A Spark of Death by Bernadette Pajer

Author:Bernadette Pajer
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Poisoned Pen Press
Published: 2011-09-13T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Sixteen

Three hours after descending into the cavernous depths, Bradshaw ascended to the surface and stepped into the fresh, relatively quiet air. By then, he was partially deaf and slightly hoarse from speaking over the constant thrum. Miller, a clever and boisterous young engineer with a full bushy beard, hadn’t really needed Bradshaw’s assistance but he’d more than welcomed the company. The meters had proved to be state-of-the-art and installing them therapeutic for Bradshaw. Afterward, he and Miller had gone on an inspection tour and found nothing out of place or tampered with, but that didn’t give Bradshaw the sense of relief he’d hoped for. If he’d inspected the lab at the university before Oglethorpe’s death, would he have found evidence that murder would soon take place?

Miller, however, had been relieved and satisfied with their findings as he’d walked Bradshaw to the elevator. He smiled and shook Bradshaw’s hand. “Did Dittmar mention the wheel stuck at the top of the falls?”

“I saw it. Odd the way it’s trapped above the waterline. It happened sometime last night?”

“Or maybe this morning. I saw a couple other wheels when I was fishing the lower river, no tires on any of them, about a quarter mile downstream. Looked as if they’d gone over the falls. Then at the top, there’s that third one stuck like somebody chucked it, like a ring toss at the county fair. Funny thing is, not one wheel was the same.”

“What? All different sizes?”

“Sizes and makes. Usually when a group of things come down the river, you can guess what happened. A logging wagon overturned, or a campsite washed away. But this morning, there were just those wheels.”

Three unmatched wheels. How? Why? Bradshaw walked around the brick power house to the restricted personnel-only section of the river’s edge. Here, the cement wall of the submerged dam formed a wide ledge a foot above the river’s surface. Excellent for observation. Excellent for vertigo.

Mind—over—matter. He put one foot in front of the other and moved several yards along the ledge until he was as near the brink as he dared. He breathed through the threatening panic, diverting his thoughts to the safe elements of his surroundings. Many trees had been spared during the construction of the plant, and in three years’ time the cleared places had filled with bushy undergrowth. With the late afternoon sun at a low angle, the bushes and trees formed a dark barrier beside Bradshaw. A pressing barrier. He turned to look directly at them, to tell himself there was nothing frightening about them. Shadows shifted and moved in the bushes, leaves fluttered then stilled. An animal, he told himself. A startled squirrel.

He turned to the river. The limitless blue sky, momentarily untouched by haze or clouds, offered nothing to grasp. Leaving a good foot of concrete between himself and the edge, he forced himself to study the river’s surface, which was deceptively smooth where he stood, like a sheet of dark glass. Occasional miniature eddies, swirling deep

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