Coastal Disturbance

by Jessica Speart

  “Good observation, Rach,” Gary noted. “Not for nothing, but DRG’s fairly close to Purvis Creek.”

  “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” I asked.

  “You mean that we’re gonna have a greasy barbecue lunch today, seeing that you’ll be heading back down this way?”

  “You always read my mind so well.” I laughed. “Yeah, I think we should pay DRG a visit. Besides, I want to meet the owner, Howard Drapkin.”

  “Why? Is he supposed to be good-looking, or something?” Gary inquired.

  Was that a tinge of jealousy in his voice?

  “Not so far as I’ve heard. But remember Candi Collins? The babe who’s passing herself off as a marine biologist over at the water park?”

  “How can I forget?” he asked with a sigh.

  “Whoa, down boy. She’s already spoken for. It turns out that Candi is Drapkin’s mistress.”

  “Don’t you love these towns where everybody seems to be sleeping with everybody else? So how come I’m always left out of the action?”

  “Probably because you’re a gentleman, and an all-around nice guy.”

  “Oh yeah, that’s right. I keep forgetting. I have to work on that,” he drolly responded. “I’m off to practice my charms on Lucille right now. She needs a good grooming this morning. I’ll meet you at the office afterward.”

  Gary was waiting when I got there, and we quickly headed out.

  We again drove through the industrial heart of Brunswick, which struck me as having the ingredients of a bad sci-fi flick. Smokestacks rose out of the marsh like mutant stalks of spartina grass, while a caustic odor filled the air. I rolled up my car window and Gary laughed.

  “You know that song, “On A Clear Day, You Can See Forever?” Well on a clear day in Brunswick, you can see a fine chemical mist filling the sky.”

  “How could a place so beautiful have been turned into such a dumping ground?” I wondered aloud.

  “What, are you kidding? Let’s be real here. This is rural Georgia. You’ve got cheap labor, very little oversight, no workplace controls and, in case you haven’t noticed, there aren’t a whole lot of environmental activists around. What Brunswick does have is access to raw materials, along with good rail and sea passage. Add it all up, and you’ve got the makings for one hell of an industrial hub in the South. In other words, it’s the perfect place for people like you and me to make cases,” he said with a grin.

  “Yeah, I only wish that we were allowed,” I grumbled.

  “Let’s look at it another way,” Gary reasoned. “You must have hit one helluva nerve to make those boys scramble as fast as they did. So, when those cardboard matadors who we work for try to knock us off a case, we just have to be clever enough to get around it by taking a different route.”

  No wonder I was so fond of Gary.

  “Your boss is doing his damnedest to checkmate you. The trick is not to let him break your spirit.”

  “So what’s your secret? How have you managed to stay so upbeat?”

  “Easy. I found out that they ‘proud cut’ the old biologist who worked in this office before me. I vowed then and there never to give them that much power.”

  “Proud cut? What’s that?” I asked.

  “It’s what they do to a horse when they geld it. Except sometimes they don’t quite get everything, so this gelded horse runs around thinking he’s still a stud. Then when a stallion comes on the scene, the gelded horse gets his ass kicked. That’s what happened to Harry Phillips after he had some big run-in with the head honchos over a case down here that he wanted to make. He’d let them whittle away his power until he no longer had any left. Old Harry became so disgusted that he gave up and retired around the Okefenokee. I decided that would never happen to me.”

  I was about to ask what made him think that it hadn’t already when DRG, with its twin smokestacks wreathed in a plume of emissions, came into view.

  “Hi ho, here we go,” Gary quipped, and drove in through the gate. Even with the windows closed, the air nipped at my throat.

  We parked in the lot and entered the main building, where our footsteps echoed on the linoleum floor. Large color photographs of the marsh were mounted on the walls, displaying the Georgia coastline in all its glory. Funny, but none showed an industrial plant or smokestack in sight.

  Everything appeared to be pristinely clean as we strode down the hallway. The ventilation system must have been working overtime, for there was nary a whiff of an unpleasant odor. It was either that, or I was already getting used to the stench that hung over the grounds.

