Sunken Graves by Alan Lee (life books to read txt) 📗

Jennings and Hathaway sat. Gibbs hooked a thumb under his belt and his other hand absently pressed against a spot on his hip, like it hurt.

“Whose car got hit?”

“Mine. A Tacoma.”

“And you think Peter Lynch did it? Doesn’t seem the type,” said Gibbs.

“Yessir. He’s taken an interest in me. In us.”

“He’s done that before. What’s your name?”

“Dan Jennings.”

“Jennings. Kin to Dennis?”

“My father.”

“I knew him. Years ago, good man. This your wife, Dan?” said the chief and he smiled.

“My colleague, Daisy Hathaway.”

“Daniel and I work together and he needed a ride. I’m mentioned in the note.”

“The note?”

“Yes sir,” said Jennings. “Were you involved in the Kelly Carson investigation four years ago?”

“I was the chief then, that answer your question?”

“I think that case should be reopened.”

Gibbs sat. He set his hands on the desk and held them up, demonstrating he held nothing. “There was no victim and no crime. Hard to have an investigation without those, Dan. Not that I wouldn’t like to nail Lynch to the wall.”

Jennings found some courage—nail him to the wall. “There was a victim and crime but they were sealed behind a nondisclosure. And I know for a fact he has other victims.”

“I’m listening.”

“I teach at the Academy. I teach his son Benji, who told me Peter beats him.”

“We tried that last time. Both boys clammed up. Claimed their daddy never touches them.”

“He told me different,” said Jennings. “Peter came to my classroom and threatened me. Soon after, he threw a brick through my window and trashed my truck.”

Gibbs picked up his phone and punched two numbers. Into the receiver he said, “Thornton? Bring me that report on Dan Jennings’ truck soon as you finish,” and he hung up. “You know it was Lynch?”

“The video surveillance is inconclusive. Looks like him. I’ll get it to you. But he left me a message.”

“What kind?”

“For one, a dead squirrel.”

“God almighty. A dead squirrel?”

Hathaway wrinkled her nose. “You didn’t tell me that part. Gross.”

“And this.” Jennings laid the note on his desk. Gibbs didn’t touch it but he slid on his reading glasses. Scanned it. Glanced at them and back down.

“Staff Sergeant?”

“Yessir. I was in the military. Peter was fascinated by that.”

“Military man like your father.” Gibbs pointed. “And you’re the…lonely and lovely Ms. Hathaway?”

Daisy said, “Mr. Lynch calls me that, yes. He makes passes at me.”

“What football game is this?”

“Last Friday, in Salem. Ms. Hathaway and I were together.”

“And Peter was there?”

“Yessir.”

Gibbs nodding. “Apparently watching. You two an item?”

“No sir.”

“Seems to think you are.”

“Mr. Lynch is jealous of Daniel. He told me as much,” said Hathaway.

“Can you fingerprint that?” Jennings nodded at the note.

“Can and will. Who’s touched it?”

“Only me. And only at the edges."

“Sit tight.” Gibbs left the room. Came back wearing latex gloves and picked the note up by the corners.

While they waited, a forensic tech came in and fingerprinted Jennings for comparison. The chief returned without the note.

“We’ll know something in a sec.” He lowered into the chair and sighed. “Where’s the animal carcass?”

“I threw it away.”

“Got anything else for me to use?”

“No sir. The rest is hearsay and it isn’t criminal.”

“Let me hear it.”

“I witnessed him buy off a parent to avoid a lawsuit and bad press. I know he bullies the school’s dean and he fires teachers and coaches he doesn’t like.”

Gibbs leaned back in his chair and laid a hand on his bald head. The other hand went to his hip. “You’re right, Dan, that’s not criminal. We already know he’s an asshole. You might get him on workplace violations or civil infractions but he’s a helluva lawyer and it’d never see court.”

“That’s what happened with Kelly Carson.”

“I can’t talk much about that, Dan. But that was going to be an uphill battle for her, the poor girl.”

Carson had been in and out of rehab. That’s what Gibbs meant—she wouldn’t be a reliable witness. Hard for a judge or jury to trust her.

The chief said, “When they figured out some kind of settlement, the police were left with nothing. A bad feeling, let me tell you, investigating a man when the floor drops out. The victim, the evidence, and the crime vanish? That’s a hard day.”

The tech returned and laid the note on the chief’s desk. Jennings could see powder residue on the surface.

“It’s clean, Chief. Got a few partials but looks like they belong to Dan Jennings. Nothing else. No hairs. No fibers. The handwriting could be analyzed but it’s intentionally scrambled. We can run a GraphJ, if you want. I made photocopies.”

Gibbs nodded and the man left.

Jennings ground his teeth. He’d been banking on fingerprints.

“No luck. Doesn’t mean he didn’t write it,” said Gibbs.

“But I can’t prove it.”

“And that’s the only way we score points.” The chief glanced at the clock on the wall. “Dan, Daisy, I have a meeting in five. Anything else you have, tell it to Officer Thornton.” They stood and Gibbs returned the note to Jennings. “Email me the videos, Dan. Anything else comes up, call the department. We’ll get this sonofabitch one of these days.”

“He hits his kids, Chief."

“I made a note. I’m talking to CPS before I leave, but that’ll be tough sledding. We know going in the boys won’t talk.” He picked up a file and walked them to the door. “Don’t go places alone. If you’re scared, call 911. If you see something, try to record it.”

“I’m not giving up,” said Jennings.

“Me neither, partner. This is what I do.”

15

Peter Lynch had acquired much of an entire vale in the Blue Ridge Mountains nestled between two ranges along the border of Roanoke County and Craig County. He spent two years buying property on either side of Route 740 in Bennet Springs, and the next two building a luxury enclave on the thousand acres. Construction was ongoing, currently on a new stable near the outdoor shooting range he’d built for his boys. Behind the range, half a mile from the homestead, was a plot of land where no one went, warned off