was Homeland.”

  “Not necessarily, but we can’t rule out the possibility, either.”

  Sarah ran her fingers back through her hair. “What do we do now?”

  I looked at Sarah. “We watch our step. Now that we have a clue who we might be dealing with, I think it would be best to avoid taking photographs from Everett’s boat. We just can’t risk drawing that kind of attention.”

  “Maybe we shouldn’t even go.”

  “We need to go. We just won’t give anyone reason to suspect we’re up to something. You’re sure you didn’t discuss specifics with Everett? Anything he might repeat, or inadvertently spill?”

  “Definitely not,” Sarah insisted. “I was super careful.”

  “I hope so, because we can’t afford to put him at risk. We haven’t exactly been straightforward with the guy.”

  Sarah walked around to the other side of the table and took a seat. “We can’t talk to Carol’s husband. We can’t talk to her son. We can’t talk to anyone who works for Moray. How on earth are we supposed to find answers for Carol, when the only people who know anything are off limits?”

  I looked directly into Sarah’s eyes as I tried to come up with a reply that made sense. “I understand this case seems unmanageable at the moment, but let’s take it one day at a time. Who knows? Maybe tomorrow’s boat ride will pay off.”

  “And, if not?”

  “Then we’ll have another sit down with Carol. Make her understand what we’re up against.”

  “Yeah, we can do all that,” Sarah said. “But, what’s she going say? OK, go ahead and spill the beans to my husband? She wasn’t honest with us when we took this case. Let’s face it. What she really wants is to find out what her husband and her son are hiding.”

  “I don’t disagree with any of that. All I’m saying is, sometimes a day can make a big difference. We’ve caught breaks before.”

  “Fine. We’ll go out on Everett’s boat tomorrow and hope for the best. Do we know what the weather’s going to be like?”

  I grabbed my cell. “It looked good last time I checked, but I’ll tell you, for sure, in just a second.”

  “Just wondering what to wear. You know, for when we’re standing out on the back of his boat, being held at gunpoint.”

  “Oh, you’re a real comedian,” I said. “According to this website, tomorrow’s going to be sunny, in the low thirties. Winds at five to ten miles an hour. Not bad for January.”

  Sarah nodded. “Chances are we won’t freeze to death, but I can think of a hundred other places I’d rather be.”

  “Look,” I said. “If it bothers you that much, I don’t have a problem with you staying here. I can handle this piece of the puzzle alone.”

  “Nope. No way.”

  I laughed. “Fess up. You don’t want to miss out on any of the action.”

  “No, that’s not it,” she said. “I just don’t want to have to give you all the credit if we happen to catch a break in the case.”

  Chapter 8

  There was no question in my mind Everett Shapleigh had spent his life on the water as we stood and watched him maneuver his 30 foot cabin cruiser toward Bridgeport’s public dock. The tide was coming in, which would have hindered the docking efforts of most boaters.

  He made it look easy.

  Everett slid the side window open as he approached. “I’ll swing her around to meet the end of the dock,” he shouted. “Go ahead and jump on in, soon as I get her close.”

  I gave him a thumbs-up, grabbed Sarah’s hand, and stepped out toward the edge. “Get ready.”

  Everett brought the craft within inches of the pilings and nodded, at which point we jumped down onto the aft deck.

  I saw Everett look back to make sure we were good to go, then heard the engine rev; we were under way. He turned and opened the glass door separating us from the comfort of the enclosure. “Welcome aboard the Juneau.”

  “Sure is a beauty,” Sarah said.

  “She gets me around,” he replied. “Don’t need nothing bigger. Come on in out of the cold.”

  I motioned for Sarah to step inside, then followed and closed the door behind us.

  “Wow,” Sarah said, her head pivoting around as if she’d morphed into an owl. “This is great.”

  Everett gave a single nod. “Have a look below, if you like.”

  “Thanks,” Sarah said as she disappeared down a short set of steps.

  “Nice day for a boat ride,” I said to Everett as he steered us toward the west.

  “Can’t argue with that. Been a good January. Ain’t missed a day on the water, so far.”

  I nodded. “You must go through a fair amount of fuel, being out here as much as you are.”

  “Well … diesel ain’t cheap, but she’s a sipper. Don’t burn too much, ‘less you horse her around. I take her nice and easy. Ain’t in no rush to get nowhere, anyhow.”

  Sarah reappeared. “It’s really beautiful down there. Way more room than I expected. Do you ever spend the night on the boat, Everett?”

  “I’ll sleep on her from time to time in the summer months. Not so much this time of year.”

  “Nice,” Sarah said. “I’m surprised how warm it is in here. This thing must have an excellent heater.”

  “Ayuh. Little electric unit blows warm air pretty good. Been out on the river while the mercury’s hovering ‘round zero degrees. She still keeps me warm as toast.”

  “I love it,” Sarah said. “I want one.”

  Everett stepped back and motioned for Sarah to come forward. “Grab hold of the wheel and give her a go.”

  Sarah didn’t hesitate for a second. “You’ll tell me where to steer, right?”

  Everett smiled. “Just keep her a little right of the middle, and do your best to avoid oncoming boats. Just like you was driving a car.”

  Sarah nodded, her clenched jaw and look of determination making me smile. She never shied away from new experiences. One of the many things I loved about her.

  “Figure we’ll head on up ‘bout five miles to where the river gets narrow, then turn and start on back. Should put us on a real good timeline to catch Moray docking that ship ‘round 11.”

  “Sounds good,” I said while watching Sarah’s attention moving back and forth between a pair of fishing trawlers. They appe
ared to be coming straight at us, no more than a quarter of a mile ahead.

  “That was fun, Everett. Thank you,” Sarah said. “She’s all yours.”

  “Done already? How ‘bout you, Carter?”

  I shook my head. “Thanks for offering, but I’m perfectly content being a passenger.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  “Everett, do you plan on spending the rest of your life here in Bridgeport?” Sarah asked.

  “I suppose. Never known nothing else,” he said, then went silent for a beat before continuing. “Always thought Florida looked like a good place to be. Might just head down there one day, though I haven’t made any set date. Why, when my body won’t go no more, maybe I will. We’ll take it a day at a time, and let it go at that.”

  I watched the first fishing trawler pass as Sarah continued to chat Everett up. I didn’t know much about commercial fishing, but figured it had to be a tough way to make a living. I liked the water, but preferred the comfort of being high and dry most days.

  We came around a bend in the river, a broad view of both sides of the shoreline opening up before us. It took a few seconds for me to realize we were motoring along the stretch where Carol Taylor lived, her home amongst the dozens dotting the banks of the waterway.

  “Carter, Everett asked you a question.”

  I turned and put my hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Everett. What was that?”

  “Them boats these Homeland fellas run around in,” he said while pointing out beyond the bow of the Juneau. “You remember who makes ‘em?”

  I was about to answer when I realized why he was asking.

  As I’d been gazing at the passing landscape, oblivious to what lay ahead, a Borders and Maritime Security Division vessel had been making its way down the river---the intimidating craft and crew of three now no more than 10 boat lengths ahead of us. “Uh … 25’ Safe Boat Defender,” I said while watching the oncoming vessel, trying hard to make my focus look casual.

  “OK, yup, yup. Look at them .50 caliber machine guns mounted fore and aft,” Everett said as the BMD muscle motored past. “Don’t ever want to get on the bad side of them boys again. Nearly scared the bejeezus out of me last time they got close.”