Dead in the Water (A Cal Murphy Thriller Book 4) (14 page)

“So that’s how it’s gonna be?” Johnson asked.

“It is if you don’t keep your big mouth shut,” Potter grumbled.

“My big mouth is shut. It’s yours that I’m worried about.”

Potter walked away and then shot a look back at Johnson over his shoulder.

“Watch what you’re doing, Potter,” Johnson said. “This might not end well for you.”

Potter turned back around and hoisted a middle-finger salute in to the air as he walked toward his truck.

“I’ve got pictures, you know,” Johnson said.

Potter froze. He then spun around and marched back toward Johnson. “What do you mean you have pictures?”

“I mean, I have pictures. Don’t even think about going off half-cocked on me. There are always consequences for your actions. And I’m here to ensure there won’t be any consequences, provided you keep your mouth shut. Understand?”

Potter nodded and then walked away without saying another word.

“Everybody has secrets, Potter,” Johnson said. “Especially you.”

CHAPTER 24

CAL MOANED WHEN HIS ALARM went off at 3:30 a.m. Friday morning. Kelly groaned and whacked him with a pillow, urging him to move faster to turn off the alarm. Within the next thirty minutes, Cal took care of the essentials—including a short shower—and was on his way to the world’s busiest airport for a 6 a.m. flight to New Orleans.

On Thursday night, Cal exhausted every idea he could think of to persuade Gatlin to let him return to New Orleans.

“A booster for hire is not an interesting story? Are you kidding me?” Cal protested to Gatlin the night before.

“It’s not nearly as juicy as a story about a kid with a brand new red sports car that his uncle gave to him—the same uncle who works as a janitor at the school,” Gatlin retorted.

Cal resigned himself to the fact that getting the story—and hopefully a book deal—required him to stretch the truth, if not ignore it altogether. Before he left the house, he pulled out a thermometer and shoved it next to a lamp. Then he jammed it in his mouth for a few seconds before memorizing the number on the digital display: 100.8.
Good
enough for me.
He left a message on Gatlin’s voicemail explaining that he took his temperature and it was 100.8 and he wouldn’t be coming into the office. It was all to assuage his conscience that would only feel guilty until he uncovered what was really going on in Saint-Parran.

***

Dixon walked to the airfield to meet Hugh Sanders. With all the harsh attacks on social media, Dixon changed his mind about his brazen attitude the night before and decided a low-key profile was best for now. Driving his new red sports car to the airfield to meet the Alabama coach wouldn’t do anything for his tarnished reputation.

Dixon arrived at 7:30, just in time to watch Sanders’ jet touchdown on the tarmac and taxi toward his hangar.

“Good mornin’, Dixon,” Sanders said. “Did you bring the video?”

Dixon nodded.

“Good. Coach Raymond is looking forward to seeing it.”

“Is he staying for our game tonight?”

“Unfortunately, he’s got some things to attend to in Tuscaloosa later today, like getting ready to play Kentucky.”

“He has to prepare for Kentucky?” Dixon asked.

“You have to prepare for everything if you want to succeed in life,” Raymond said as he approached Dixon.

“Coach Raymond, it’s nice to see you. Thanks for comin’,” Dixon said.

“Oh, there wasn’t much that was going to stop me once I heard what you had in your possession. I need to see it for myself. I’m sure you understand,” Raymond said.

“I didn’t know you coaches tattled on each other,” Dixon said.

“We don’t usually, but that’s only when it pertains to cheatin’. What you’re allegin’ is a far more serious allegation that needs to be dealt with immediately by the powers that be. That is, if what’s on that video is what you say it is.”

Dixon nodded. “It’s real. And it’s the only way Tre’vell convinced me to pull our commitment. We knew it was big when it happened.”

“So, let’s see it,” Raymond said.

Dixon pulled out his phone and began playing the video.

In the video, Baker was recording as he walked down the hall in the Bryant athletic offices. He took footage of jerseys and plaques of star Bryant players who had gone on to play in the NFL, the Bryant trophy case, the plaque outside Gerald Gardner’s office. Baker became silent as he walked down the dimly lit hall. One of the doors was cracked and a beam of light escaped into the hallway.

Baker moved to the shadows and aimed the camera in the direction of the crack, through which he could see one of the assistant coaches.

