Shades of Deception

by Charlie Hudson

  They geared up, became more worried in not finding him and descended all the way to the wreck. They didn’t have to enter for the search, though, as they spotted Eric on the deck close to the descent line. He had no regulator in his mouth and the first thought was he had suffered something like a heart attack. The only fortunate aspect was, he had fallen onto the deck rather than his body being carried out by current, away from the wreck. The autopsy had revealed no previously unknown medical issues to account for him losing consciousness.

  In the initial statements, the friends who found him said they had seen that his regulator on his 100 percent oxygen bottle was deployed. Crystal had to slow down and re-read the passage to understand that meant he had deliberately taken out the regulator to the last tank he was to use during his planned decompression. With the results of the autopsy showing no other obvious problem, the conclusion of the group and the experts was he had switched to the 100 percent oxygen before he should have. The author of the article explained pure oxygen is not to be used any deeper than twenty feet. They all had fifty percent oxygen in the first tank and 100 percent in the second. Eric should have switched to the fifty percent tank at a depth of seventy feet. If he had accidentally breathed in 100 percent oxygen instead, it would have been toxic and he’d probably had a seizure within seconds. By not having anyone nearby to give assistance, he’d drowned. Although no one understood why he had confused the two tanks, it was the most logical answer as to what happened. Human error in diving was often compared to pilot error in flying.

  The article closed with an emphasis of how divers can become complacent no matter how experienced they are. No one could say with certainty if Eric had been with a buddy, the tragedy could have been prevented. If he’d seized at a depth of seventy feet and his buddy had to make an emergency ascent without being able to do proper decompression, the end result might have still been fatal. Or it could have been a situation of recoverable injury instead of death.

  Crystal read the entire article a third time, focusing on the portion about how rapidly someone could have a seizure from breathing the wrong gas. Drowning could have taken ten minutes or longer, but Eric had evidently been unconscious. She shivered in a mix of sensations. Had he been aware of anything? Had he known on some level he was about to die alone? Had his last moments been a desperate hope he could somehow be saved? That was the kind of death Matt deserved. The question was, could this be done deliberately? After all, she’d been able to trick Deena into alcohol poisoning, a death attributed to recklessness. Was this so much different?

  She added more juice and ice to her glass. She didn’t care about diving as a passion. For her, it was a practical tool she used because it was part of the lifestyle in the Keys. Matt had willingly taught her the classes she’d taken and always acted as if he enjoyed her company when they were together for fun dives. So, it hadn’t meant anything to him after all? She was just a kid to him? Asking to dive with him wouldn’t be difficult. Filling his tank with an incorrect mixture presented the same problem as trying to poison him though. For the kind of dive she could do he would be using whatever shop tank he grabbed and there was no way for Crystal to insist he take a particular one. Besides, even if there was a way to give him a tainted tank, he would be breathing from it from the moment they entered the water and would be able to immediately know something was wrong. Detecting the problem would be simple and narrowing down who had been filling tanks wouldn’t take long. She sat at the computer again and her eyes moved to an ad on the screen touting a pony bottle, a slightly smaller, additional tank many divers carried to prevent an out-of-air situation. Almost all the instructors owned them as did quite a few people who were solo divers. She narrowed her eyes and straightened, remembering some of the talk about the advantages of having a pony bottle. The more she thought about it, the more she knew — this could be the answer.

  Crystal could curb her impatience when it mattered. It was like watching nature shows on television. Apex predators such as great white sharks, grizzlies, or large birds of prey could attack whenever they saw the right target. Stalking or ambush was the way for other species not equipped with overpowering strength. She expected to wait at least two weeks and maybe longer for everything to align properly as she refined her plot. She was casual in her offer to spend extra time filling tanks. It took her out of the main store and into the scuba operations area where she didn’t see Matt as often. More importantly, it gave her the opportunity to increase her familiarity with that part of the staff. She wanted them used to seeing her around and didn’t want anything about her to stand out as different the day she planned to killed Matt.

  Accessing the dive schedule was easy and the USS Spiegel Grove was a favored site. She needed a day when there would be around fifteen divers on board. The captain and mate would be busy helping divers get in the water and not paying attention to staff members who weren’t supposed to need assistance. She especially wanted a deep trip combined with a shallow reef as their second site of the day. When they did a “double-dip” — two back-to-back dives on the wreck — more experienced divers tended to book. She wanted as few of those as possible on the trip to reduce the number of divers likely to penetrate into the wreck. Less experienced divers would stay out of the interior spaces and she might need as much as ten minutes with no one near them. The best outcome would be for her to be the one who surfaced with Matt to avoid someone else starting resuscitation sooner than she intended to appear to. Every minute she could prevent him from receiving actual aid was to her advantage. She constantly went over the plan, focusing on the points where she might have to pull back and wait for another opportunity.

  She was meticulous in getting ahead on her school assignments, in order to make sure nothing interfered with the day she would select for the dive. One of the bartenders had quit on short notice and her mother was working extra hours which kept Crystal from having to keep up pretenses of any interest in her miserable life. They were barely seeing each other and when they were at the trailer together, she was more interested in getting a few drinks down to unwind than asking what Crystal was up to.

  The right conditions finally came together and she purchased a pony bottle one afternoon at the end of her shift when she was in the main store and Matt was on the register. His grinned, and she was almost surprised to no longer be affected by it.

