Sunken Graves, Alan Lee [all ebook reader .txt] 📗

“Why…” Jennings head swam and he stopped to regroup. “Why would Gibbs keep it a secret?”

“I don’t know. He might’ve been doing the right thing but it bit him. Maybe Peter is such a train wreck that he could collapse Chief Gibbs’ reputation and career. You’d have to ask Gibbs.”

“Wish I’d known this before I met with Gibbs.”

“About what?”

“I told him the case against Lynch should be reopened.”

“Oh hell, Jennings.”

“Everyone’s terrified of Lynch so I went straight to the top.” Jennings made another connection and it nearly knocked him over. “And two days after I met with Gibbs, two cops pulled me over and threatened to kill me if I didn’t back off. I assumed Lynch had done it. But maybe it was Gibbs.”

August cursed and drank some coffee.

Then, “Who pulled you over?”

“Guy named Hudson.”

“I coulda guessed that. Listen, Jennings.” August set his empty mug into the sink. “This world we live in, it isn’t fair. And this is one of those times. Gibbs has been doing this forever, longer than you’ve been alive. He’s the chief of police and he’s old and powerful and his cops love him. One of his son’s a judge and the other’s a rich lawyer, and so they get to do what they want. Their family is a forgotten secret and I bet they’ll fight like hell to keep it that way. All Gibbs has to do is ask one of the cops in his good ol’ boy club to mess you up and they will, no question asked.”

“He’s a murderer! He beats his kids! I won’t do nothing.”

“You were in the military, Jennings. There’s something called a tactical retreat.”

“You mean close my eyes and pretend he isn’t hurting people.”

“I mean, don’t die. You’re no good to anybody buried. The wheels of justice grind slow.”

Jennings held up his hands, like, What’s that mean?

“It’s a misquote of Wadsworth—the mill of God grinds slow but grinds exceedingly fine. If God grinds slow, then you do too. Means you get up tomorrow and you do your best and you don’t die. You grind it out and eventually Lynch makes a mistake.”

“I don’t have a lot of time. Lynch is after a fellow instructor at the school.”

“After her?”

“Pursuing her. Wants to marry her. If he’s a killer and I can’t go to the police about it…what do you expect me to do?”

“For one thing, don’t let them get married. He only hurts women who can’t complain. And remember, you’re no good to her dead.”

Jennings scrubbed a hand through his hair and made a growling sound. “We’re not solving anything and I have class.”

“Before you do anything…aggressive, run it by me. You get hard evidence or wild ideas, let’s look at it together.”

Jennings provided no answer other than a grunt.

At his car, Mackenzie August paused to look at the school grounds. There was a chance his young son would attend Valley Academy one day.

But not if Peter Lynch still terrorized the place. The man was in the business of ruining beautiful things. He was already rattling Daniel Jennings, that was obvious. The boy was so young and the injustice ate at him, a trait August liked but might prove fatal.

He wondered what would break first. Jennings’ sense of duty, or Lynch, or Jennings himself.

25

Friday. Breakfast at Waffle House on the far side of Salem.

Francis Lynch arrived first in a black Acura. Police Chief Buck Gibbs parked beside him in a Ford Ranger, his personal vehicle.

“Don’t know why you make us eat here.” Gibbs slammed the truck door.

“Because of your proclivity for grease. And it’s outside your jurisdiction so we won’t be pestered.”

“Seems like you always eat nice except with me, Judge.”

“Think of it as nostalgia. We ate eggs every day growing up.” Francis got the door.

“Eggs are cheap.”

“Halcyon days.”

They selected a booth in the back, away from the windows and closer to the clatter of the griddle. Francis ordered an omelette and coffee, Gibbs the biscuits and gravy combo with coffee and OJ. Neither recognized their waitress, a woman who’d been in front of the men twice for crystal meth charges. She’d been treated fairly, she thought, and wouldn’t contaminate their food as she did some cops.

Gibbs sipped his coffee black. “Hear from Peter?”

“I always do when he’s excited.”

“What’d he tell you about?”

“The new girl,” said Francis.

“Daisy something.”

“And the teacher, Daniel Jennings.”

Gibbs grinned without humor into his mug. “His name you know.”

“Peter mentioned him twice and then I happened to meet him by chance. Peter and his desperate need for a foil.”

The heavy frown crevice between Gibbs’ eyebrows deepened. “The hell is a foil?”

“A reference to literature. A character to contrast the hero. What I really mean is, Peter retains his pathetic need to pick some alpha male to prove himself against,” said Francis.

“An alpha male with one leg.”

“Still. You know how Peter is with his devotion to the myth.”

“The myth?”

“That his biological father was a war hero. That his genetics are more than trailer trash. That’s why dashing Daniel irks him so much,” said Francis.

“I gotta piss. I’m always pissing.” Gibbs labored out from the booth.

“When was your last prostate exam?”

“My first will be after I’m dead, that’s a promise. Not all of us enjoy other men—”

“Yes yes, Chief, go piss.”

Gibbs went. Came back two minutes later. Sat and said, “I didn’t tell you—Jennings came to see me.”

“In what role?”

“He doesn’t know I’m Peter’s daddy, if that’s what you mean. He knows Peter’s harassing him and he said he wanted the Kelly Carson case reopened.”

Francis sniffed at the dramatic irony. “Poor Jennings went to the wrong man.”

The waitress brought their food, clunking the heavy plates, and she poured more coffee.

“Poor Jennings is trying to deep-six our family.”

“No, just Peter. Clearly he doesn’t know Peter’s makeshift parentage.”

“Makeshift? You know why we ate eggs every day and fished and hunted for our food? We were broke,” said Gibbs. “I was nineteen, working at the jail, and I didn’t have to raise you boys.”

“I beg your pardon.” Francis