“That’s Harold Chambers,” Raymond said as watched the footage. “That snake has lied about me more times than I can count to steal some recruits from me.”

After a few moments, Chambers counted out ten $100 bills and handed them to one of the players. “I know it was hard to fumble that ball and cost you a touchdown, but I hope this makes up for it,” Chambers said. “You went above and beyond the call of duty.” The door then swung open and out walked Taylor Harmon, one of Bryant’s best running backs. He shot Baker a glance before the camera shook and went fuzzy and then black after Baker shoved his phone into his pocket.

“They’re point shavin’!” Raymond said. “Placing bets in Vegas against the point spread and giving kick backs to the players. That’s despicable. Who does that?”

“Bryant University,” Sanders said. “Those low-life thugs have no morals whatsoever. If they can’t pay their players from boosters, the coaches are bettin’ against their own team and makin’ sure they don’t cover the spread.”

“Son, you give me a copy of that video and I’ll make sure you have a scholarship next year at Alabama,” Raymond said to Dixon.

“Is that all? No other benefits?” Dixon asked.

“Take it or leave it. We’re the University of Alabama. You might be able to peddle this to some other team around here and get a scholarship. But don’t count on it after your social media fame yesterday. This is as good as it’s goin’ to get for you—it’s as good as it gets for any kid who wants to play for the best football team in the country.”

“Let me think about it,” Dixon said.

“If I don’t hear from you in the mornin’, you can forget about it. You got more baggage than a bleached-blonde Tennessee tramp and I ain’t got time to coddle you. So make up your mind and call me in the mornin’.”

Raymond thanked Sanders for the usage of his plane and walked right back to it, jaunted up the steps and closed the door. Dixon hadn’t even exited the airfield before the plane was airborne.

“Don’t let this opportunity slip through your fingers,” Sanders shouted at Dixon as he walked away. “It’s not every day that the head coach of the University of Alabama flies down to meet you.”

Dixon nodded and waved. He needed to think. If only Tre’vell were still here to tell him what to do, it would make his decision much easier.

CHAPTER 25

This time when Cal landed in the Crescent City, there was no Phil Potter to greet him. Cal was on his own this time—he preferred it that way. While Potter proved to be a useful guide, Cal felt he might have a better chance at uncovering what was going on if he went solo. He rented a Yukon so he wouldn’t stand out and headed south.

By the time he drove into Saint-Parran, it was nearly ten a.m. He pulled into the Lagniappe Café. He needed to see Gertie.

“Back so soon?” Gertie asked Cal as he walked in the door.

“Who told you I left?” Cal asked.

“If this town were a head, it’d be nothin’ but a giant mouth.”

Cal smiled as he took a seat at the bar. “Just couldn’t get enough of your coffee, Gertie.”

“Now, that’s a lie if I ever heard one.” Gertie turned over a mug and filled it up. “If you really flew all the way back just for our coffee, it’s on the house this mornin’.”

“That’s kind of you, but I’m here for another reason.”

“Oh? And what might that be?” Gertie asked as she wiped the counter.

“I’m looking for this guy,” Cal said as he dug his picture of Guy Lewis out of his pocket and showed it to Gertie. “Have you ever seen him in here?”

“Sure have. He was in here just the other day,” she said as she inspected the picture. “Terrible tipper.”

“You know much about him?”

“I know I’ve seen him in here on separate occasions wearin’ an Alabama hat and an LSU cap.”

“You sure about that?” Cal asked as he sipped his coffee.

“Honey, that’s about as odd as seein’ a two-headed alligator. There are some things that just ain’t right. And when you see somethin’ that ain’t right, you don’t ever forget it.”

“Does he come down here often?”

“No, just every once in a while. I don’t know much about him, but I don’t like him. He gives me the creeps.”

“And not much of a tip either.”

“Yeah, you tend to not forget those folks.”

“Thanks for your help, Gertie.”

“My pleasure, Mr. Cal Murphy. You take care of yourself now.”

Cal smiled and nodded before he tossed a five-dollar bill on the counter. If Gertie was going to remember him, it wasn’t going to be because he was a lousy tipper.

***

Cal climbed into his Yukon before someone tapped on his window. It was Phil Potter. He motioned for Cal to roll down the window.