  We made a beeline for the first door, where a matronly woman sat behind a clutter-free desk. She smiled, making her cheeks so round that they swelled into chipmunk’s pouches.

  “Good day. What can I do for ya’ll?” she inquired in a singsong voice, her head rhythmically bobbing from side to side.

  “We’d like to speak with Mr. Drapkin,” I informed her.

  Her ten pudgy fingers lay entwined on the desk like little pork sausage links. Breaking apart, they fiddled with the nameplate that announced her identity in bright gold letters.

  “I’m afraid he’s an awfully busy man. I’ll have to ask what this is in regard to.”

  “It’s official business, Mrs. Miller,” I replied, and pulled out my badge.

  “Oh dear, I hope nothing is wrong,” she responded, her smile collapsing as quickly as air escaping a balloon.

  “No, we just have a few questions is all,” Gary reassured her.

  “Oh, that’s good. Then why don’t you wait here and I’ll be back in just a minute?” Mrs. Miller graciously suggested.

  She waddled down the hall toward a closed door. My guess was that either Candi Collins or Mrs. Drapkin had hired her, preferring not to deal with any unnecessary competition. She soon returned, smiling as broadly as before.

  “Like I said, Mr. Drapkin’s a busy man but he’ll be glad to spend a few minutes with you.”

  Smart move. It wouldn’t have looked very good had he refused.

  “Just go to that first door and walk right on in,” she advised.

  We did as instructed, only I knocked first. A courtly gentleman stood from behind his desk and approached to greet us.

  “Please, come in and sit down.”

  Drapkin wasn’t at all the brash industrialist that I’d expected. Rather, the man couldn’t have been more cordial.

  Appearing to be in his late fifties, Drapkin was tall and fit with a shock of white hair that was moussed and blown dry to perfection. It gave him a striking resemblance to the old game-show-host-turned-animal-activist Bob Barker. His clothes were as expensive and finely tailored as those of Clark Williams, making me wonder if the two men shopped together.

  “Mr. Drapkin, I’m Special Agent Rachel Porter, and this is Dr. Gary Fletcher, a contaminants expert. We’re with the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service.”

  I was caught by surprise as he took hold of my arm and guided me across the floor, as though I were eighty years old.

  “Why don’t you sit here? This is a comfortable chair,” Drapkin courteously suggested, helping me into my seat.

  Yikes! I didn’t know whether to thank the guy or punch his lights out. I looked over at Gary to find he was smiling away like a loon.

  Sitting down, I discovered that Drapkin was right. The chair molded itself to my every contour. All I needed was a cat in my lap, a martini, and I’d be all set. Gary took the chair next to me.

  “Thanks. This one’s pretty comfortable too,” he joked.

  Drapkin ignored the remark as he sat back down behind his desk. “Now, what is it that I can do for you?” he asked, flashing a smile that was neither too big nor too small, but just right.

  Even his pearly whites were perfect. A fitting nickname popped into my mind, The Silver Fox.

  “We’ve discovered a large number of dead animals and birds in the surrounding marsh. Whenever something like that happens, I’m asked to investigate,” I began.


  Drapkin opened his mouth as if to protest, only to decide against it. Instead, he nodded his head and then murmured, “Of course.”

  “That led us to do some testing to try and discover the cause.”

  “And what we found were amazingly high levels of mercury, not only in the water and environs, but also in animals, fish, and birds,” Gary added.

  “Really? Well, that’s disturbing,” Drapkin remarked, with what appeared to be genuine concern. “I hate to think that something’s harming our marsh. Maybe it’s just some sort of natural die-off. The area looks the same to me as it always has. But then of course, I’m no scientist.”

  “No, you’re not,” Gary bluntly remarked.

  Drapkin’s expression rapidly changed from one of concern to alarm. “Surely you’re not suggesting that DRG is in any way involved.”

  “Well, you do use liquid mercury in your electrolytic cells,” Gary pointed out.

