After a long pause on the wrecked BMW, the video switched to shots of a large building with nicely landscaped grounds.
“Olivia was a professor at the University of St Petersburg in Florida, where she taught Environmental Studies. She enjoyed teaching at the school she described as big enough to make a difference and small enough to know people’s names. Like many universities, the school took on outside projects for which they were compensated. These projects provided students with valuable real-world experience and the kudos of having their names attached to the reports.
“The Florida Environmental Protection Agency are required to test drinking water sources and coastal waters annually. They employ several universities throughout the state to conduct these tests. They also provide standards to which the tests must adhere and be reported. Olivia’s tenured associate, Professor Griffin, headed up USP’s annual study. He had done so since they gained the contract three years ago.
“Hand chosen by Griffin to be part of the project last year were several students. One of those selected was Grayson Briggs, the son of Donovan Briggs and heir to the Briggs Paper & Packaging International company. Brother of Skylar Briggs, who you’ve all met today. The area of focus in the study was the Manatee River and its sprawling estuary that runs into Tampa Bay and on to the Gulf of Mexico. Situated on the banks of the river, in Fort Hamer, is Briggs Paper & Packaging International, who use massive quantities of river water in their manufacturing process. That water is highly toxic post process and requires extensive treatment and purification before a large percentage is returned to the source. The remaining amount is held in retainment ponds. Managing the water supply, processing and disposal is one of the highest costs in the paper manufacturing business.
“By definition, Grayson Briggs checking water pollution levels near his father’s paper mill, was the fox guarding the henhouse. It should never have been allowed, and Professor Davis Griffin was the man responsible for the oversight.”
A picture of Griffin with three male students appeared on the screen. One of them was Grayson Briggs.
“Except this wasn’t an oversight,” Massey continued his narration. “It was planned.”
Whittaker found it hard to turn away from the screen, but watching Massey’s riveting presentation wouldn’t find Skylar and Nora. The most recent report from the FBI in Tampa suggested Griffin was about to roll over on Donovan Briggs, so the detective was happy to keep Skylar’s father secured in the police van for now. The hunt was on for Grayson Briggs, and by the counter rolling along like an electricity meter on Christmas Eve, a large portion of the world was watching it all unfold. He needed to find the two women.
“What’s the next move, detective?” Beth asked, pulling herself away from the TV feed now showing screenshots of toxicity reports and talking about pH, dissolved oxygen and turbidity.
“Put the helicopter up,” Whittaker replied. Her timely question was the final catalyst in his decision. “Once he moves to the final challenge in a few minutes, I think the risk of him interrupting whatever he has planned is lessened. The chopper can cover the park in a few minutes and hopefully spot what we’ve not been able to find from the ground.”
“If he has constructed that building in the past few weeks, there should be signs of activity around it,” Beth offered. “He had to get the timber and supplies there somehow, right?”
Whittaker quickly moved to one of the IT techs seated at the table, “Bring up the high-res satellite image again, please.”
He tapped his fingers on his leg while the tech opened the large file.
Beth joined the detective. “Come up with something?” she asked.
Once the image appeared on the screen, he pointed to the west end of the park where the border doglegged around The Shores property. “Zoom in here.”
The tech made the area larger, and Whittaker stared at the screen. “There,” he said, pointing to a cleared area surrounded by trees and shrubs. “It’s another maintenance storage area for the development. They stage building supplies rather than have them littered all over the neighbourhood when new construction is going on.”
“It backs right onto the woods of the park,” Beth noted.
“We’ve been searching the canal edges, because that’s how we think he took the women from the first building,” Whittaker explained. “I had it in my mind that he would have used the same entrance to build the shack. I was relying on my guys finding obvious marks on the bank.”
“But maybe he only used that entrance once, and came in another way when he was constructing the place,” Beth said, finishing the thought.
“From the maintenance area, there’s probably a fence of some description, but then he’d be straight into the woods without a canal to cross if he built on the far side of the last marl road,” Whittaker added as he snatched up the digital radio. “Firearms Response Units, report your positions, over.”
The radio crackled, and they both listened to the systematic reports.
“This is Unit One, we’re on the road to the south of the sea pond. Nothing to report. Over.”
“Dis is Unit Two, we’re on da road runnin’ parallel to Shorewinds Trail. Nothin’ to report. Over.”
“Unit Three reporting, we’ve patrolled the roads leading to the park entrance. Nothing to report. Over.”
Whittaker thought for a moment before replying, “Units One and Three continue the search. Report when complete. Unit Two exit the park and come around to The Shores. You’re looking for the storage area north of Vulgunner’s Pond on the east side of the development. It borders the park. Over.”
All three teams verified, and Whittaker turned back to the satellite image on the screen, nervously rubbing the light stubble on his chin. Massey’s prepared video had moved on to results of his own independent water tests which showed elevated levels of contaminants in the water, downstream of the paper factory. He looked at Beth.
“I’m thinking of putting all my eggs into one basket,” he said.
Beth chewed her lip, and their eyes met. “You make your decision based on all the information available in the moment,” she said. “That’s all you can do.”
