The Last Dive

By David Geiman and Dave Geiman

When the body of a friend, the deputy sheriff in the neighboring county, is found dead in his car, his widow calls Sheriff Redd Herring to help. But when Redd's investigation takes a dive into international territory, he quickly discovers that his routine procedures won't suffice.

Did a liaison with a high-priced hooker go fata

• Language: English
• Publisher: Whaler Books
• Release date: Oct 17, 2022
• ISBN: 9798986738321

David Geiman

Author David Geiman is a business person, farmer-rancher, adjunct professor, small-time philanthropist, and sponsor of a leadership development and current affairs program at Western Colorado University.

Book preview

Part One

Megan had been looking forward to the dive trip for months. Work had been stressful, and several of her workmates at the hospital in Maui had had family issues, so Megan had taken their nursing shifts. She was worn out. And truth be told, even after two years, she couldn’t understand how her best friend, Sandy, could have just up and left town without letting her know or saying good-bye. Admittedly, it had been a terrible time with all of the accidents and deaths, but still.

The first two days of dives were wonderful. The little dive center was known to only a small number of experienced people. It was run by an Aussie, a quirky but competent guy with a ponytail, as well as sporadically volatile instructors and guides. Two of them fell out over a girl, got into a fight, and didn’t show up to work four days before the end of Megan’s booked time there.

The owner was apologetic and agreed to refund her money and even give her free days on her next trip, but that didn’t help to salvage this vacation. Obviously, she couldn’t go out without a boat and an instructor, so she moved to another dive center. And this is where it all started to fall apart.

1

The Body

Charlie Allison was found wearing boxer shorts and a T-shirt in the back seat of his SUV, legs folded to fit the seat, as if he had decided to make himself comfortable while dying. His skin was tinted the tell-tale cherry-red that results from severe carbon monoxide poisoning. The windows were all down, and the vehicle had run out of gas. The other bay in the two-car garage was empty.

Charlie was the deputy sheriff of Rockingham County. Only forty-two, he had a wife and two teenage boys. He had returned home from Hawaii where he had visited with his only sister just two weeks earlier.

His wife, Sarah, found his body. She was just arriving home from an extended nursing shift at the hospital that served their rural Virginia community. She had left home at 8:00 the evening before to cover for her friend Beth, whose mother had fallen in her apartment in Richmond. Beth needed to arrange for temporary in-home care, or get her mother into a short-term nursing home. Charlie’s sons had spent the night with school friends.

Charlie’s official county vehicle shouldn’t have been in the driveway. That was the first sign of trouble. Sarah opened the electric garage door to the empty bay. Charlie’s own SUV had been backed in as usual to allow more room for the car doors to open when both bays were in use. As she drove in, she noticed the windows were down on the SUV, and she heard the ignition system chirping, the way cars do when the key is turned on and the engine isn’t firing.

Sarah immediately backed out. With the garage door still up, she walked inside far enough to see her husband’s body in the back seat. As a nurse, she knew dead when she saw it.

A torrent of conflicting emotions washed over her. First, the horrific fact that her husband was dead, and of an apparent suicide, which made no sense. If the suicide made no sense, then someone or something must have killed him. Then a sudden jolt. If her husband was dead, maybe she was in jeopardy as well. She backed away from the SUV, got in her car, locked herself in, and backed out of the driveway. She closed the garage door with the automatic opener and called their friend Reddford Herring, the sheriff in the neighboring county.

Herring was working in his garden that morning. There had been a stretch of unseasonably warm dry days, and he was clearing away the over-winter mulch so that the soil could dry out for early potato planting. He answered on the third ring and listened carefully without interrupting as Sarah explained what she had found.

When she finished, he spoke. Sarah, I am dreadfully sorry. I can’t imagine it either. Now, listen closely. I’ll be there as soon as I can. In the meantime, it will be best if you call Thurston, but tell him I am coming over, strictly as a friend. I hate it, but you’ll probably have to wait there until Thurston or his deputies arrive. Where are the boys?

She told him about the boys’ sleepover. It was 10:00 a.m., and they weren’t due back until mid-afternoon. Herring thought for a moment. Sarah, don’t go in the house. Just wait in the car. The carbon monoxide could have seeped into the house. I’m going to hang up now, so you can call Thurston. Call me back if you want someone on the line while you wait. I’m on my way.

Herring left his garden fork and shovel by the garden gate, dashed into the house, and stepped out of his dirty work clothes into fresh jeans and shirt. He double-checked that his gun safe was locked before getting in his car. He was leaving his official weapons behind because today he would be there as a civilian.

Herring arrived at the Allison’s house forty-five minutes later. The driveway was blocked with police and rescue vehicles. An ambulance was backed up to one garage door. And a long ramp was being positioned at the other door to load the SUV in which Charlie’s body had been found.

