He blinked, and then nodded his head. “All right. I’ll do a tox test.”
“Good. How long will it take?”
“It’s a simple procedure. A couple of syringe stabs are all that’s needed to collect cardiac blood and urine. Then I’ll take a quick look. You can wait if you like.”
“You’ll find me right here.”
The doctor thrust his hands into his jacket pockets, as though they were punching bags. “But you should know that you’re wasting my time. Also, you’ve got a real issue with anger that needs to be addressed.”
I kept my mouth shut as he walked away. He was right. I was mad that Gary had died, pissed off with physicians who’d become callous from dealing with illness, and angry at hospitals for making too many mistakes. But most of all, I hated death.
Right now, what I could use was a good, stiff drink. However, that would have to wait. I didn’t want to miss the look on this doctor’s face when he had to admit he’d been wrong.
I didn’t wait long. His footsteps soon rang back down the hall, each tread confirming, You were right. I was wrong.
“Here are the test results, Agent Porter. As you can see, they confirm my initial findings. Dr. Fletcher died as the result of a heart attack.” His brittle voice clipped the end of each word with the precision of a surgical instrument.
“There are no traces whatsoever of mercury poisoning.”
How can that be? I wanted to shriek.
Instead, I bit my tongue. I bit it all the way home, not yet willing to concede defeat.
I pulled into the carport, surprised to find Santou’s vehicle still in the drive. Then I walked inside and poured myself a glass of vodka, drank it straight down, and waited for its magic to work. My body began to tingle. However, that wasn’t enough to do the trick.
I now tore through the kitchen cabinets as though possessed, driven by the urge to find junk food to eat. Blinking back tears, I savagely flung items off shelves, feeling more desperate with each passing moment, until I finally found what I’d been searching for—something in which to drown my pain. My therapy came in the form of Hostess Twinkies and cupcakes.
I swiftly gathered up all the boxes. But why stop there? I also grabbed ancient packs that had long been stale, as well as my hidden stash of Snickers and Mars bars. Balancing them all in my arms, I seized the bottle of vodka and went back outside, where I climbed the stairs to Marie’s deck. Once there, I proceeded to binge to my heart’s content.
I popped one Twinkie after another and inhaled the cupcakes. I didn’t even taste the candy bars as they effortlessly went down. Instead, I thought about what the doctor had insinuated—that Gary’s death had been partially brought on from being overweight. The good doctor could go to hell. I didn’t believe that for one frigging minute. In my heart, I knew the man had been poisoned.
I ate for Gary and myself until I thought I would burst, but still I didn’t stop.
What the hell. Someday when my metabolism gives out, I’ll start a regimen of throwing up. This is my memorial to you, Gary, I toasted, and washed down the last remnants of my two-week supply with a hefty swig of vodka. The combination tasted better than I would have thought.
I quickly passed the threshold of feeling sick to enter new, uncharted territory. Though none of this would bring Gary back, it did wonders for helping to numb my pain. The sun began to set as I poured myself yet another drink. Then I heard the crunch of Santou’s footsteps on the gravel, and guiltily hid all evidence of junk food wrappers and boxes under the bench, covered by a wayward tarp.
“Hey, chère. What are you doing home so early?” he asked while climbing up to sit beside me, where he caught a glimpse of my face. “What in the hell’s wrong?”
I polished off my drink. “It’s Gary. He’s dead.”
There. I’d said it. But what I hadn’t expected was the cascade of tears that now came bursting forth.
“Oh God. I was there when he died, Jake. The hospital insists it was a heart attack. But I know that it wasn’t! Somehow, someone infused mercury into his system.”
Santou’s hand gripped my arm so hard that his fingers dug into my skin. “What are you talking about, Rachel? Does this have anything to do with a case that you’re working on?”
My head began to spin, as I remembered that I’d decided not to tell him. Now there was no choice.
“We were looking into a plant that we thought was dumping mercury into the marsh. But we were ordered to stop.”
“And did you?”
