by Jaden Skye
Under that was a letter from Greerson’s assistant.
The consequences of drilling there are enormous, dangerous.We’re looking at more than earthquakes, it’s massive human, animal and ecological devastation.
Obviously, Clint’s company, DGB, had been commissioned to do a massive drilling project. They were just ready to start. A few months before the project was to begin, there was trouble in Washington regarding it.
Clint had included all kinds of reports backing up his conclusions. There was a report on an explosion that left eleven dead and slathered Alabama’s beaches due to an oil spill.
There was big money here and big promises. The government was involved on many fronts. Clint’s reports could potentially affect millions of dollars and millions of lives.
There was a note attached to that report signed by Greerson.
Great research Clint. Let’s file this report for future reference. Take a break from research dealing with spills and faults.
Clint hadn’t gone along. Seemed like he continued unearthing more information. Immediately after that, he wrote and sent out another report.
Cindy looked carefully at the responses to his reports from people at the firm. In the beginning they were complimentary, commenting on his attention to detail and thoroughness. As time went on, there were more and more letters telling him to stop. Drop it. His reports were becoming hot potatoes.
Clint paid no attention, just continued on. They hadn’t been able to stop him.
Or had they?
It seemed obvious what had happened. Clint had pushed it too far. And they had gotten rid of him. They waited for a time and place that was convenient, a place, like Barbados, like the rough surf of the ocean, where it wouldn’t be clear it was a murder, where suspicions would not be raised. It was all too much for Cindy to bear.
She had to make sense of it all. She needed confirmation, needed to know that she wasn’t crazy.
Then it came to her. Greg. He would know. He would know for sure. She had to share this report with him, had to hear his opinion of it. What exactly were its consequences?
Cindy picked up her phone and dialed Greg. It rang for a long while. Finally, someone picked up.
“Hello,” a female voice answered.
“I’m sorry to be calling so late,” Cindy said, “just wanted to talk to Greg.”
Silence on the other end.
“Is he there?” said Cindy.
“No,” the voice sounded distant and odd.
“Can I call later tonight? Is tomorrow better?”
“Tomorrow isn’t better,” the voice sounded devastated.
“Is something wrong?” Cindy’s heart leapt.
“Greg died suddenly of heart failure, yesterday,” she said.
Cindy gasped. “Who’s this?”
“His sister. We knew he had a weak heart, but no one expected him to die. It wasn’t that bad. He was so young. It happened out of the blue.”
Cindy was silent.
“At least he didn’t suffer,” she said.
Cindy wondered what really happened.
“We’ll have a memorial later on,” said his sister. “He wanted to be cremated. Call in a week and I’ll let you know.”
Cindy was utterly, completely speechless. Her stomach started hurting badly, and she doubled over with cramps. Was Greg’s death her fault too? Had the company been watching him and seen him speaking to her? Would this have happened if she’d never called?
This was the third person that had been killed or hurt around Cindy. For a moment she wanted to let it all go, call a truce, go back to the company, take the check and give it all to Heather for Clint’s son.
Cindy lay down on the couch exhausted and shattered . The company was bigger than her, richer, stronger. It had ammunition she couldn’t even imagine. But she had something better on her side. Justice. She thought of the little Bible Tom Mallord had given her. Words from it flashed through her mind.
Whatever you do for the least of my creatures, you do for me.
Someone had to stand up for fairness and compassion. Otherwise, what was it all worth?
She would not back down, not be afraid any longer. She needed a voice of reason, a clear direction. She thought of Ann. Yes. Ann would know exactly what to do.
Chapter 18
Ann was laying in the hospital bed with her eyes closed when Cindy walked into the room. She’d developed a low grade fever and her recovery was slower than expected. The nurse told her that Frank had flown home for the night and would be back for the weekend. Ann opened her eyes, pleased to see Cindy, but then shut them again. She still looked exhausted.
Cindy put the fruit and cookies she’d brought on a table near the bed, sat down next to her sister and took her hand.
“Slow going?” asked Cindy.
“I’m getting there,” Ann managed to reply.
“The doctors say you’re doing well,” Cindy said, trying to be encouraging. “Once the fever goes, you’ll be ready for physical therapy. They might even discharge you in a few days.”
Ann nodded.
“These things take time,” Cindy said.
“Everything takes time,” Ann whispered. “Time is good.”
Cindy wondered how Ann could say that, laying here in pain.
“I’m so sorry, Ann,” Cindy said again.
Ann shook her head, as she always did when Cindy said that. She meant there was nothing to be sorry about.
“The report about the brakes came back from the police,” Cindy said quietly, to fill up the empty time. “They were definitely tampered with.”
Ann shook her head, back and forth again, trying to same something.
“What is it?” Cindy asked.
Ann lifted herself, came closer. “You were right all along,” she said.
Cindy didn’t know what she meant. Then she suddenly got it. “Right about Clint?”
Ann fell back down on the pillow and nodded.
Cindy’s heart swelled to hear that, to hear that.
