Jaden Skye: Death by Honeymoon

The woman’s eyes glazed over.

“I’m all alone,” Cindy said in a soft, trembly voice. “Woman to woman, I know you can help me. I just want to look at the report.”

“Are you sure?”

Cindy bent close and touched her arm. “It’ll only take a few minutes. Can’t you give me a hand?”

Something in Cindy’s tone touched the woman.

“Listen, sweetheart” she said, “I’ll get the report and show it to you. I’ll make you a copy, and that’s it. We don’t need any more trouble down here in Barbados.”

Cindy was grateful . “That’s great, that’s fine. That’s all I want.”

“That’s never all they want,” said the woman. “And, what good is that gonna do? He died in Barbados. It’s our jurisdiction. These cases go on for years, and then nothing happens . Let the dear man rest in peace and save yourself a lot of tears.”

Cindy didn’t want to say that the killing may have happened here in Barbados, but the crime took place in the U.S. There was no need to go into that with this woman.

“I miss my husband,” Cindy said instead, “I want to see what happened to him.” Exhausted, her voice was catching, almost on the verge of tears.

“Okay, come on, don’t you cry. I’ll get that report. It’s not so difficult,” the woman got up and motioned for Cindy to follow her.

They walked to the back of the room and then turned to walk down a narrow corridor.

“Rain’s gonna whip up later,” the woman remarked as their footsteps sounded on the old, wooden floor. Then she turned into a long, narrow room, filled with huge filing cabinets everywhere.

“Give me the name and the date.”

“Clint Blaine. May 23, 2010.”

“Recent,” she murmured and ruffled through the files. “You know, I think I heard about that one. Died on his honeymoon?”

“Right,” said Cindy.

“Okay,” the woman said, ruffling through each report quickly, expecting Clint’s file to be right there. It wasn’t .

She paid more attention then, looked more slowly, carefully checking each name and date. Suddenly, she stopped and turned to Cindy.

“I can’t find it anywhere.”

“What are you talking about?”

The woman looked distressed, and turned back to check again.

“That’s funny. We usually have a copy of everyone here.”

A second go around brought up nothing.

“Someone must have taken it,” the woman said.

“Who took it?” Cindy asked.

The woman had no idea.

“I just work at the front desk,” she said in a sad, lilting tone. “I was trying to help you.”

“Let me talk to the Coroner myself.”

She looked at Cindy with a dead pan face. “Honey, he’s a busy man. He’s not going to talk to just anyone.”

“I’m not just anyone. My husband was killed.”

“I know and I’m sorry. But he’s not available.”

Cindy couldn’t be angry with her. She was just doing her job and had done more than she was supposed to, anyway .

“Thank you for everything,” Cindy said, turned and walked away.

“So sorry, so sorry, sweetheart,” the woman called out. “Let him rest in peace. Let the island hold him. Let his spirit fly with our beautiful birds.”

There was no doubt. The original report was hidden. There had to be a reason. It had to have been tampered with. Cindy had to confront the Coroner himself.

She knew the Coroner’s office was in this building. He had to be a few steps away. She went to her car, opened her phone and checked out the Coroner’s website to learn more about him.

His picture came right up. He was a prominent figure with a big, round face and smiling eyes.

Cindy immediately called his direct office and asked if he was in today.

The voice on the phone asked if she had an appointment. Cindy didn’t, but needed one right away. The Coroner was in, but an appointment took three weeks to get, the person informed her. The Coroner was a very, very busy man.

Cindy didn’t have time to wait. And she didn’t have to. She would drive the car to the front of the building, sit there and wait for him to walk out. There was only one door he could exit from. The minute she saw him, she’d rush over and talk. How could he refuse her?

It seemed as if hours went by as she sat there in the heat, her eyes glued to the front path. She didn’t turn on the air conditioner, as she wanted to be ready to jump out of the car the minute she saw him.

As Cindy waited, she wondered what her father would think if he saw her now? Cindy rarely thought of her father . She barely knew him; as she was growing up, he was so busy with his police duties. And she was so young when he died. But vague memories of him had been coming into her mind these past days. He was big and strapping and good natured. She’d always wanted to be strong like him. Would he be proud of her now? Or would he think she was crazy, subjecting herself to this ordeal?

As she was musing, Cindy suddenly saw the Coroner walking leisurely out of the building. She jumped out of the car and ran over to him.

“Mr. Kartrite,” she said quickly, blocking his way.

He moved to the side, “Excuse me, miss,” and kept walking.

Cindy slid beside him and walked at his side.

“I have to talk to you. It’s important, urgent.”

He kept walking and said nothing.

“I’m the wife of Clint Blaine,” she continued. “The man who was killed on his honeymoon. I’m sure you heard.”

“Please stop a minute and talk to me.”

“I have an appointment.”

“I need a copy of your report.”

Cindy talked faster and faster and she walked beside him. “I have to compare your report to the one we received back home. A lot of terrible things have been happening since I got back to the U.S.”

He stopped and looked at her. “What’s a young lady like you coming here alone to find something like that?”

“I have no other choice. Please help me.”

“There’s nobody back home who could come and help you?”

Cindy shook her head.

He looked at her kindly, seemed to feel badly.

“It’s not only my husband, my sister was hurt, my husband’s friend killed.”

The Coroner looked troubled.

“What can I do?” he said, flustered. “I told them everything I knew. They didn’t listen. They changed the information.”

“Oh my God,” Cindy stopped moving. “Who?”

The Coroner stopped as well. They stared at each other.

“The report you have is not the one I wrote. It happens sometimes. Facts become inconvenient.”

“I’m begging you to tell me what’s in your report. I have to know.”

“Your husband did not die from drowning,” he finally said, sighing deeply.

Cindy’s heart skipped a bit. She was afraid to ask.

“Then…of what?” she asked.

He stared at her. “He died from trauma to the head. And not from a surfboard.”

Cindy felt herself trembling inwardly.

“From…what?” she asked, her voice almost a whisper.

“I couldn’t say for sure. From the angle, though, I’d bet it was a speedboat. Run over.”

Cindy felt physically sick. The image of it horrified her.

Still, finally, she had facts.

“I need the report and I need you to be a witness,” she pleaded, tears filling her eyes.

He shook his head, and started walking away again.

She hurried to keep up with him.

“I cannot be a witness and I don’t have the report. I just told you what I know. Let’s keep it at that.”

She grabbed his arm. “Please, it’s not just him. My life is in danger. “

He grimaced. “Those rotten companies think they own the world.”

“Yes,” breathed Cindy.

“They think a few dollars in your pocket and they can do whatever they want.”