Dangerous Depths (27 page)

“Yes. I was taking a walk around the point. I
saw him anchored just off the entrance to the bay. I didn’t see
anyone on board. But on my way back, I saw a man rowing across in a
little dinghy and climbing onto the boat.

“What did he look like?”

She described Billings perfectly, all the way
down to the yellow bandana he’d had tied around his neck.

“Could you tell where he was coming
from?”

“Sure, I saw the dinghy pulled up on the
beach over there in the trees,” she said, pointing at Flower
Island. “He was coming from there.”

***

When I got back to the shore, Liam and Tom
were sitting on the beach under a tree. I filled them in about what
I learned. Then I untied the line from the cleat and Tom turned the
boat toward Flower. They’d been dying to get a closer look at the
island and this gave them just the excuse they needed. Evidently
Freeman had continued to refuse them access. He did not want people
tramping on shore or snorkeling in the shallows and disturbing the
habitat.

We anchored in a sandy area in about ten feet
of water next to a fifty-foot wooden sailboat that had to be
Freeman’s. There were a couple of other moorings, one with a dinghy
tied to it and the other empty. These waters were too shallow to
bring anything but a little boat in close to shore. There was one
other boat tied to the dock, which meant someone else was probably
on the island.

Flower was a flat piece of land, rising only
a matter of feet toward the center. The white sandy beach stretched
for at least a half mile in each direction and was lined with
coconut palms. If this had been Saint Thomas or Miami Beach, the
island would already have a luxury resort with swimming pool, beach
umbrellas and lounge chairs littering the sand. I had to give
Freeman credit for protecting this unspoiled piece of paradise.

“Can’t believe there aren’t any turtles
nesting here,” Tom said. “It’s perfect place for hawksbills and
greens. They like to nest in the sand under bushes like those.” He
pointed to the low shrubs that skirted the edge of the trees. “A
shame. Fifty years ago this island would have been a haven for
hatchlings.”

We rowed their little dinghy to shore and
tied it to the dock. Before we could even step foot in the sand, a
man came up the beach, a night stick hanging from his belt.

“Nobody be allowed on dis here island,” he
said, resting his hand on his stick. “This be private
property.”

“Detective Sampson,” I said. “I’d like to
speak with the Freemans.” The guard hesitated, unsure about what to
do. He was green, had no skill in terms of menace.

“You been working here long?” I asked.

“Less’n a week. Dey be worried about folks
comin’ here when dey be away, breaking in. Some trouble with da ole
caretaker, I guess.”

“Are the Freemans here?”

“Just da missus. Follow me, but you got to
stay on da trail.”

The house was back in the trees—a stunning
place, a mixture of Southern landowner and Caribbean, huge columns
on the front. In the back I could see a couple of small wooden
structures where the house servants would have lived.

There was a woman kneeling in the garden
digging in the dirt. She wore a pair of loose-fitting pants and a
wide-brimmed straw hat. Her bare feet were white on the soles
blending to dark brown around the edges. She startled when she
heard our approach, and stood.

It was Sylvia Freeman. I’d never seen her in
anything less formal than a suit. She looked a lot more at home in
her current garb, relaxed and happy, until she saw us. Then her
whole body tensed, ready for defense.

“What are you doing here?” she asked. “This
is private property.” I could tell she was embarrassed to have been
caught digging through the dirt in old pants rolled at the
ankles.

“Dat what I be tellin’ dem,” the guard said.
“But dis lady say she be police.”

“We’re sorry to invade, Sylvia.”

“Neville isn’t here, he’s down in Road
Town.”

“Can we talk with you? We just came from that
white rental on the point and one of the people there said she saw
Teddy Billings over here on Friday.”

“You might as well come in out of the heat.”
She stood and brushed sand off her pants, then led the way up the
front stairs and opened the door. Inside was amazingly cool. We
settled in a glass-enclosed porch at the back of the house, filled
with rattan furniture and plants. A ceiling fan circled slowly
above our heads.

A maid appeared from the back, carrying a
tray with a pitcher and glasses. She placed it on a table and
served.

