Page 133 of Concrete Evidence
Craig’s phone sounded, the bugle battle cry. “Would you believe it’s Shipley?”
Roden crossed his muscular arms over a broad chest. “Put it on speaker.”
Craig obliged and answered the phone. “Hey, did you drive home?”
“Yes. Needed to check in on the family.”
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah. I needed to make an appearance. By the way, have you told the senator about your gambling and the trips to rehab weekends?”
Avery wanted to scream, but instead she kept her contempt of Shipley quiet.
“I took your advice and chose not to. He’s stressed to the point I’m afraid he’ll have a heart attack. Jake’s in jail for the murders, which is a comfort, but the senator needs a few days to get past the murders and the compromised dam.”
“Good decision. I’ll be back there in the morning. Media has torn him to pieces, and he needs our support. Marc said he had an update. Do you know anything about it?”
“They don’t include me on those discussions.”
“Maybe leaving you out is for the best. Take care of yourself.”
Craig ended the call and peered at Marc. “What are you thinking?”
“Shipley is lying, and we need to find out his role. I want to see the three dam inspection videos. Why do the first two show a well-constructed dam?”
74
MONDAY MORNING MARC WOKEto the reminder of how a life storm had shaken his world in the last two weeks. He’d attended his father’s funeral and learned he had a sister, a beautiful and intelligent young woman who’d opened his eyes to their father’s change of heart. The man Marc had referred to as contemptible mended his past mistakes by claiming a spot in Tessa’s life and repairing his relationship with Mom. Time for Marc to put aside his pride and forgive his father... his dad. The change would take time, perhaps, the rest of his life. But Marc had to begin somewhere.
As a kid at church camp, he’d asked Jesus to take away his sins. A pastor at the same camp said to be forgiven, one must forgive, but Marc couldn’t bring himself to reconcile with God the Father and his earthly father. Over the years, loving God had been easy, but not Abbott Wilkins. But now God needed every part of Marc’s life, withholding nothing.
In the bed of an estate home that whispered grandeur in every corner, Marc ended the feelings of bitterness toward the man and asked Jesus to help him. Holding a grudge against anyone only hurt the person refusing to accept that humans made mistakes. He refused to allow bitterness to destroy his life.
So many matters marched across his mind. Unsolved murders. A hurricane. A stress fracture in a dam that poured a reservoir full of water into thousands of acres. Attacks on Avery, Roden, and his mother. Suspects who were innocent. People who believed they’d gotten away with death and destruction.
All tragedies in their own right. But good things journeyed into his mind too. Mom survived a sniper’s shot. He enjoyed his new role as a big brother to Tessa. And a growing attraction to Avery, one both of them felt.
Marc strained to hear rain splattering against the outside balcony. Not one drop. The amazing sound of silence. While water continued to rise in some areas as it flowed down to the Gulf, the cleanup could begin. He longed to begin the cleanup on the case, but the likelihood of it happening today had risen like floodwaters. This morning, he and Roden would serve Ross Archer’s search warrant. A step further in the investigation.
Grabbing his phone, he checked texts and emails. Last night he’d viewed the three dam inspection videos and sent them to the FIG for their expertise. He also requested more information about his father’s death. This morning, a response provided much-needed answers. On the day Dad supposedly died of natural causes, he and Shipley had lunch at a popular restaurant in Fort Worth. Further investigation indicated Dad had paid the bill. How clever of the killer to drop cyanide into whatever Dad was drinking. From there, Dad drove to a grocery where he exhibited signs of a massive coronary. Marc forwarded the findings to Roden and asked to meet him in the media room.
Roden joined Marc on the balcony in jeans and bare feet. The isolated spot had become their safe place to discuss the case.
“I requested a search warrant for Shipley’s phone records and to mirror his devices,” Marc said. “Should have it after we see Archer.”
“Shipley could have followed your father to the grocery and snatched his phone and gun then.” Roden leaned on the balcony railing. “Has anyone fingerprinted your father’s car?”
Marc shook his head. “No need until now.” He typed the request to Fort Worth’s police department.
“You know, chances are Shipley wore gloves to break into the car. But we can hope for a fumble.”
Marc glanced up. “The grocery store has security cams. I’ll make the request.” After typing, he looked at the time. “It’s seven forty-five. He could arrive now, and I’d be fine.”
“I wonder where he’s been hanging out?”
“Good questions. I don’t want him out of our sight.”
Marc’s phone alerted him to another text. “This is from the FIG.” He read enough to capture Roden’s attention. “The first two videos done by Bruce Ingles are identical. Looks like he faked the second video log by developing it before the dive, then switched it with the one he videoed during the first dive. My guess he used a microSD card. And duplicated the original.”
