Dangerous Depths (9 page)

“Elyse has been injured. She’s in the
hospital.”

“Well, I be sorry to hear that,” he said. He
didn’t seem surprised though, and he didn’t seem sorry.

“Do you know anything about it?”

“Why are you asking me? You think I’d hurt
her?”

“Well, you just said she was threatening your
livelihood.”

“That don’t mean I’d hurt her. I’m not into
solving my problems that way. Besides, nobody’s gonna close me down
because of her reports. She can write as many as she wants. Folks
on these islands need my gravel. The folk who call the shots down
at the government offices know that. Hell, half of ‘em are involved
in some kind of building themselves or they want better roads to
their homes and businesses. That’s called progress. And the
tourists, they want them fine hotels.”

I knew that was only one side the story. The
people who owned property down in the bay, including the owner of
the Coral Head resort, had to be complaining to the Conservation
and Fisheries Department about the runoff, maybe even to the chief
minister.

“What about the effects on that bay down
there?” I asked.

“Just one little bay. But I told Elyse I’d be
trying to do some work here to keep the water from running down to
the sea. I’m in the process of applying for a good-sized loan. I
don’t need a bad report about my operation from her or anyone else
about my operation that might threaten the loan. I’ve been putting
in drainage to collection ponds.”

“I’d love to see what you’ve done. How about
a tour?” I wanted to know whether Porter was just bullshitting me
or whether he was sincere about working on solutions. Maybe all he
wanted to do was to divert any suspicion by appearing to be taking
Elyse’s concerns to heart.

“Detective Sampson, I am a busy man and I
don’t like what I can see you are thinking. Now I need to be
getting into town.” He turned and walked back to the trailer and
slammed the door.

All he’d accomplished was to increase my
motivation. Why hadn’t he simply put my concerns to rest by showing
me the work he was doing to divert runoff. Maybe he wasn’t doing
anything at all. I intended to find out.

I parked the Rambler down the road at a snack
shop and waited, hoping that Porter really was going to head into
town. I didn’t wait long. Ten minutes and two Bob Marley songs
later he drove past, never even glancing my way.

Back at the gravel pit, I pulled off my tank
top, and squiggled into the tight black dress that still hung in a
dry-cleaning bag in the back. Then I fished under the seat and
found a pair of shoes I’d kicked off on the beach during a close
encounter with O’Brien. I’d tossed them under there and forgotten
them till now. The damned things hurt my feet, but they were
perfect for this occasion—three inch heels and red.

I figured a fashion statement for the guys at
the gravel pit was low-cut and short and that none of them would
take a second look at anything above my neck. Just in case, I put
my sunglasses on, wrapped a scarf around my head, and stepped out
of the car, a different woman.

I found Porter’s supervisor sitting in the
office trailer, feet propped on Porter’s desk. He quickly dropped
them to the floor and stood, eyes glued to cleavage.

“Hello dar, pretty lady. What can I be doing
for you?” he asked, like I might be willing to go out back and roll
in the weeds with him. I flirted. And lied.

“I’m Martha Cary, from the bank.” I sat down,
crossed my legs, making sure to show a lot of thigh, and fumbled
through my bag. I pulled out my wallet, searched it twice, and
looked at him with a helpless shrug.

“Oh, I am so embarrassed. I seem to be out of
my cards. I’m here to assess the property for a loan Mr. Porter has
applied for. My boss will be furious if I don’t take care of this
today. Mr. Porter has been pressuring him to get it done.”

“Don’t be worrin’. What is it you be
needin’?”

Well, I just need to look around your
operation. Won’t take long. Just a matter of procedure.”

“I be at your service.”

“Could I have a glass of water before we go
out? It’s sooo hot.” I made a fanning motion across my chest, once
again bringing his gaze to cleavage.

“Oh, no problem,” he said, smiling.

As soon as he went to the back, I fingered
through a stack of papers on the desk. I could hear him clattering
though glassware, probably looking for a clean glass. I was looking
for anything that might implicate Porter. All I found was a stack
of bills, a couple marked overdue.