Whittaker managed a smile.
“A smart fellow told me that,” Beth added, “not too long ago.”
“What’s your gut telling you?” Whittaker asked.
Beth shook her head. “I think you’ve heard; my gut isn’t to be trusted.”
Kowalczyk walked under the tent and went to speak until he realised the detective and his partner were in the middle of a discussion. He paused and waited. Beth nervously glanced at Kowalczyk, then back at Whittaker.
“Time is up. Once the fourth challenge is under way, there’s nothing stopping him attempting his escape, whatever he says about handing himself in,” she said. “I don’t believe he’ll shoot either one of the women at this point, even if you break his rules. He wants the show to play out and I’m sure he wants distance from any further violence.”
“Fuck me,” Kowalczyk blurted. “Do you never learn?”
“What would you do?” Whittaker snapped back, turning to Kowalczyk.
“We’re not here to tell you what to do,” he replied defensively.
“I’m not sure why you’re here at all,” Whittaker said, glaring at Kowalczyk.
The agent threw his hands up. “If this was back home, I’d have our tactical team covering the whole park. They’d be crawling around the place like ants and we’d find the building and take it. But you don’t have enough people, or highly trained teams.”
“That’s correct,” Whittaker replied firmly. “So we can’t take a shotgun approach, we have to be a sniper.”
He took out his mobile and made a call.
“Sergeant?” he said when the call was answered. “Put the chopper up and make sure they’re ready to drop a couple of guys in. I’m sending you the location to focus on. How soon can they be airborne?”
“Dey’ll be up in less than tree min
utes from when I hang up, sir,” the man replied. “Dey waitin’ on the command. All aboard and ready.”
“I’m texting you a picture of the location as soon as I hang up,” Whittaker said, and ended the call.
He leaned over and took a photo of the screen with the satellite map. He quickly marked a circle around the area where he guessed the structure to be, using the phone’s drawing tool, and sent the text.
On the Internet feed, the recorded segment ended, and Massey appeared on screen. He was outside with thick woods behind him. He looked up at the camera.
“It’s time to bring today’s events to a close with the final challenge,” he announced, and Whittaker noted how tired the man looked.
“As I’ve laid out in the series of videos you’ve seen this afternoon, my beautiful wife, Olivia, was taken from me.” His voice broke, and he paused a moment, collecting himself. “Taken from us, not just me. She was murdered to keep a secret hidden. A secret about the corruption and lies created to increase one man’s profits. Donovan Briggs, his son Grayson Briggs, along with Davis Griffin, supplied falsified reports to the EPA to allow his paper mill to shortcut safety and water purification measures for their own personal gain. They have caused enormous harm to the environment, along with polluting the waters where thousands of citizens work and play. And they murdered my wife.
“The final challenge is about ‘Do no Evil’. In response to the evil these men have done, I have been forced into doing evil today. I take that responsibility because the system failed to provide justice. Skylar Briggs has suffered, and her life is now on the line, because of her family’s transgressions. The innocent are paying the price once again.
“For this final challenge, Nora must find the combination for two locks securing Skylar inside a tank that is filling with water. The clues to the combinations are in the room. Good luck to you both.”
Massey took a deep breath and stared into the camera. “The challenge begins the moment Nora opens the door.”
The feed switched to a shot inside the shack of a closed door. Whittaker didn’t wait to see anymore. He marched from the tent towards the van where Donovan Briggs was still being held.
“Where are you going?” Kowalczyk asked.
“To my basket full of eggs,” Whittaker replied. “There’s no point staying here any longer.”
Beth jogged along behind him and took the passenger seat as Whittaker got behind the wheel.
34
Do No Evil
As soon as Massey suggested the door was unlocked, I threw it open and immediately regretted my stupidity. In the middle of the room, which was slightly bigger than the one I’d been in, was a thick Perspex tank. Inside the tank, with barely enough room to fit on her hands and knees, was Skylar. Water gushed into the tank from a tube coming up through the floor. Tied to the door I had opened was a line running through a hole in the floorboards. Opening the door had triggered a valve, letting the water in. If I’d paid attention to what he said, I could have left the door closed and we both could have waited to be found.
“Help me, for fuck’s sake!” Skylar screamed, and I ran to the tank.
A Perspex lid was hinged on one side with a clasp and a combination padlock on the opposite side. Massey had said there were two locks. I looked inside, where the terrified face I’d only seen on a TV screen until now stared back at me. Her wrists were handcuffed to a U-bolt in the floor of the tank, secured by a second combination padlock. I had to get past the lid and then solve the second lock to free her from the tank before she drowned. At least it wasn’t fire.
I stood up and scanned the room. There were pictures on two walls, but I ignored them and ran to the door leading outside. It was locked. I stepped back and gave it a kick. It didn’t budge at all but a pain shot up my foot as all I had on my feet were the thin water shoes. I tried one more kick on the hinge side with the same result before hobbling back to the tank. I wasn’t sure how getting outside would save Skylar from drowning, but maybe I could shut off the water source.
“Come on!” Skylar yelled, “You have to get me out!”