“Thank you, Sara.” Sylvia smiled at the
maid.

“This is a stunning place,” Tom said. “It
must be well over a hundred years old.”

“Yes, my great-great-grandfather helped build
it,” she said, “for his white master. I love it here. I try to come
out whenever I can. Unfortunately, it is not often enough since
Neville’s gotten so involved back in Road Town. Now with the
campaign...” She trailed off, a look of regret crossing her
face.

“Were you here Friday when Billings came
ashore?” I asked.

“Actually, when we got here, we saw his
dinghy over on the far end of the beach. Neville was really angry.
Told me to go in the house and went stomping down the beach looking
for him. When he fired Teddy, he told him he never wanted to see
him on Flower again.”

“What was the problem?”

“Neville said he caught Teddy stealing.”

“What did he steal?”

“Well, we gave Teddy a free rein at the
building supply outfits in Road Town. He would just sign for
materials. Neville discovered that Teddy was charging material for
his own use and even selling some of the goods to friends. I
couldn’t believe Teddy would do such a thing. I was sorry to see
them go. Eleanor and I were friends.

“Do you know why Teddy was here the other
day?”

“Neville said he’d come to pick up an old
dinghy motor that he’d left in the shed. He said he let Teddy get
it and told him not to come back again. I could hear them arguing
all the way up here. Neville was accusing Teddy of putting his nose
in things that didn’t concern him.”

“What things?” I asked.

“I don’t know. When Neville came back to the
house he said that Teddy was drunk. Neville was worried about Teddy
coming to the island when we were gone.”

“You know Teddy’s boat went down out past the
point Friday night?”

“Yes, I can’t believe it. I don’t know how
Eleanor will survive.” She seemed genuinely concerned.

“What do you think he was doing out
there?”

“I don’t know. And that boat on fire.
Horrible. Neville says he probably left a kerosene light burning
and then passed out on the boat. Funny, I never knew Teddy to drink
much.”

I was surprised that she didn’t know he’d
been murdered. When I told her, she was confused, then
horrified.

“Why would anyone kill Teddy?” she asked.

About then Neville walked in.

“Ms. Sampson! Tom, Liam. What are you folks
doing here?” He held out his hand and smiled, but I could see he
wasn’t pleased to have visitors.

I told him we were just doing some checking
on Billings.

“Tom and Liam on the police force now?” he
asked, sarcasm filling his voice.

I ignored it. “Can you tell me why Billings
came back out here after you fired him?” I asked.

“He said he came to get a motor he’d left,
but I’m sure he hoped to make away with other valuables too. The
shed is full of expensive tools. I let him get the old motor, and
told him I didn’t want to see him out here again.”

“Sylvia said you’d accusing him of snooping,”
I said.

“My wife was hearing things,” he said, giving
Sylvia an angry look. Now, if there’s anything more that you need,
you can phone my secretary for an appointment at my office.”

Without another word, he walked us out the
door and all the way back down to our boat. The guard was leaning
against a nearby palm. Freeman gave him a warning glare and the guy
straightened.

“I’m sorry if I seem rude,” he said, finally,
“but this island is a place to escape. You understand. With all the
campaigning, Sylvia and I need a place to get away to now and
then.”

We found Deborah LaPlante in her makeshift
lab, packing up boxes. Her assistant was nearby analyzing data on
the computer.

“Looks like you’re getting ready to leave,”
Tom said.

“Yes, the people who will take over the
monitoring of the project and maintain the bait stations are up to
speed. I’ll be going at the end of the week. I have another project
on an island down near Costa Rica.”

“You’ve done a real service here,” Liam said.
“It would have been a shame if the rats had decimated every species
on the island.”

“Thanks, Liam,” LaPlante said. “But it was
the islanders who made it happen and will keep things on
track.”

“Let’s see this turtle you called me about,”
LaPlante said.

Tom and Liam hefted it up to LaPlante’s exam
table and pulled off the plastic. George, her assistant,
immediately lost interest in his numbers and came over to help.