“Yes,” I lied.
“Good, because that’s EPA’s jurisdiction.” He slowly relaxed his hold. “All right then, what are you saying? That there were needle marks in Gary’s arm? That he was injected without being aware of it?”
I suddenly realized just how ridiculous that sounded. “No, but all the symptoms were there. The shakes, sweating, dizziness.”
“Which are also indications of a heart attack,” Jake reasoned. “Not everything’s a conspiracy, Rachel. Come on. You know Gary wasn’t in the best of health. He had high blood pressure, was overweight, and drank too much.”
“I guess you should know about that last one,” I snapped, refilling my glass and swallowing my tears.
“You’re absolutely right,” Santou agreed, removing the drink from my hand.
“Hey! Give that back,” I sputtered, reaching for the tumbler.
“Uh-uh. I’m sorry about Gary. But I’m not going to watch you follow in his footsteps. I don’t expect you to become a teetotaler, but you’ve got to learn to put on the brakes. It’s time you acknowledged that you’ve got a drinking problem.”
“Not only is that totally ludicrous, but I need this right now like a hole in the head,” I argued, fighting to grab my glass.
“Oh yeah? Well your friend is dead, and all you can think about is having another drink. What’s wrong with that picture?”
My face began to burn, as more tears welled up in my eyes. Could Santou be right? Or was he enough of a bastard to turn his own problem around on me at a time like this?
“For chrissakes, Rachel. Let yourself mourn. Don’t drown your emotions in a bottle of vodka.”
He wrapped me in his arms and my protective armor cracked, so that I now sobbed as though my world had come to an end. I wept for Gary, and for the fact that Santou just might be correct.
Jake placed a finger beneath my chin and lifted my face to his. “Why do you drive yourself so hard, chère? What are you trying to prove, anyway? That you’re better than any other agent?”
“No. That I’m just as good.”
That was it in a nutshell. I’d been running as hard as I could all my life, hoping to justify my worth.
Jake pressed his lips to my forehead, and then directed my eyes to where a flock of wood stork flew silhouetted against the setting sun, their wings enormous white sails, their legs trailing like long, slender ribbons. The sight was so heartstoppingly beautiful that it turned into a bittersweet ache.
“That’s where you draw your strength from, Rachel. It’s the one constant in your life that will never change. Always remember to take shelter in nature when things become tough.”
Though I said nothing, I knew that Santou was wrong. My ultimate refuge was in the man sitting next to me. He’d become my best definition of home.
We continued to watch the birds until they disappeared from sight. Then his lips softly brushed against mine.
“I have to get to the airport, chère. I’ve got a plane to catch. But I’ll call you first thing in the morning.”
“Don’t go!” I said, suddenly filled with an irrational sense of dread, even while mortified to hear the words spill from my mouth.
Santou looked at me in surprise.
Oh, Christ! What was happening, anyway? I took a deep breath and tried to exhale all the insecurity that was starting to pile up inside. Gary’s death was hitting me even harder than I’d imagined.
“Of course I have to go,” Santou gently
responded.
“Why? Is there something else you want to tell me?”
I shook my head. “I just don’t want to lose you, is all.”
“You never will,” Jake promised. “Always remember that I love you.”
“I love you, too,” I replied. And then he was gone.
I went back into the house as a soft rain started to fall. Soon it turned into a downpour, its pellets beating on the tin roof like the rat-tat-tat of a snare drum. Once again, I felt the urge for a drink. Instead, I decided to do without one and prove Santou wrong.
Walking into the bathroom, I began to wash up. I’d splashed water on my face and lathered my hands, when I caught a whiff of something that made me feel sick. It was the same scent that had emanated from Gary as he lay dying.
What’s wrong with this picture? I once again heard Santou ask.
Only this time, it had nothing to do with vodka, but with garlic. Gary hated the stuff and would never have eaten anything containing it.
