Saturday Afternoon – Tick Springs Lake Marina
Waze gave her three routes to Tick Springs Lake: one hour, one hour, 10 minutes, and one hour and thirty minutes. She chose the shortest route. It was forty minutes into the drive before she began seeing damage from last night’s storm. When she reached Tick County, the destruction escalated to fallen trees, ripped roofs, and locals working with neighbors in teams to clean up the damage.
Before Dani rolled into the Tick Springs Lake Marina, Waze rerouted her twice, avoiding closed roads. Her A/C finally cooled and dried the sweat on her softball uniform. Once there, she scanned the marina: twelve boat slips, eight boats. A fuel pump nozzle lay abandoned on the dock. A sign read Toby’s Bait and Deli beside a bowed and twisted awning, four picnic tables. Fans spinning lazily overhead. The scene was rural, simple, and now deadly.
She changed behind her car door. Black ponytail tight, sweat running down her back. The blue TBI jumpsuit stuck to her like a wet rag. She pulled on heavy rubber boots. Sweat pooling instantly. She spotted a coroner’s van, engine idling, with drivers inside.
A uniformed deputy approached. Thirties with a GI-issue crewcut she had not seen since her Marine days, and the frame of a former linebacker turned local hero. Sweat poured from his red face.
“Deputy Steve Elliott,” he said, wiping his forehead with a wadded-up paper towel.
“Special Agent Dani York. Walk me through what happened.”
He nodded. “Storm hit hard around six last night. Rain. Straight line wind. Wrecked half the county. I started road checks after eight. Sheriff Poindexter asked me to check the marina for two missing men.”
He pointed to the truck. “Found that first. Couldn’t see inside. Then I walked down to the water to cool off. Something caught my eye. I slipped and went up to my chest in muddy water.”
Dani raised an eyebrow.
“My foot hit something solid. Then bam, my friend JJ’s head floated up between my legs. Staring. Scared the shit outta me.” He paused.
“Is JJ his name or initials?”
“Sorry, James Coleman is his name, but everyone calls him JJ.”
“Alright. Shut the marina down. This is now a crime scene. No one in or out without my okay. Understood?”
Elliott nodded. “Yes, ma’am. It’s just me and the sheriff in Tick County. We can call in volunteers or officers from Obion County if needed.”
“Start with volunteers. Use only those you trust. Tape off the entire marina.”
He hesitated. “Don’t have any. I can get rope.”
“I’ve got tape in my trunk. Use it.” She tossed him her keys.
Dani moved through the marina with deliberate steps, cataloging every inch. Her field training from Quantico kicked in. She shot ground-level photos, traced footprints in the mud, and noted unnatural drag marks. Something about the quiet bothered her, the calm after too much chaos.
She stepped toward the lake. A man warned her: “Careful. Steep drop-off there.”
She nodded, testing the edge. “How deep?”
“Sixty-five feet, center of the lake. Twenty close to you.”
Elliott jogged over to her. “Ma’am. I called in some folks to help secure the marina. What do you need me to do now?”
“That teenager over there taking pictures?”
“Yeah. Bert. Good kid. Working on getting Eagle Scout. Helps when we need manpower.”
“Make sure none of his photos end up on social media, Steve. I mean it.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll go talk with him right now.”
The coroner’s van contained a single body bag with the head of JJ Coleman inside. The head showed no bruising, but looked torn, like something primal had ripped it from his body. Looking closer, she found slices in the remaining flesh, exactly an eighth of an inch apart.
She snapped photos, zipped the bag, and told the drivers to stand by.
The Coleman family was already walking toward their cars. Dani intercepted them.
“Mrs. Coleman?” she called.
The woman turned. She was in her early fifties, with hair streaked with gray, and wearing a faded blue cotton dress. A large man flanked her, protective and wary. A teenage boy hovered behind them.
“I’m Special Agent York, Tennessee Bureau of Investigation.” She showed her credentials. “I’m sorry for your loss, but I need a few minutes, if you can.”
The man stepped forward, broad-shouldered, voice low and steady.
“She don’t need more questions today.”
Dani did not take offense.