I heard the water shut off in the back and
was sitting casually in the chair, still fanning, when the
supervisor came back and handed me what must have been the cleanest
glass he could find, lipstick on the rim. I had a feeling this guy
had as many female guests as he could get away with when Porter was
gone. I took a couple of sips and stood. He held the door for
me.

“Now you be watchin’ your step,” he said, and
damned if he didn’t take my arm.

“What you be needin’ to see?”

“The whole layout—the machinery, anything
that adds value to the property.” I wanted to find out what kind of
business Porter ran. Mostly I wanted to know about Porter himself
and whether he was really taking measures to reduce the runoff.

We walked the perimeter as he explained in
painful detail how they excavated and transported the gravel. He
talked about all the accounts they had and made a point of telling
me how integral he was to the success of the business.

“What about the environmental impact?” I
asked. “Looks like this is creating quite a scar.”

“Well, dat be the price of progress,” he
said. “Got to be able to pave da roads, build da buildings.”

“Does it contaminate the sea water?”

“Well, we be workin’ real hard to take care
of dat. Come on dis way.”

We walked down the hillside to a network of
ditches. I was just barely maintaining balance on the rocky terrain
in the damned shoes.

“Porter been putting dis type a system in
place as a kind a catchment. You can see how it keeps da soil and
rock from washing down to da sea. Water and sediment run across da
hillside to those ponds that he’s put in and soaks in. Don’t know
why it’s such a big deal myself, a little dirt in da harbor. Me, I
wouldn’t bother. But Porter’s gotten complaints. He be trying to
make it right.”

So Porter
was
making an attempt to
protect the harbor. I wondered how much it was costing him.

“Is this an expensive procedure?”

“Well, sure. Adds man-hours for the crew and
takes equipment from da jobs we be making money for. Last week, we
had a crew and a back hoe tied up for three days. Road department
started complaining about us gettin’ behind on da damned road.”

“How long have you been working for
Porter?”

“Almost a year.”

“Is he a good boss?”

“Sure, he’s demanding but he be fair.”

“Have you ever seen him angry. Threaten
anyone?”

“”I ain’t never seen Porter mad. Da man just
don’t have much of a temper.”

“Did you ever see him arguing with Elyse
Henry, the woman from the Society of Ocean Conservation?”

“Dat’s kind of a funny question for an
assessment.”

“Well, we heard there had been some trouble
between them. We need to make sure that Porter doesn’t have a
history of violence. You know, for the loan, that’s important.” I
smiled and bent to remove gravel from my shoe, the dress sliding up
in the back, just short of my ass. That did it.

“Guess I saw him arguing with her one time a
while back,” he said, distracted, eyes glued to my hemline as I
stood and readjusted my dress.

“Did you hear what it was about?”

“Sure, it was about the runoff. Dat’s when
Porter started putting in da drainage.”

“I think that’s all I need,” I said. I’d seen
enough and I didn’t want to be around when Porter got back. I’d
been there under completely false pretenses and if he complained to
Dunn I’d be in deep shit—at best a lecture, worse directing traffic
in a damned uniform in a blazing sun. Fortunately I was pretty sure
the supervisor would be able to identify me only by my breast and
hip measurements.

“Hey, how about we meet for a drink later?”
he asked.

“Yeah, let’s plan on later,” I said, and
scurried down the hill to the Rambler before he could fill in the
details.

***

I headed over to the bank to see Edmund Carr.
I wanted to know more about Porter’s financial situation and
whether the improvements he was making at the gravel pit were
cutting into his profits. Maybe that’s why he needed the loan.

Carr had been at the bank for ten years and
had worked his way through the ranks up to vice president in charge
of the loan department. He had his own glassed-in office with a
view of the bay. I could see him inside now with a customer who was
about to lose it.

“Dis weren’t never a problem before you took
over.” The man was leaning over Carr’s desk yelling. “Always get a
bit behind in my payments dis time of da year. Anderson gave me da
extensions. Knew I was a man of my word, never broke a promise to
pay.”

Carr saw me and motioned me into his office,
looking for any excuse to get the guy out of his face.

“Hey, Ed.” I stepped into the office. The man
gave me a hard look and stomped out.