He and LaPlante went straight to work,
pulling back the incision to expose the body cavity. She spent
several minutes probing one organ after the other.

“The internal hemorrhaging is very apparent,”
she said.

“Ya mon, it looks just like the inside of one
of our rats,” George agreed.

“It is certainly consistent with poisoning.
There’s blood pooled in the abdominal cavity and the muscles have a
characteristic grey tinge due to lack of blood.”

“Can you tell what kind of poison it might
be?” I asked.

“It has to be an anticoagulant. The
Brodifacoum that we’ve been using in the rat eradication would
certainly be a possibility. But other wildlife are usually affected
only if they prey on a rodent that has eaten the poison. Accidental
poisoning has occurred in areas where the poison has been used
irresponsibly for rodent control in agriculture and industry. It
has caused death in raptor species—hawks, owls, and eagles.

“Currently, its use is recommended for only
those who are licensed. As I explained when we met last, we’ve
immediately removed any rats that died above ground to insure that
predators cannot get to the dead animal. But even if they did,
birds are the ones that are usually affected. Certainly not sea
life.

“What if the poison got into the water?” I
asked.

“Well, it is highly toxic to aquatic
organisms, but it has an extremely low solubility. Even if some had
run into the sea, it would not create a hazard.”

“How would this turtle have ingested it
then?” Tom asked.

“I just can’t imagine. I don’t see how the
poison that we’ve been using here could threaten any sea life at
all. In fact, I’d say it was impossible,” she said.

“What about from another source?” Tom
asked.

“I don’t know of anyone else using the poison
in the islands and I think I would have heard about it. As I said,
there are controls.”

“What does the poison look like?” I
asked.

“Come on into the back. I’ll show you.” We
followed her to a small storage room that was stacked with boxes
marked with a skull and crossbones. She opened one of the boxes and
pulled out a sealed plastic bag full of pellets. It looked like a
bag of dried cat food with a waxy covering.

“This is how we get it. The pellets contain a
minute percentage of brodifacoum. As I said, this poison is very
effective in small doses.”

“Do you keep records of shipments and usage?”
I asked. I was sure that these pellets were the same as the ones
I’d found in Elyse’s office. They’d been soggy and mixed in with
the spilled chemicals on the floor.

“Sure, it’s a fairly simple procedure,” she
said, pulling a clipboard off a nail. “Every time poison is taken
to the site, it’s recorded on this sheet—the date, amount, and
initials. Of course all the poison is targeted for the project, so
it’s fairly straightforward.

“No lock on the storage room door or controls
in terms of access?”

“Not really. The only people who use the lab
are those working on the project. Last one out locks everything
up.”

“Have you ever noticed any sign of forced
entry or something out of place?”

“Never,” she said, then hesitated.

“Wait a minute.” LaPlante stood there gazing
at the boxes then shoved several aside and checked behind others.
“That can’t be right,” she said, picking up the clipboard and
running her fingers down the page. This isn’t adding up.”

“George,” she called to her assistant, who
sauntered in with coffee cup in hand.

“Has any poison gone out to the site without
being recorded?” she asked.

“No way. We filled the stations last week.
Should all be recorded there. We won’t be doing any filling for
another couple of weeks. What’s the problem?”

“The tally doesn’t match.” She showed him the
clipboard.

“What do you mean?” he asked, studying it.
“Yeah, that’s my entry. The last shipment came in a month ago. I
went through and checked the boxes then. Everything was accounted
for.”

“There are four boxes missing, George. That’s
a lot of poison. Check with Marty and Bill, would you? Maybe they
took them out to the site and forgot to record them.”

“Will do.”

“I’m sure this is a simple clerical error,”
she said.

“Did Elyse have access to the poison when she
worked on the project?” I asked.

“Yes, but surely you don’t think Elyse would
have taken any out of the lab?”

“No, I don’t. But I did find a few of these
pellets in her office. I wonder if that’s what she wanted to show
you.”

“That’s odd. Why would she have any of it?
And why would she want me to see them? She’d have known what they
were.”