White-suited attendants huddled around Thurston and Sarah. Herring walked up the driveway, and Sarah immediately ran to him. He pulled her close and held her. She had struggled to be brave and self-controlled up until that point, but now she broke down in sobs against her close friend’s chest.

Conversations paused until Sarah regained her composure. Thurston spoke first. Redd, thanks for coming. We have a team in the house, and we’re going to take Charlie’s vehicle to our compound. I can bring you up to date, but I think we ought to do what we can for Sarah now.

I agree. Sarah, you don’t want to stay here tonight, do you?

I don’t know. No, not tonight, I need to go tell the boys. Redd, you know he didn’t do this. You know he didn’t.

Sarah, I can’t imagine him doing this. Is there a note?

The team hasn’t been in the house long, replied Thurston. They’re looking.

Sarah, I can take you and the boys to my place over in the valley, but that’s a long way away. Is there a friend or a family member, someone you can stay with near here tonight? Or we can get you a couple of rooms at the hotel, or up on the mountain, Redd offered.

No, I can stay with Carol, where my boys are now. Can I go in and get some clean clothes at least?

I’m sorry, said Thurston, but I can’t let you in until our team is done. We’re being thorough, and that’s procedure.

I can’t even go into my own house? asked Sarah, a little desperately. I understand, I understand. I can borrow something from Carol. Redd, do you mind giving me a ride or following me? It’s only five minutes away. I’m worried that the boys might hear from someone else, and I need to be with them.

Redd, if you want to drive her over in her car, I’ll send someone in a cruiser to pick you up, offered Thurston. When you get back here, I’ll fill you in on what little we know.

Herring drove with Sarah slumped against the passenger door, tears rolling down her cheeks.

Oh, Redd, what am I going to do? What am I going to tell the boys? They loved their dad so. I just know he didn’t do this. He couldn’t have. I just can’t believe this.

These questions and feelings are familiar to law enforcement in the case of many suicides. By contrast, in some cases there is no surprise. Sometimes suicide is just a final stage in a drama that has been tearing a family apart for some time. But with Charlie, the shock and incomprehension were deserved. Herring would talk with Sarah about this later, and would ask Thurston if he had seen any warnings. But for now, as far as he knew, there had been no signs.

Herring offered to go in with Sarah, but she said she wanted to talk to the boys alone. She would call him later. He left her at the door of her friend’s house and walked back out the driveway as a cruiser pulled up.

By the time he got back to Allison’s house things looked normal. The ambulance and the tow truck with the SUV had departed in the fifteen or so minutes he had been gone. Both garage doors were closed.

It was a single-level brick ranch, built in kind of an H-shape with the garage extending toward the street on the left. Herring and the deputy who brought him back entered through the garage, into a utility room that had an exposed set of coatracks and shelves, and a washer and dryer. It opened into the center of the house, a kitchen and family room area. At the rear of that area was a door into a large master bedroom.

On the right-hand side of the house, a hallway led to bedrooms for each of the boys, and a multi-purpose room with a sleeper sofa that could be used for guests. This room was primarily set up as an office for Charlie. The house had been chosen from a set of plans that featured the separate sleeping areas—a nice arrangement for a house with teenage boys and their loud music.

Herring saw that a set of sliding glass doors and all of the windows had been opened, and several oscillating fans were positioned to completely ventilate the house. Thurston was just coming out of the master bedroom when he spotted Herring. He motioned for him to wait, said a few words to someone still in the bedroom, and pointed Herring to the back door. They stepped outside. The house was set back from the county road, against a small wooded lot and a field beyond.

What are you finding? asked Herring.

That’s just it. I didn’t want to say anything to Sarah until I had time to go over it, but there is a note.

No, said Herring. I can’t believe it. I saw him a few weeks ago. He was fine. He was headed to Hawaii to see his sister. Did he seem different to you? Was there something going on?

Okay, slow down. I don’t know of anything that was going on. Sometimes you don’t know, but there were no signs, other than some preoccupation since he got back from Hawaii. He told me he was concerned about his sister’s health. Nothing else.

So what’s in the note?

I’ll show you in a bit. It’s in a bag to preserve any fingerprints, but first let me tell what it looks like in the bedroom. It looks like he had gone to bed. The covers are messed up. But the problem is the covers are messed up on both sides of the bed. It looks like someone was in the bed with him. And there is a bit of a perfume smell on the sheets. No stains from sex, it doesn’t appear, but it seems pretty obvious some woman was in that bed with him.

How do you know it wasn’t Sarah, from the night before, or before she went to work last evening?

Our guys are checking, but Sarah’s toiletries and perfumes, the limited ones she has, are on a counter in a little dressing room area by the bathroom. There is nothing there that smells like what’s on the sheets. It’s quite strong and different. It’s almost like someone wanted us to know she had been there.

Wow, that’s strange. What about fingerprints?

We’re dusting everywhere. So far it just looks like his and Sarah’s and the kids’. At least there are four sets of prints that keep showing up all over the place.