Finally, she believed her, didn’t think she was crazy. She felt encourage to go on.
“Ann,” Cindy began, “I found a lot of troubling information. About Clint’s company. I have a report he wrote…I know it sound crazy, but I think he was getting ready to implicate them. And I think they got rid of him.”
Ann nodded.
“And I think that whoever got rid of him wants me dead, too.”
“Do you any proof?” Ann asked.
“Just one report he wrote. But it’s pretty damning.”
Ann nodded, eyes drifting in and out.
“What should I do?” Cindy asked. “Go to the police.”
Ann shook her head.
“The FBI,” Ann said.
Cindy’s eyes opened wide.
“It’s an international crime,” Ann continued. “You need the FBI. Go. Don’t wait.”
Ann’s words gave Cindy a chill. They also gave her courage, determination to go on. She squeezed her hand as her eyes drifted closed and she knew, once again, that Ann was right.
Chapter 19
Cindy’s meeting with Officer James E. Farnell at the FBI took less than fifteen minutes. Farnell was a big, heavy set, square jawed guy, who’d been through this a thousand times. Cindy brought all the information she had about Clint’s death, along with everything that had happened since then, including the company reports, and placed it all squarely on Farnell’s desk.
He sat there chewing on his bottom lip, examining the papers.
His eyes half closed, he peered at Cindy. “It’s all circumstantial,” he finally said.
Cindy’d heart dropped. “You won’t take on the case?” she asked.
“There’s no case here,” he said.
Cindy’s heart dropped.
“I’m not saying it’s not adding up. It’s interesting,” Farnell stuck out his jaw and tapped his thumb on it. “I need more. Something solid, something direct. You’re asking us to t
ake on an international oil drilling firm, with connections in Washington. This isn’t enough.”
“Help me out,” Cindy said suddenly aggrieved.
“Sorry,” Farnell said.
“Wait a minute,” Cindy got angry. “You’re telling me to just forget it?”
A little smile crept around the edges of her mouth. He liked her spunk. Cindy saw that.
“No, I’m not. I’m saying there’s not enough here to start an investigation.”
“What else do I need?”
“Get me the original Coroner’s report,” Farnell said. “I want to see it firsthand. Get me a witness. Who found the body? Who collected evidence? What did they find? And what about the crime scene?”
Cindy’s mind was racing. She pulled out her pad and started taking notes.
“The crime scene was in the ocean,” she said, tears suddenly filling her eyes.
“How do you know?”
That stopped Cindy cold.
“What kind of evidence was collected? I need the exact condition of the body, what exactly was inside it or outside?
“I’d have to go back to Barbados to get those kinds of specifics,” she breathed.
“So, go,” he said.
The second he said it, a jolt raced through Cindy. She knew it was right. It felt right. Yes. Barbados. Of course. She had to go back.
Cindy felt nervous, but excited.
“Can I keep in touch with you?”
“Send me evidence if you get it, and I’ll take a look.
And as far as all of your theories about DGB and the sudden death of Greg…”
“Hamden,” Cindy said.
He wrote it down. “Hamden, right…well, I’m not promising anything, but I’ll look into it,” he relented.
“I don’t know how to thank you,” Cindy said.
“Don’t thank me yet,” he said. “Let’s see what you come up.”
Cindy stood.
“One more thing,” he added.
She stopped and turned.
“If there was some sort of cover up down there, you might be walking into the hornet’s nest. If the local police were paid off, if they had a hand in falsifying evidence, then don’t go looking to them for help.”
Cindy swallowed, nervous. She hadn’t thought of that.
“But then…” she began, “who can I turn to?”
“Just keep your head low, get what you need, and come back,” he said. “But if you find yourself in any kind of trouble, get to the U.S. Embassy. And call me from there.”
Cindy’s heart pounded in her chest, as she wondered how badly all of this could go.
Chapter 20
Cindy raced home in Clint’s car, anxious to pack her things and catch the next plane she could to Barbados. The FBI agent was right: she’d never get the answers she really wanted unless she went back there. And no one else was going to do it for her. If she really wanted to solve this, to honor Clint’s life, if she really wanted to put this all to rest, she’d just have to go back.
The more she thought about it, The more she realized that this would also give her a chance to go back to where she and Clint had been so happy. She realized that a part of her had been longing for this—to be back in the place where they were happy, to be able to pick up where they’d left off.
She’d book a room in the same hotel, talk to the staff, see the Coroner, find out the exact condition of Clint’s body. All things she hadn’t been able to do before. She would go to the beach where he had gone surfing and tell him herself.
Cindy pulled into the driveway, anxious to get rolling and check the available flights. Excited, she ran to the door, opened it up and walked into the house.
A cold wave of fear gripped her.
The place was turned upside down. Tables were knocked over, a curtain torn, magazines scattered on the floor, her favorite vase smashed . Someone had broken in.
She ran into Clint’s study. All his files were gone - along with his computer.
Thank God she still had the thumb drive, and had left hard copies safe with the FBI.