“Thanks, Hannah. It’s been difficult with
some of these customers. They need to realize that times are
changing and we no longer operate by a handshake and an ‘I’m good
for it.’ People don’t pay, we foreclose.”

Too bad, I thought. Carr’s policy was hard
business dealings for a man who was probably just getting by. I
couldn’t help feeling sorry for the guy. He was probably desperate
to hold on to land that had been in his family for a century.

“What brings you here?” he asked, pulling up
a chair for me.

I sat across from him, ignoring his quizzical
expression while crossing my legs and trying to shimmy the skirt
down over my knees. Thankfully he didn’t ask about the dress and
red heels so I didn’t have to scramble for a good lie.

“How’s Elyse?” he asked.

“Same.”

“Any chance she’ll regain consciousness?”

“Doc’s not saying.”

“Let me know if there’s any change, will
you?” Carr asked.

“Absolutely.”

“Did anything turn up in that stuff we
brought up from the
Caribbe
?” he asked.

“Nothing yet,” I said and shifted to the
point of my visit. “Ed, I’m wondering if you can help me with some
background about Amos Porter’s business.”

“What’s this all about?” he asked.

“Just some minor questions that I need to
clarify. Dunn wants to be sure to tie up any loose ends concerning
the explosion on the
Caribbe
.”

“I thought you said Dunn ruled it an
accident.”

“He wants to make sure that we haven’t
overlooked anything.” I was getting in deeper and deeper. Dunn
would kill me if he knew, and he was bound to find out the next
time he ran into Carr. I could only hope I had some answers before
that occurred.

“Well, I can’t really reveal information
about his finances, Hannah.”

“How about a general picture, Ed? You know,
the kind of stuff that is discussed between friends over
drinks.”

“Okay, Hannah, but this better not go farther
than my office. I can tell you without even checking that Porter’s
business is doing very well. He wants to buy a couple more pieces
of earthmoving equipment. He told me today that he’s just picked up
another big job from a developer who is building a resort over on
the north shore.”

“Just what the island needs,” I said, “more
concrete.”

“It’s good for the economy, Hannah. “Provides
jobs, brings money to the island.”

“You’re sounding a lot like someone
campaigning for Freeman. I’m surprised you’re not more concerned
about what it’s doing to the environment, Ed.”

“Sure, I’m concerned, but I think Freeman’s
got the right idea about responsible development.”

“So, you are supporting him.”

“Absolutely. He’s the man for the
future.”

“Maybe.” I didn’t want to get into it with
Carr about politics. I had other things on my mind. “Thanks for the
information, Ed.” I was surprised that he’d been willing to tell me
as much as he had.

“Yeah. Well, I hope it helps you put this
thing with Elyse to rest. Just remember it didn’t come from
me.”

I drove back into Road Town to pick up
O’Brien at SeaSail. We planned to visit Elyse, then drive up to see
Liam and Tom, the scientists updating the turtle study. I’d called
to tell them about the report that I found earmarked for them in
Elyse’s office. They were anxious to read it and insisted I come up
for dinner and that O’Brien come along.

When I got to the SeaSail marina, O’Brien was
down at the docks, lost in a maze of sailboats. O’Brien’s fleet was
comprised of over a hundred boats, from thirty- to
sixty-footers—monohulls and catamarans, even a couple of racing
boats. I found him hanging from the top of a mast on Dock C. Louis,
his manager, was on the deck, yelling up at him.

“Did you check that block on da halyard?” he
shouted.

“Hey dar, Hannah,” Louis said as I stepped on
board.

Louis had worked for SeaSail since O’Brien’s
parents had started the company with just one boat. He was more
family than employee. He was almost seventy, a sinewy five-eleven
with skin the color of chocolate.

“What is O’Brien doing up there?” I asked
him.

“You know Peter. Got to be able to get his
hands dirty on da boats.”

“Yeah.” It was one of the things I loved
about O’Brien. I’d never tire of seeing him standing at the wheel
of a sailboat or pulling up a sail. O’Brien was not the kind to
spend his day behind a desk assessing his wealth. All he really
cared about was being out on the water.