“Edgar had just come home from a two week shift on Aquatica. He was an engineer out there. He was apparently very upset.”
“About what?”
“We don’t know. But he spent most of his first evening at home trying to call someone.”
“Who?”
“That’s coming.”
“Ok, so we put the Pulitzer on hold. But keep going.”
“He left home about midnight. That was the last time anybody saw him.”
“Until you found his body.”
“That’s right.”
“Fine. So how do we make the little jump from there to you committing industrial espionage on a billion dollar oil platform?”
“That,” said Jackson, rocking forward and finishing his glass of Scotch, “is what I would like to know.”
“When I came home that night, I found Edgar’s brother, Hector, sitting on my porch. He said Edgar had confided in him that there was something very wrong; he had documented it, and it was on his computer.”
“Which was where?”
“In his room on Aquatica. Louisiana Petroleum offered to clean out the room and send Edgar’s belongings back to his mother, but…”
“…but you knew they would confiscate the computer. And whatever was on it.”
“That seemed probable.”
“Certain, more like it. So you went out there?”
“Hector and I did.”
“And packed up his things?”
“Yes.”
“But the computer? Surely they didn’t just let you have it, and anything that might have been on it?”
“No, they checked it thoroughly, while we sat there and watched. They found nothing.”
“Nothing? Then I don’t see…”
“They left and Hector asked if he could be left alone in his dead brother’s room to pray. They said ok. But as soon as they were gone, he opened Edgar’s empty locker—we had checked there first thing and emptied it out. Behind a pin-up poster of a naked woman was a flash disk. Edgar had downloaded the vital files onto it, then hidden it.”
“Behind a naked woman?”
“A picture of a naked woman.”
“Yeah, we’re back to Pulitzer again. The only question is, I’m just not sure who’s going to play you.”
“Play me?”
“In the movie. I’m thinking Meryl Steep.”
“She’s too tall.”
“She can play short. So how did Narang come into the scene?”
“Edgar had been trying to call somebody all night. But nobody knew who.”
“Yeah, I got that.”
“But I kept wondering…if he had been doing all that calling, where was his cell phone?”
“Where indeed?”
“They hadn’t found it on his body, and it wasn’t in his room.”
“So you figured?”
“It was still in the drainage canal. So I went back there, poked around, found it, and called the last number that showed up on the call window.”
“Jesus.”
“No, Narang.”
“You’re a smartass, too. God, I like you.”
Liz thumbed madly on the keypad of her smartphone for more than a minute; then she said:
“Okay, the whole story’s sent. We’re leading with Narang’s piece, then printing a byline that essentially goes over what you just told me. The digital version of the paper goes on line at five AM tomorrow morning. As for whether this is a Pulitzer or not, I don’t know. But I can tell you…”
There was a buzzing sound.
“That’s my phone,” said Jackson Bennett.
He looked at the window on the phone.
“My office. Something must be going on, or they wouldn’t be calling me out here. Wait a minute and let me take this.”
He flipped the phone open, and for a time Nina could hear only half of a conversation.
“Yeah. Yeah.”
Pause.
“What?”
Second pause.
“Just say that one more time. All of it.”
Third pause.
Finally:
“Okay. See you as soon as I can.”
Phone flipped shut.
Jackson:
“That was my office, like I thought. They just heard from the Coroner’s office.”
“The Coroner’s office?”
“Yes, Nina. The Coroner’s office. They’ve run further tests.”
“And?”
“Edgar Ramirez was murdered.”
“Oh, my God.”
“He was drugged and then forced to drink almost a bottle of whiskey. Whoever did it hoped the whiskey would cover the drugs. And it did on preliminary tests. But they kept on looking, and…well, it’s like you must have thought all along. Somebody killed the boy.”
Liz Cohen stubbed out her cigarette and said:
“Ok, then let me get this straight. Ms. Bannister, retired school teacher and ex principal, along with The New York Times, are going to be accusing one of the biggest oil companies in the world of murdering a twenty-one year old Hispanic boy in cold blood in order to hide the fact that their greed and incompetence are about to blow up one hundred and twenty workers and destroy the entire ecological system of the United States Gulf Coast? Is that what is happening here?”
Nina thought for a time, then said:
“They’ll be mad, won’t they? When the story comes out?”
Liz said nothing, but her thumbs continued to work on the keypad.
It was soon obvious that she was not texting, but making an actual phone call.
Finally, she spoke into the glowing plastic appliance in her palm:
“Tom? Liz. You got the stuff I sent you? Good. Well get ready, it gets better. The kid they found in the ditch? He was murdered. No. No, you heard right. Drugged and then drowned. No. No, I don’t know what drugs exactly, but I’m sure as hell going to find out. I’m driving into Bay St. Lucy right now and heading to the Coroner’s office. I’ll send you an update in less than an hour. Okay.”
So saying, she hung up.
Then she looked at Jackson and asked:
“Are you a good lawyer?”
He merely shrugged.