She ran into the bedroom to see if her computer was gone too. She’d taken to keeping it under the bed, so she could reach for it in the middle of the night. Miraculously, it was still there.
Cindy immediately reached for the phone and called Officer Fenlen. To her great relief, he picked up.
“Someone broke into my house,” she told him immediately. “They grabbed all the files.”
Fenlen was quiet.
“I’m scared.”
“Call the local police. File a report. And get yourself to Barbados. I’ll inform the U.S. consulate that you’re coming. Stay in close touch.”
Chapter 21
Cindy booked the first flight that was available, a late night flight that was half empty, and leaving that very night.
When she got to the airport, she felt as though she were going back in time. She and Clint had also taken a late night flight, that left right after the wedding.
“It went great, it went great,” he kept saying, his arms around her, kissing her.
“I never thought we’d have such a wonderful time. And our families were also happy. My father and your mother talked a long time. The band was better than I ever thought it would be. And did you see Al dancing?”
Cindy had smiled and smiled. She was exhausted but completely content. She now had all that she had ever wanted. She couldn’t wait to get to the beach and lay together on the sand, away from everyone.
As they’d boarded the plane, Clint kept talking and laughing. He was probably a little high, she’d thought, from all the champagne.
“Do you have any idea how much I love you?” he kept whispering in Cindy’s ear, over and over during the flight. It was as though he’d climbed Mt. Everest and finally reached the top.
Cindy wasn’t sure why he loved her so much, but was happy to hear it, able for the first time in her life, to take it in. She was sure they had a lifetime of trips like this ahead of them.
Now she slept alone on the plane most of the way. It felt good being in the air, leaving the mess in the city behind. But she was also nervous about what lay ahead of her.
As the plane flew through the air, she dreamt of Clint. She dreamt that they were on their honeymoon, drinking champagne. They were back at the hotel, with soft ocean breezes soothing them. Then, out of the corner of her eye, Cindy saw a small, pocked marked man, carrying a tray with food for them. The tray was made out of the skin of dead snakes. Cindy shuddered and let out a little scream. The man dropped the tray and started running over the rocks, out to the shore, as the snakes slithered wildly all over the floor.
Cindy awoke suddenly on the plane and reached out for Clint’s hand, thinking they were still together. But the seat next to her was empty. She shook her head, turned and looked, and then fell back into a restless sleep.
“Prepare for landing,” Cindy was awakened by the sound of the stewardess voice over the loudspeaker. “We will be descending in about fifteen minutes. “
Cindy couldn’t believe they were about to land. She sat up and began to gather her things. Through the plane window she could see the early morning light begin to rise. A new day.
She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. She had no idea how much she’d wanted to be back here. She felt so close to Clint, returning to Barbados, as though nothing had changed, as though the world was stable and filled with joy.
The landing was smooth, and as the plane was half empty it took no time getting off. Cindy went down a shaky plank, got a cup of coffee to take with her at a nearby stand, and walked to the luggage rack to wait for her baggage.
Soon the turnstile began to spill out the few pieces the plane had carried. Cindy watched the passengers pick up their luggage in the still sleepy airport. Hers came last. She took it and went outside to get a cab.
As she walked to the taxi line, the warm, salty air washed over her, relaxing her muscles and bringing a smile t
o her face. With all that had happened, it was still wonderful being here. Cindy shook her hair out and let it fall loosely to her shoulders as she looked up at the sky. It was soft blue, with light clouds drifting playfully overhead. She felt so at home here in the Caribbean, as if this were exactly where she belonged.
As she waited a few moments for a cab, she wondered if she would get the same driver she and Clint had before.
She didn’t. A tall, thin young man, drove up. He got out of the cab, put her luggage in the back as she got in.
“El Barado Hotel,” she said.
Just as the driver on their honeymoon, this one stopped, turned around and looked at her oddly. “You sure?”
“Very sure.”
“You know where you’re going?”
Cindy wondered if all the drivers were instructed to warn travelers before taking them there.
“Most go to the West Coast,” He said. “There’s plenty of rooms available there.”
“I always go to the El Barado,” said Cindy.
“Always? Yeah? You like it there?”
Cindy didn’t feel like having a discussion, She wanted to get to the hotel.
“Let’s go,” she said.
He made a face, turned around, started the car, turned on the radio loud, and drove off.
“Can you make the radio lower?” she said.
“I like it loud,” he said.
The radio blared reggae music for most of the drive. Cindy leaned near the window and looked out at the little villages she and Clint had passed. Rows of sugar cane farms and tiny villages of single-story houses once again dotted the landscape. It was early, nothing had woken up yet and the villages seemed eerie, almost ghost towns, with barely one person to be seen.
In what seemed like no time, the cab wound up the narrow road, behind bushes and towering palm trees, to the El Barado hotel, nestled in the rocks, besides the ocean. And the beach that had claimed Clint’s life.
Everything seemed closed. The cab parked in front of the hotel and to Cindy’s surprise the driver tooted his horn loudly to let them know they’d arrived. Then he got out to get her luggage.