  “For which I have all the necessary permits, I assure you,” Drapkin firmly responded.

  “Would you mind showing them to us?” I asked, glad to have Gary along. Otherwise, I’d only have a general idea of what I was looking for.

  “Not at all. You’ll find that everything is in order,” Drapkin asserted.

  However, his impeccably tan complexion now held a reddish hue, as if a fire had begun to burn beneath its surface.

  Opening the small filing cabinet next to his desk, he pulled out a folder.

  “Here, see for yourself.”

  Though Drapkin pushed the papers toward me, I chose to get up from my chair. A number of picture frames were on his desk and I wanted to see the photos. I was curious if they were of Candi, his wife, or both. I walked around to find that each frame held a formal “beauty” shot of only one person—Howard Drapkin, himself. Talk about being creepy. I suddenly saw the man in an entirely new light.

  His hair was perfectly coiffed in each photo, while his tan and smile struck me as chic accessories. Gary joined me to catch a glimpse of the pictures and silently raised an eyebrow. Then we proceeded to examine the paperwork.

  Drapkin was correct. DRG had all the necessary permits. In addition, he presented us with a slew of reports that were prepared and sent into the Georgia Environmental Protection Division each month. They revealed the plant was well within the legal limit of the amount of mercury discharged each day. The levels were low enough not to have a harmful effect on the marsh.

  “I understand you’re only doing your job, and I appreciate that. But as you see, DRG is operating within permitted boundaries. Perhaps the marsh is just experiencing one of those phenomenons of nature that happen every now and again,” Drapkin affably proposed.

  “Yeah, right. The marsh is turning around and biting itself in the ass just for the hell of it,” Gary caustically retorted.

  Even I was taken aback by the vehemence of his reaction.

  “Sorry to have bothered you, Mr. Drapkin,” I offered, hoping to smooth any ruffled feathers.

  However, it was clear that Drapkin was annoyed. He pursed his lips and glared at Gary before addressing me.

  “Not at all. Let me know if there’s anything else I can do to help,” he responded, beginning to usher us out of the room.

  “Well, it would be nice if you did something about the odor in the area. Is it possible to fix that?” I joked.

  But Drapkin wasn’t amused. He turned on me as though I’d accused him of not wearing enough deodorant.

  “We’ve got industrial plants around here and when the wind is right, you’re going to smell them. That doesn’t make it a damn health emergency,” he defensively snapped.

  This time, it was Drapkin’s response that took me by surprise. What the hell was he so touchy about? I decided it would be prudent to find out.

  “Actually, there is one more thing you can do,” I said, digging in my heels before he pushed me out the door. “I’d like to take a quick look inside the plant.”

  “Absolutely not,” Drapkin brusquely rejoined and then quickly backtracked, as though realizing just how bad that sounded. “No one’s available to show you around at the moment. Besides, we don’t allow people to traipse through here unless absolutely necessary, what with the penchant for lawsuits these days. Heaven forbid, you so much as stub your toe. I’d never hear the end of it from my insurance company.”

  “Except that I’m not John Q Public. I’m a federal agent,” I reminded him. “And I’m not here to hit you with a lawsuit. I’m only asking to check out the plant.”

  “I’m sorry, but not without the proper authorization. Nothing personal, Agent Porter, but I’ve heard far too many horror stories when it comes to dealing with the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service. For all I know, you’re planning to drop an endangered mouse on the grounds as an excuse to shut me down, all because you don’t like the smell. Too many employees depend on DRG for their livelihood. Come back with the proper paperwork, and then we’ll take it from there. After all, I showed you mine. I think it only fitting that you now show me yours,” he said, and closed the door behind us.

  Talk about your slick customers. Drapkin was good. Almost as good as Clark Williams, himself.

  “What do you suppose that was all about?” I asked, as we walked outside.

  “I don’t know, but there’s something definitely ghoulish about the guy. He’s slippery enough to work for the Feds. So, what do you propose we do, Pepper?”

