Jaden Skye: Death by Honeymoon

First she found a general report about offshore drilling that went on for pages. It was titled: Ecological Zones in Offshore Drilling. It detailed the harm expected by drilling in the wrong area. Attached to the report was responses by others.

What, then, is the true value of an oil well drilled a mile down offshore in a unique ecological zone subject to multiple uses? Is it simply the cost of the well or the price of the product? For example, let’s look carefully at the Tearwall Project. What are the ancillary expenses, revenues and losses and the consequences of possible disaster? Much too large for comfort. Much too much risk for the public versus what can be gained.

A response from someone said, “Let’s drop this right now, Clint.”

Obviously he hadn’t. Cindy read on.

And let’s not forget the environmental refugees, the communities affected, the damage to the productive ecology. From a balance sheet perspective, what in the near term seems like profit is in the long term a financial disaster. We saw this just a few months ago in the photos of oil slicks, wide and deep. We saw fouled beaches, dead wildlife, destroyed wetlands, unemployed fishermen, bankrupt tourism businesses, depressed local economies, ruined communities.

A response from a man named Lew Dorin, at the firm, was attached. It said, Clint. A big decision is coming down in Washington. We need to let the bill pass.

Beneath that was another letter, from Henry Greerson.

Fine report, Clint. We’ll keep it on hold for the next month or six weeks. Expecting a sizable government allocation. Once that’s in, we’ll deal with these facts and assess the way we wish to proceed.

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.

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.