You have all of the fans running to air things out. I haven’t worked a monoxide death for a while, but I don’t recall having to go this far to clear up the air.

Thurston grimaced. That’s another weird thing. The carbon monoxide detectors had all been unplugged from the wall sockets. They didn’t have battery backups so they wouldn’t have gone off. We’re checking for fingerprints, but they are quite smudged on all of them.

You’re right. That is quite weird, but how does that relate to the fans?

Oh, sorry, well, the carbon monoxide level was high all over the house when we went in. I would have expected the level to be high in the garage, depending on when the car ran out of gas, but it was higher in the house than I would have expected, unless this house is super tight and the engine ran a long time. Of course, as you know, if you’re in a tight space and with enough concentration, carbon monoxide can kill you in less than ten minutes.

So far none of this makes any sense. What are you thinking happened here?

Thurston hesitated. "Well, what it looks like, is that Charlie was in bed with a woman who wore strong perfume, at some time after Sarah left for work. He may or may not have had sex with her. But when he got out of bed, he evidently unplugged all of the carbon monoxide monitors, went into the garage, started the SUV, crawled in the back seat, and fell asleep and died."

And the note? You said you found a note?

One more strange thing. It’s typed, which almost always means someone else wrote it, but it doesn’t seem so this time. You’ll see when you read it. And he signed it.

2

The Note

To everyone I love,

I am sorry to all of you for what I am about to do. It is not your fault in any way. I know that typing a note may seem like a poor excuse, but I feel too unsteady to write something. I have betrayed all of your trusts in me, and I am ashamed and sorry. I have done awful things. I love you all. Good-bye.

Charlie

Herring looked at Thurston. What do you think? Did Charlie write it? Does it sound like him?

I don’t know, replied Thurston. Sarah would know better. He was a pretty straightforward guy, but I don’t know how, or if, that applies to a suicide note.

Is his computer still here?

It was in his office. We found the note on the desk. There was even a pen lying beside it that seems to match the ink of the signature.

Where’s it now?

We took it for analysis. We were worried about getting fingerprint powder on the keyboard. We’ll check for prints. Also on the paper and pen.

Herring stepped back inside and peeked into Charlie’s neat, well-organized office space. He motioned to Thurston to join him. How well did you know Charlie—personally, that is? Did you socialize with him, know his family?

I don’t really encourage socializing with my team. I mean, I don’t actively discourage it, but it sometimes leads to pettiness over assignments and promotions. I try to limit social stuff to the baseball leagues and charity things. We used to do picnics, but someone would always get a little drunk and that looked bad to the public, so we stopped. I was impressed with Charlie, though. He was capable, diligent, professional. He wasn’t after my job. I always thought he was a good family man.

Thurston paused. Actually, I still think he was a good family man. I don’t understand the perfume and messed up bed in there. You knew him pretty well, didn’t you? You guys are a few years apart.

Herring smiled at the reference to his twenty plus years of age over Charlie. Well, I don’t know if you know this, but my wife, Mary, taught Sarah in high school and followed her career through college and nursing school. Mary was a bit of a mentor to her. Sarah had a tough family life growing up, but she got past it. I’d been a friend of Charlie’s since he and Sarah became engaged. Good people, like you said. We’ve stayed in touch.

Mary had suddenly dropped dead in her kitchen three years earlier, but she had taught school up until she was diagnosed with a rare form of cancer. She and Herring had not been able to have children of their own, but Mary had cherished her relationships with her students.

What a mess, said Thurston. Do you have any advice on how to handle this? With Sarah, I mean? I guess I just have to man up and show her the note and tell her what we found. I can’t understand or believe it.

Yes, you’re gonna have to tell her. Did you have Charlie working on cases that could have deeply depressed him? Was he assigned to anything that would make enemies capable of setting this up? Once you complete the autopsy, and look at the information you have from examining the house…

We have a constant run of meth lab arrests, but nothing that stands out. We have a couple of deputies who are focused on heroin, fentanyl, coke. But that sort of stuff wasn’t on Charlie’s plate.

What about the woman that was supposedly in bed with him? How do you plan to broach that?

I already have the guys out questioning all of the neighbors to see if they saw anything unusual. This house is a little off of the road, so you would have to be watching to see cars coming and going. Most people pull the shades and sit in front of the TV every evening, or a computer. So I don’t think much will come from the questioning. Still, you never know. Maybe there’s someone who was out walking a dog or something.

If he had sex, the autopsy might tell you something, unless he showered.

We’ll have to wait on that. I’m not about to put out a bulletin asking for a woman to come forward. That’s for sure.

No, said Herring. If there was one, and she had anything to do with this…well, she wouldn’t respond.

"I’m going to call Sarah and see if we can meet to talk. I need to do this alone, but I’ll call you afterward and tell you how it went, and have her call you if she wants to. I guess I’ll have