Liz continued:
“Well, you better be. Because you’re gonna have one pissed off oil company looking for Nina Bannister in the morning.”
“They are,” Jackson said, “going to be looking for The New York Times, too.”
She stood up, and smiled.
“Yeah. Well, we’re big kids. I’m going to get my things out of the bedroom and head back to town. I may have to batter down the doors of the Coroner’s office, but I will find out what kind of drugs were used on that kid. And I’ll get a direct report from your coroner. Sorry I can’t stay for the stroganoff.”
“That’s all right,” said Jackson. “I probably need to get back to town too. All hell is going to be breaking loose.”
“You better know it.”
She disappeared for a time into the bedroom, then reappeared with her briefcase.
“Nina Bannister,” she said, extending a hand, “you are one brave woman. And everybody on the Gulf Coast may owe you more than they realize. As well as those folks on Aquatica.”
Nina took the hand and returned as firm a handshake as she was capable of.
“I do what little I can.”
Liz smiled, looked first at Jackson and then at Nina, and said:
“What was it that Margaret Mead said? ‘Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world; indeed, it’s the only thing that ever has.’”
Nina nodded and added:
“Right. Margaret Mead’s dead, isn’t she?”
“Well,” said Liz, opening the door to the porch, “there is that to consider. You two have a nice evening. I may not see you again. Hope you enjoy the story.”
And with that she was gone.
Nina and Jackson watched her get into the rental car,
and watched as its tail lights disappeared into the forest.
For a while, there was only the sound of cicadas and crickets.
The woods and lake had become purple and murky as night fell.
“What,” Nina asked quietly, “is going to happen now?”
Jackson shook his head:
“I wish I knew. I’m not that smart.”
“Well, you’re the smartest we got around here. So I’ll try it again: what’s going to happen next?”
“Okay. Louisiana Petroleum is a multi-billion dollar oil company that employs more than two hundred attorneys. All of these lawyers, and all of the company’s top executives, and all of their workers, and all of their workers’ families, are going to go completely ape in about ten hours. Maybe sooner if this thing leaks before The Times actually hits the street.”
“Yeah; so that’s bad.”
“Well, they’re probably going to take note of the fact that they’re being accused of murder and environmental destruction on a mass scale, all because of a small computer disk that you stole from them.”
“I was hoping they would miss that.”
“No, I don’t think they will.”
“What can they do to me?”
“They can sue you for about a trillion dollars in damages.”
“That would almost empty my checking account.”
“Well, they might be satisfied just to take Furl and call it even.”
“No way.”
“I didn’t think you’d want to do it the easy way. Nina, what is it about you, anyway?”
“What do you mean, Jackson?”
“For the last, oh, eighteen months or so, your life…”
“I know what you mean.”
“Why can’t you just be a retired senior citizen, sitting on her deck and watching the ocean?”
“That was my plan. It really was.”
“I know. But, there was the Robinson case, and then the Reddington murder and then the bizarre deal with April van Osdale…”
“I know. I know. I keep thinking, ‘well, this horrible thing is over, but at least now I can settle back and enjoy my golden years.”
“But it doesn’t’ seem to happen, does it?”
“No, it doesn’t. It almost seems like I’m caught up in this series of wild murder mysteries, and the writer keeps churning them out, each one more unbelievable than the last.”
“Yeah. Well, I hope they’re selling.”
“They can’t be. People who read mysteries like a little English village and a quiet, simple murder. I could even stand to be involved in that. Maybe I could even solve the murder. But what do I get? The biggest oil well in the whole world, which is ready to blow up and destroy the entire Gulf Coast of The United States. How would Miss Marple deal with that?”
Jackson shook his head and rose to his feet.
“I don’t know, Nina. But what I imagine is this: Louisiana Petroleum will issue a statement first thing tomorrow morning. They have offices in a number of major cities, but I think their CEO is based in Lafayette—although the majority of their lawyers probably are based in DC. Anyway, they will, of course, deny everything. They will skewer The New York Times for daring to run such a damaging and untrue story. All this time, phone calls will be going on behind the scenes. There will be threats of huge law suits.”
“And they will probably want to have a few words with me.”
“Just a few. Which is why….”
He took a deep breath.
She interrupted:
“What, Jackson? Which is why what?”
He exhaled, and then said, quietly:
“Nina, I don’t think you should go back into Bay St Lucy tonight. I have to. The Bay St. Lucy Gazette is going to get hold of this story as soon as anybody does. They’re going to want to talk to you. I’ll intercede. In fact, I may go straight to their offices now, and give them a heads up on what’s happening. They’ll contact Louisiana Petroleum, or Louisiana Petroleum will contact them, I don’t know. But at any rate, by early tomorrow morning, LP will know that I’m representing you.”
“You will represent me?”
“Don’t I always represent you? I’m like Perry Mason: every Sunday evening, same time same place…”
“I know, Jackson. This time it seems we’re a little out of our league, doesn’t it?”