The odor wafted through the air, where it wrapped itself around me like a cat’s tail. I now realized that the scent had been lingering on my hands, and on my breath, for the past several hours. Either I was beginning to hallucinate much like my friend, the Mad Hatter—or this was Gary’s way of letting me know that he was still hanging around.
Sixteen
I woke up the next morning before daybreak. Actually, I’d never fallen asleep last night. I knew that I had plenty to do today. The most important of which was to force myself out of bed, so that I could take the first step. After that, everything else would be a piece of cake.
It was still dark as I climbed into the Ford and headed toward the office. Night and dawn lay entwined above me in a sensual embrace. It wouldn’t be long before the sun rose to send the night clouds scurrying away. I’d heard Eight-Ball refer to this moment as dayclean, when the world is made fresh and new again. Maybe so. But that no longer seemed the case. Not after the events of yesterday. One more life that I cared about had been taken away, and the world would never again be the same.
I unlocked my office and turned on the lights. Then I sat down and made all the necessary phone calls. It didn’t take long to notify Fish and Wildlife, along with what few distant relatives constituted Gary’s remaining family. After that, I made arrangements for a friend to take his horse. Plans for a funeral were simple. Gary’s will stated that he wanted no service, but merely to be cremated.
With all that out of the way, I next turned my attention to other matters at hand—like making sure that Gary’s death hadn’t been in vain. It’s while driving that I tend to think best. I got back in my vehicle and began to do so now, as I headed for points south.
I was still unwilling to admit that Gary had died of a heart attack. The question then was, what else could have caused his death? There were certainly enough people who’d be glad to know that he was gone—from Wendell all the way up to Gary’s boss.
I parked in front of the Fish and Wildlife office in Brunswick, and pulled out a ring of keys. They’d been part of Gary’s possessions, which the hospital had released to me yesterday. Trying each one, I eventually unlocked the building and opened his door. His office looked pretty much the same as before. Still, something felt the slightest bit off. Probably the fact that Gary wasn’t around.
I stepped over piles of books on the floor, marveling at the organized chaos. Fortunately, I knew exactly what I was looking for—the test results from DRG. His desk seemed like the natural place for them to be. I inspected the heap of documents that lay neatly stacked beneath his Crisis de Jour paperweight. However, no written reports concerning DRG were there. After that, I checked inside the drawers and scoured the desktop, but still found nothing. It was as if they’d vanished into thin air.
I’d had a slightly creepy feeling ever since entering this place. Now I realized what was wrong. It hit me like the proverbial ton of books on the floor. Gary’s office was just a little too neat. My skin began to crawl as I grew suspicious that someone had been here before me, probably looking for the very same thing.
I knew that Gary sometimes taped conversations on his answering machine. Maybe that would help provide some kind of clue. I rushed over, and pressed the play button.
Click, click. Click, click.
Wouldn’t you know? The tape was gone, too.
For chrissakes, think! I admonished myself.
Okay. There was one last place to look. Locking the office, I drove down the road, straight to Gary’s home. But first, I ran into the barn. Lucille was already gone. I made a mental note to visit her as soon as I could. Then I beelined it directly for his house.
Unlocking the door, I stepped inside. A lamp lay on the living room floor. It had been knocked over when Gary had fallen. I picked it up and put it back in place. Then I set about ripping the house apart. Or, in this case, actually making it neater. No matter. I still couldn’t find anything of importance. Forget about documents relating to DRG. There wasn’t even the slightest shred of evidence to suggest that Gary had ever planned to turn whistleblower.
Next I snooped around in his bedroom. Laying on the nightstand was a book that he must have been reading. How apropos—Alice in Wonderland. I felt as though I had also passed through the looking glass, and was now struggling to find my way back to reality.
As I picked up the book, something fell out from between its pages—a Rolodex card that had marked Gary’s place.
Harry Phillips
232 Cypress Road
Waycross, Georgia 31501
The name sounded familiar. Then I realized why. Phillips was the biologist who Gary had mentioned—the one who’d quit Fish and Wildlife in disgust, and retired to the Okefenokee.