I looked at the wall. A large number two hung above three white picture cards. I spun around. The opposite wall had a number one, and a single picture card. I went over and looked at the picture. It was a stone monument of some sort overlooking the ocean. It looked familiar. Pale white stone formed a rectangular block with a plaque on the front. I couldn’t read the writing on the plaque from the printed picture. I had seen the monument somewhere, but I couldn’t think where.
“What the fuck are you doing? Get me out!” Skylar screamed again.
“Shut up,” I yelled back, “I’m trying to think.”
I heard her continue cussing and grumbling, but at least she did it quietly. The monument was somewhere here on the island and I’d stood in front of it. I’d experienced the view depicted in the photograph. If this was being live-streamed, which it undoubtedly was, I imagined all the Caymanians and a shit ton of tourists, shouting the answer at their screens. That wasn’t any use to me. Neither the prompts I couldn’t hear, nor me wasting time worrying about being watched as I botched this up. AJ would know what the hell this was.
“East End!” I yelped. “AJ took me to this lump of stone at the other end of the island!”
It memorialised the famous wreck that happened there hundreds of years ago. I rushed back to the tank and looked at the combination lock. It had four digits.
“The Wreck of Ten Sail,” I said, looking at Skylar through the clear Perspex. “What year did it happen?”
“What?” she said, the water already over her knees.
“The famous wreck at East End,” I repeated. “What year did that happen?”
“How the hell do I know?” she replied in a high-pitched panic.
“You don’t know about it?” I asked, unsure why I was surprised.
“Sure I do, there’s a statue-type thing. I’ve been there.”
“But you don’t remember the year?” I persisted.
“Do you?” she said, frowning at me.
“Sure, I just wanted to see if you knew before you drowned.”
I know that didn’t help, but just when I started thinking she was worth saving, she pissed me off every time.
“17 something,” she said, still frowning.
I rolled the first two digits to 1 and 7.
“It was late in the century I think.” Half guessing, and partly remembering.
Skylar nodded.
I rolled the third digit to 8 and began at zero on the fourth tumbler, giving the lock a good tug as I paused at each number. No luck, it wasn’t 1780 something.
“1770 or 1790?” I asked, already setting the third tumbler to 9.
“90,” she replied, which made me feel good, for no reliable reason.
I spun the fourth digit with no luck until I got to 4. The lock pulled open and I flipped the lid over. One down.
“Yes! You did it, you did it!” Skylar yelped.
“We did it,” I said and stood to look at the other wall. “But we’re only halfway there.”
There were three pictures. The first was a box, or a square, I wasn’t sure which. The second, a simple illustration of a tree with roots below the ground. And the third was the number 60,516. Below the three white picture cards were the words ‘Days since Olivia Massey was murdered’.
“When was Olivia Massey’s accident?” I shouted to Skylar.
“Like, eight months ago,” she called back.
“But when exactly? Do you remember the date?”
I heard splashing and turned around. The water was up to her chest. The way the handcuffs held her wrists on the floor of the tank, it forced her arms into a bend so she couldn’t straighten them. This kept her head lower, so even with the lid gone, she couldn’t raise her airways above the top of the tank. I looked back at the wall. I had no idea what these clues meant.
Picking one of the cameras, I began describing all I knew about w
here we were, pantomiming as best I could in case there was no sound. I could only hope the camera I chose was the one broadcasting and Massey didn’t switch it away.
“We’re in a small building in the woods about ten metres from the water. We were brought here by a canoe or small boat,” I said, paddling as though I was in a boat.
“It was a canoe!” Skylar yelled, “And we came along a series of little rivers or canals. They were next to a gravel road above the water.”
I relayed the details as best I could in signals. At the end I tapped on my ear, remembering the droning sound. “Listen for what I think is a generator.”
Maybe they could get here to help, because without it, I was sure I couldn’t save her. I felt a panic rising as I realised I’d be watching a human being drown before my eyes with nothing I could do about it. The thought was terrifying.
I looked around the room. He’d bolted the chair to the floor one metre from the wall. The tank was dead centre, and a folding table was against the outside wall by the door. I needed something to smash the tank. I could try to break the chair apart, but the pieces would be too light. Much like my aluminium extrusion next door. There was a small hole in the wall down low behind the table and I wondered why? Power cable. It was just big enough for a power plug to pass through. But the table was cleared of any electronics. On the floor by the table sat a small plastic cooler. I winced at the thought of what was in there.
I went over to the folding table. It had a two-part plastic top, hinged in the middle so it folded in half for carriage and storage. Hollow metal legs supported it, which also folded away. Hollow legs. Plan B.
I flipped the table over and looked at how the legs were mounted to the plastic. Metal clasps wrapped around a lateral tube as its pivot and the leg assembly was welded to the tube. I dragged the table onto its side, held the leg frame of one end, then kicked like hell on the underside of the plastic top.
“What are you doing? I can’t see you!” Skylar screamed, but I didn’t have time to deal with her. Actually, she didn’t have time for me to deal with her. I wasn’t the one about to drown.
Deadly Sommer: Nora Sommer Caribbean Suspense - Book One Page 20