“And who are you, sir?” Dani put on her friendliest, sympathetic smile. The man was big, towering over both Dani and Mrs. Coleman. His voice was robust, yet not menacing; it was more like that of a gentle giant.
“Hank Coleman. JJ’s brother.”
Dani softened her tone. “I understand, Mr. Coleman. But these questions are time-sensitive.”
They returned to the shade of the picnic table.
“Mrs. Coleman, can you walk me through yesterday?”
She spoke with a broken cadence, grief cracking each word. “JJ, he and me, we was sweethearts in school. The only boy I ever dated. We got married right out of school when JJ started construction. Ended up with his own woodwork shop. Those were good days, they was.”
This was more background information than Dani needed, but she did not interrupt. Bits and pieces often help an investigation.
Phyllis Coleman continued, “It took some time, but I finally got JJ to go to church with me. At first, it was only occasionally, but then the Word took hold, and he was hauling me to church more than I wanted to go. Next thing you knowed, he gives up carpentry and gets ordained. He was the best preacher ever. I’m partial, but others would say the same. He loved both the bad and the good. It didn’t matter what you done, he would pray with you, help you, and even give you all the money we had. Course that weren’t much.”
“Sounds like a wonderful person,” Dani interjected.
“Yes, he was. Yesterday, Otis called and wanted JJ to go fishing. It was strange too, calling in the afternoon. Fish don’t bite late in the day, specially when it’s hot, and yesterday was a scorcher. Also, there was a storm brewin’ and dangerous if’n it catches you on the water. He told me it don’t matter. Said Otis needed to talk about somethin’ bad, and if Otis needed him, he’d go.”
“Did you find out what the something bad was?”
“No. He called me about five-thirty. It was hard to hear him with the bad phone connection, but he said the fish was biting and not to wait supper. He said he almost had enough for a fish fry, but didn’t mention Otis. That’s the last I heard from him.”
“Storm hit hard about six,” she added. “Yellow-green sky. Tornado sky. Sirens blared twice. I waited till nine before calling the sheriff.”
Dani’s ears perked at that.
“Why did you wait so long?”
“I figured they took shelter somewhere to wait out the storm.”
She asked about Otis.
“We know’d him since we were all kids. He was always a runt and not very bright. Heard some people say he came from the shallow end of the gene pool, but that weren’t nice. When JJ was building houses, he hired Otis, called him an apprentice, and they been friends ever since.”
“Any enemies?”
“No one would hurt JJ,” she said. “At least not after he found God. Otis was a bit strange but didn’t have problems with anyone I know of.”
“Do you remember what your husband was wearing yesterday?”
“He had on a red t-shirt, jeans, and a ball cap.”
“Any insignia on the cap or shirt?” Dani asked.
“John Deere cap. Don’t think the shirt had anything but a small pocket, up here.” Her hand instinctively went to her left chest.
“What was Otis wearing?”
“Don’t rightly remember. Just saw him through the kitchen window.”
“Tell me about their boat.”
“JJ’s pride and joy. Mother Coleman bought it for him two years ago down at Bass Pro in Memphis. Called it his holy fish fry boat.”
“Do you know what kind it was?”
“It was metal. Gas engine. That’s about all I know about it.”
Dani looked at Hank. “Mr. Coleman, do you know what kind of boat it was?”
“Yes, ma’am. It was a Tracker Grizzly. Aluminum. Mercury engine. 17 footer.”
Dani thanked the family and told them she would keep them informed.
She spotted a camera crew heading for the Colemans and intercepted them.
A young reporter, blonde, heels, too much gloss, was already shouting.
“Mrs. Coleman! How do you feel about losing your husband? Can you comment on the…”
Dani moved fast. “Back off, now!”
“Ma’am, I’m Megan Daniels, Channel 4. Can you update…”
Dani pulled out her cuffs. “You’ve got 30 seconds, or I book you for interfering with a criminal investigation.”
The camera jerked downward. The reporter retreated.
“Steve!” Dani shouted. “Block the damn road!”
He nodded, climbed into his truck, and carefully sealed the entrance.
Dani stood at the water’s edge, sweat in her eyes, the taste of copper in her mouth.
Tick Springs was not just a crime scene.
It was ground zero.