Gary must have had this card out for a reason. My mind jumped to a dozen different conclusions, each of which made sense. But the important thing was that Harry Phillips might know something I didn’t. It was enough to make me drop everything and hightail it out to his place.
The Okefenokee was a good hour’s drive away, which gave me plenty more time to think. I used those sixty minutes well, recounting the fate of biologists who’d butted heads with the Service and lost. Their offices had been raided and important data seized, after which it had an uncanny tendency to disappear. The universal response had been for victims to either transfer out of Fish and Wildlife, or quit—all except for one biologist who’d committed suicide under the most suspicious circumstances.
I leaned forward over the steering wheel, urging my vehicle to fly even faster. We sped past mile after mile of bristly pine trees guarding a black ribbon of road that was slowly being swallowed by encroaching vegetation. It was while careening toward the swamp that I realized Santou hadn’t yet called. Damn the man. I should have heard from him by now. Not that I had anything important to relay. I just wanted to hear his voice again.
I punched his number into my car phone, only to receive no answer. Santou had promised to leave his cell on, knowing that this drives me crazy. However, I had little choice but to try again later. A dirt path that led to Harry Phillips’s house now came into view.
I drove toward a log cabin, which sat on the edge of a swamp composed of meat-eating pitcher plants, mating gators, and unstable peat bogs—the reason this place is nicknamed “Land of the Trembling Earth.” The door opened, and a man in jeans, rubber boots, and a denim shirt appeared. Bulky and dour, he could have passed as the bouncer at the local Swamp-A-Rama bar. A silver ponytail that looked as though it had been doused in eau de motor oil hung down his back. Phillips warily eyed me as I got out of the Ford and approached.
“Hi. I’m Rachel Porter, the U.S. Fish and Wildlife agent here in Georgia.”
I instantly regretted opening my mouth. For all I knew, Phillips was still pissed enough at the Service to take a pot-shot at me. Instead he gazed at the Ford, as though expecting someone else to emerge.
“There’s no one with me, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
“I figured Gary Fletcher might have come along.”
“Why? Did you know him?” I asked, a chill settling deep into my bones.
“No, but he called yesterday morning. Said the two of you were working on a case, and that he wanted to run some figures by me. Something to do with mercury, right? I’ve been expecting him to drop those numbers off. So, do you have them with you?”
I was about to answer when Phillips cocked his head and stared at me. “Hey, wait a minute. What do you mean, did I know him? What happened? Did he go and quit already?”
Maybe it was the sun beating down so strong that made me break into a sweat. “I’m afraid Gary died of a heart attack yesterday afternoon.”
But it was more than the heat, as my body began to swoon. The next thing I knew, Phillips was helping me onto the porch and into a rocking chair. A glass of lemonade was placed in my hand a moment later.
“Drink this. It’ll make you feel better,” Phillips gruffly instructed.
I took a sip. Mmm. He was right. The lemonade had a definite kick to it. Santou had said that one glass a day was acceptable. This would just have to count toward my daily allotment.
Phillips sat in the rocker next to mine, where the two of us squeaked together in harmony, blending in with the cacophony of cicadas and frogs that surrounded us.
Harry waited until I’d regained my color before he spoke. “There’s obviously more to this case than I’ve been told. So, why don’t you fill me in from the beginning?”
“It’s actually two different cases that seem to have become entwined,” I began, trying to keep it simple. “A place called Manatee Mania is charging tourists to swim with manatees. The pretense is that they’re being rehabbed. Only the animals aren’t injured and the facility isn’t licensed. The second case involves mercury that’s being dumped in the marsh. We suspect a chlor-alkali plant, DRG, to be the culprit. Linking them is a former Interior Department bigwig and lobbyist, Clark Williams, who’s now a developer in the area. He’s not only financially connected to Manatee Mania, but is also a close friend of DRG’s owner, Howard Drapkin. However, what makes all this truly diabolical is that Gary and I independently had our cases squashed on both counts.”
Coastal Disturbance Page 20