  “Well, we can’t get inside the plant right now. However, Drapkin didn’t say that we weren’t allowed on the grounds. So why don’t we take a stroll around and see what we can find?”

  “You’re a woman after my own heart,” Gary replied, and took hold of my arm. “You want me to help you there, grandma?”

  He was lucky I didn’t deck him.

  “Wait here,” he said and ran back to the vehicle. Gary returned with his sampling bag.

  I looked at him in surprise.

  “It’s a compulsion,” he admitted. “I like to live up to my motto. Have Bag Will Travel. Besides, you never know what we might find.”

  We began our trek.

  “Do you have any idea how much property DRG has?” I asked, curious as to its size.

  “Yeah. I checked it out at the office right before we left. They’ve got about six hundred acres, two hundred and fifty of which are tidal marshlands.”

  He wasn’t kidding. The view from the back of the main building took my breath away. The marsh spread out before us like a giant hula skirt, its golden grasses swaying in a thick layer of fringe. It drove home the point that no matter where you are in this area, you’re never far from the marsh.

  “See over there?” Gary pointed north to south. “You’ve got residential housing, while the marsh, Purvis Creek, and the Turtle River border us to the west.”

  Then I looked at the other buildings, as Gary pointed them out. “My guess is those are treatment and disposal units, along with tank storage facilities. And then of course, you’ve got railroad spurs by those tracks. Let’s head this way first,” he suggested, and we began to work our way toward the marsh.

  My feet grew increasingly damp with each step, until I felt like one more swamp creature.

  “You’re clearly going to owe me a new pair of shoes,” I remarked.

  Gary turned, looked at my feet, and laughed. “That’s because you’re doing it all wrong. How long have you been down here, anyway?”

  “That’s beside the point,” I retorted. “Just tell me what you’re talking about.”

  “Observe and learn,” he instructed.

  I watched as Gary swept the marsh grass over and down with every step.

  “See? As long as you lay the grass down with your feet, you won’t sink into all that crap. It places a fibrous layer of material between yourself and the mud. The other thing to be aware of is that this will leave a track for a day or two. It’s one way to tell if someone has been in the area before you.”

  I proceeded to keep my eyes plast
ered to the ground. Though I didn’t spot any tracks, I did see something else.

  “What’s that?” I asked, pointing off to my left.

  Gary followed my finger. “Interesting. There appears to be some kind of drainage canal coming from the plant. Not only that, but there’s plenty of stressed vegetation all around. What say we take a water sample?”

  “Sounds good to me,” I agreed.

  Gary pulled out a jar, filled it with liquid, and screwed the lid on tight.

  “Okay, Pepper. What do you want to do now? Keep walking into the marsh, or head back?”

  I scrutinized the area and carefully weighed my options. Now that I knew what I was looking for, I could spot stressed vegetation everywhere. There was a good chance that I could always get back out into this marsh if I so chose. However, I didn’t know when I’d be able to nose around the buildings again.

  “Let’s see what we can find around the plant. Only why don’t we head in that direction?” I pointed toward a group of buildings that we hadn’t spotted before.

  The first thing we hit were a couple of abandoned railroad cars. Not far from those were an outfall pond and a weir. But what grabbed my attention were two large buildings that lay off to our right.

  “What do you suppose those are?”

  Gary gazed at them and then nodded in recognition.

  “Why, that’s the heart and soul of any chlor-alkali facility. Those are the generating plants. It’s where processing takes place and the electrolytic cells are housed.”

  The words were said almost with reverence.

  “Then that’s what I want to check out.”

  “Be my guest,” Gary complied, with a wave of his hand.

  As we headed toward them, a worker in coveralls and boots appeared from around one of the buildings. He stopped short upon catching sight of us.

  “Sorry, but you need permission to be in this area,” he called out.

  “There’s no problem. Mr. Drapkin said it would be all right,” I boldly lied, with what I hoped passed for a charming smile.

  The workman waved and continued on his way.

  “I suggest you take a quick look, because my gut tells me that guy is about to rat us out,” Gary warned.