He smiled and shook his head:
“Not a bit of it. You beat Hattiesburg and the McNulty girls; you shouldn’t have a problem with some huge, floating filling station. The thing is, though, it just might be better for you to stay here tonight. A lot of people are going to start wanting to talk with Nina Bannister, starting in just a few hours. Nobody knows you’re here. Nobody even knows about this cabin. So just try to get a good night’s sleep. There’s coffee and a coffee maker. When I went into the grocery story I picked up some cereal and milk. I mean, it isn’t Bagatelli’s but…”
“There’s Furl.”
“I’ll go by tonight and change his litter, give him some fresh food.”
“I don’t have a book to read.”
“You don’t need a book. You are a book.”
“Yes. I guess that’s true.”
“I’ll also go by and talk to the Ramirez family. Try to tell them what’s coming.”
“Tell them I’m so sorry to have gotten them into this.”
He shook his head:
“You didn’t get them into it, Nina. Edgar got them into it, maybe because he thought it was a good idea not to destroy a major portion of the ocean. And Hector got them into it, maybe because he knew his big brother had been killed, and he thought somebody ought to do something about it.”
“The proverb he used,” she whispered. ‘A boy remains a boy until a man is needed.’”
Jackson walked toward the doorway turned, and said:
“Well. A man may be needed now.”
“Several of them. And maybe a couple of women, too.”
He smiled:
“As far as the women are concerned, one may be enough. It has been in the past. Anyway, I promise you, Nina. No one will bother you out here tonight. Get a good night’s sleep. I’ll send a car out to get you, maybe about nine tomorrow morning. I won’t be able to come myself because I’m sure to be in one meeting after another; also, I don’t want anybody to follow me. But there’s a young man I trust. He’ll bring the car out, and we’ll sneak you back into Bay St. Lucy. After that, we’ll just go by instinct.”
“All right, Jackson. Whatever you think.”
“That’s it then. Ok, good night, Nina.”
He walked through the door, down the stairs, and out the pathway toward his car.
She could hear it driving away.
And she was alone.
What to do?
Something told her that she should be uneasy. The evidence had come in, and Edgar had indeed been murdered. Chilling thought. Whoever had killed him was going to know about her.
Somehow, though, as she walked to the window and peered out into the forest, she felt comforted. The pines and birches seemed to wrap her in a blanket of security, and the night sounds had a restful quality. She looked around her, in the kitchen. There was the plastic-wrapped packet of ground beef that Jackson had bought at the grocery story. A can of mushroom soup. A small sack of noodles.
And two bottles of red wine.
She didn’t need two bottles, but…
…where was a corkscrew?
There, before her, in the drawer.
All right, then…
…stroganoff for dinner.
So she boiled the water, dumped in the noodles, and cooked her meal.
Half an hour later she was finishing her second glass of red wine.
She had moved outside to the small pier that extended out into the lake, and was sitting on a plastic folding chair. The Mississippi sky sparkled above her, stars glittering like tiny jewels on an ink-black gown. They were reflected in the calm lake, which moved not at all e
xcept when a heron chanced to land on it, or a fish jumped out of it, plopping on re-entry.
What would tomorrow bring?
Lawyers, lawyers, lawyers, all yelling at her, all accusing her of something.
She could have left well enough alone, couldn’t she?
And then she was conversing again, as she did so often at times like these.
“But it’s true, I could have. When Hector came to the house and I found him there, sitting on the front porch—I could have just told him to go on home.”
“Yes, you could have.”
“Then none of this would have happened.”
“Well, not to you, anyway.”
“Of course not. And when you think of it, why am I involved in this anyway? Aquatica indeed! I’m an old retired English teacher. What do I know about oil rigs?”
“More than you used to.”
“Maybe. But not much more. And The New York Times. Me in The New York Times! The only thing I know about The New York Times is their crossword puzzle. And even that’s too hard.”
“Except for Monday.”
“Yes, except for Monday. So what do I do now? What if they sue me?”
“They can’t sue you.”
“Why can’t they?”
“You don’t have anything.”
“Oh. Well, there is that to consider.”
“Of course, there is.”
“Still, I feel like I’ve made a horrible mess out of things.”
“Look at the lake.”
“What?”
“Look at the lake.”
“Why?”
“Because, one way or another, it feeds into the ocean.”
She did look at the lake. Bullfrogs ringing it had begun croaking in chorus, not far from where she was sitting. More fish were jumping now, one out there, to the right, another closer to the center. And there, on the far side perhaps two hundred yards from her, a deer stepped out of the undergrowth and began to drink. She could see his button eyes gleaming, even in the distance.
“And the ocean, Nina, feeds into it.”
She nodded.
“The oil would be here, too, wouldn’t it?”
“Yes, it would, Nina. It might take time. But the oil would be here, too.”
“Okay.”
Silence for a time.
“Okay. So I’ll just do the best I can.”
“Of course, you will. You always do.”
“Whatever’s out there waiting. Bring it on.”
Oil Change: A Nina Bannister Mystery (The Nina Bannister Mysteries Book 4) Page 12