“Back already? And you didn’t even call? Did you even think about how that would make me feel?” Potter asked.

Cal smiled. “You’re a big boy, Potter. I figured you could take it. Besides, we’ve got tight budgets these days. Haven’t you heard that newspapers are a failing enterprise?”

“Seriously, why are you here?”

“There’s still plenty to this story that I don’t have yet.” Cal winked at Potter. “See ya around.”

Cal looked ahead as he rolled up the window. He cut his eyes over at Potter, who stood and stared at him. Then he said loud enough for Cal to hear through the window, “Be careful out there.”

Cal didn’t acknowledge Potter as he put the vehicle in reverse and backed out onto the main road. Potter served a useful purpose for the first couple of days, but Cal needed to take control of his investigation without watchful eyes and a gossiping mouth accompanying him.

On the radio, Cal struggled to find anything that eased his mind. A looming financial crisis for the U.S. government, the threat of war in the Middle East, a dive in the stock market. Not that any of those things directly affected Cal. But immersion in the dark side of humanity always made him search for some ray of light. He changed the station and didn’t get what he was hoping for.

Hurricane Phyllis continues to strengthen in the Gulf of Mexico and is now a Category 2 hurricane with sustained winds of a hundred and five miles per hour. Right now, Phyllis is projected to make landfall late Saturday night. However, there’s also a front sweeping in from the east that is going to bring a lot of rain with it this afternoon. Officials have issued flash-flood watches in several parishes along the coast, including Toulon Parish.

Cal needed to work fast if he was going to gather enough information for this story and escape town ahead of the storm.

After a ten-minute drive, Cal pulled up to Lanette Baker’s house. She and her two sons dashed between the house and her car, lugging boxes and bags. Lanette barely acknowledged Cal when he said hello.

“You guys trying to escape the storm?” Cal asked.

“There’s always one brewin’ down here,” Lanette said as she walked toward the house. Then she stopped. “Well, don’t just stand there, Cal. Come make yourself useful.”

Cal followed her into the house and received the box she shoved into his arms.

“I’m afraid this isn’t a great time to talk, unless you want to help,” she said.

“I don’t have a lot of questions, but I do have a few,” Cal said.

“Fire away.”

“Did you find anything of interest while you were cleaning out Tre’vell’s room?”

“Like something that would make someone want to kill him?”

“Or anything that would help me get a better picture of who he was,” Cal said as he followed Lanette outside.

“No and no. I already told you everything you need to know about Tre’vell.”

Cal jammed the box into Lanette’s trunk. “OK, I thought I would ask anyway. So, where are you headed again?”

“A long way from here,” Lanette said as she turned toward the house again.

“Well, I’d love to send you a copy of this story once it’s finished if you’re interested—that is, if you have a forwarding address.”

“Why don’t give me your card, Cal, and I’ll contact you once I’m settled.”

Cal pulled out his wallet and dug out a business card for her. He watched the boys continue to work in silence. They avoided eye contact with him.

“Thank you so much for all your help. And again, I’m really sorry for your loss. I wish you all the best in your new venture.”

Lanette then stopped. “Cal, can I ask you a favor?”

“Sure, what is it?”

“Just drop it. I don’t want to keep reliving this nightmare. We buried my boy yesterday and I’d just as soon let him lie. You can write about what a wonderful young man he was but don’t go tryin’ to solve his murder. It’s only gonna make things more difficult for us.”

Cal nodded. He felt empathy for Lanette—but he couldn’t shake the feeling that she was hiding something more than just where she was headed.

Lanette said good-bye and returned to the task of loading her car. Before heading back to his vehicle, Cal looked inside Lanette’s car. A map rested on the front seat with a highlighted route from Saint-Parran to Huntsville, Alabama.

CHAPTER 26

BY NOON, THE SKY OPENED up and began dumping rain. Cal gritted his teeth as he opened the door to his truck and sprinted toward the door to the sheriff’s office.

Sheriff Mouton stood next to the receptionist’s desk as he looked over pages attached to a clipboard. He didn’t look up as he spoke. “What brings you in here today, Mr. Murphy? Did you find the murder weapon or get a confession out of someone?”

“Good afternoon, Sheriff. I’m wrapping up my story and I had a few more questions to ask you.”