  “What’s up, Crystal?”

  She smiled. “Oh, you know me. I’ve been watching and it looks like all of you are getting these. I’ve been thinking about what you said last time we were out, and I think you’re right about me working for divemaster training. I’ll be eighteen before long and I might as well start on some of the skills I’ll need to add.” This was an easy lie. Becoming an instructor involved multiple courses and a lot of dive time. Divemasters didn’t necessarily continue on to be instructors, but it was the first basic step in the scuba profession and working toward the goal at age eighteen wasn’t unusual.

  He nodded. “Hey, good for you. Yeah, I gotta’ say having the pony bottle is a good idea. It gives you more options in an of out of air situation.”

  They were alone at the register. She sucked her lower lip in a little and widened her eyes. “That’s what I’m thinking, but I was wondering if you could give me a hand. I’m going to want to practice with it and I think it would be better to do it in the right kind of situation. You’ve done all my training and I’m really comfortable learning from you.”

  “Well, it’s pretty simple, really.”

  She glanced around as if to make sure they were alone. “Yeah, but I don’t want to just pop down onto a reef and play around. I want to make sure I know how to seriously use it.”

  He didn’t seem surprised. “Okay, that’s a good attitude. We ought to have a Spiegel dive booked. We can practice with it inside — that’s a good drill to do. Let’s see.”

  She already knew the schedule for the following afternoon. It wa
s one of Matt’s days off and like most of the staff, it wasn’t unusual for him to use part of a leisure day for diving. The combination was the one she had been waiting for — deep on the shipwreck for the first dive, then off to a reef. She and Matt would bring the diver count to sixteen.

  He checked the computer. “Yeah, I thought there was a trip. I’m off tomorrow, but it’s afternoon, so I can sleep in. If you can make it, I’ll put us on the manifest.”

  “Tomorrow? Hmm, I think I can.” She checked the calendar on her phone, then raised her eyes to his again. “Hey, great, this will work. I really appreciate it.”

  “No problem,” he said and keyed their names in.

  A couple had moved to a locked case close to the register where the more expensive dive watches were on display. Crystal wanted to distract him from their conversation and she pointed them out. “Hey, I’m not in a hurry. I’ll take over here if you want to see if they’re in a buying mood.”

  “Thanks,” he said with a wink. “They do have that look.”

  One of the only elements of luck she needed was for Matt to not tell anyone they were going to practice with her pony bottle. He was an excellent salesman and if the couple purchased one — or better two — watches, that would be of far more interest to him than anything they’d been discussing. She was certain his pattern for the next day would be to arrive at the boat barely before the scheduled departure time. If he showed up earlier, he’d be expected to help load tanks. It wasn’t his job to do so on a day off, but it was common courtesy for any staff around to pitch in. Crystal had heard comments about Matt’s habit of strolling up to the dock when there were few, if any, tanks left to deal with.

  She’d guessed correctly about the potential purchase and quickly left the store after relinquishing the register to Matt. Although in a way she wished they would be on the morning boat rather than having to wait longer, Matt might not have been as willing to dive if he hadn’t been able to sleep in. Plus, the morning boat was nearly full and that meant a lot of tanks to fill in preparation. With the afternoon swap, her volunteering to help in the tank room would be appreciated. No one would give her presence a second thought.

  She took time to fix a full meal of roasted chicken with potatoes and onions, making enough to leave a portion for her mother on a plate ready for the microwave. She didn’t want her clattering around at whatever hour she dragged home. She headed into her bedroom to find a movie to watch on her computer and wondered if she would be able to sleep at all. The truth was she hadn’t tossed and turned the night before killing Deena and certainly not the nights of or after. In looking back, she wished she’d been able to know for sure the bitch was dead before she’d left. In thinking through the situation with Matt, there was a similar element of timing because death wouldn’t be instantaneous. It couldn’t be helped — not if the story of an accident was to be believed.

  By the next afternoon, Crystal briefly thought perhaps she should change her career goal to actress. She wasn’t glamorous enough to be a lead, but a character actor content with supporting roles was different. It even felt as if she was in a movie, working from a script, except she was the only one who knew what was going on. She sure as shit was playing a convincing part. Everyone else was behaving exactly as she’d envisioned, right down to Matt showing up not quite fifteen minutes before departure time. She’d waved him to where she’d set them up on the forward left side of the Corinthian. The day was partially overcast so being in the uncovered section of the boat wouldn’t be uncomfortable.

  Tyler Wilson was captain and the only other staff member on board Big Blue was Gary Fitzhugh as mate. Neither man had more than a working relationship with Matt and he wasn’t likely to engage them in small talk. As a hedge, Crystal had smilingly invited two women from Brazil to set up close to them. They were in the correct age range and the type Matt would gravitate to. Unlike in the past when she did all she could to keep his attention on her, she wanted him occupied right until they splashed in. There was an older couple sitting down and across from them and she thought they were repeat customers. She scooted next to them as soon as the boat briefing was completed, leaving Matt to predictably engage the Brazilian women in conversation. She led with the standard question — asking the couple where all they’d been diving. Between the two, they talked until Tyler rang the bell indicating they were ten minutes from the Spiegel.

  This was a critical time since the engines were running and it was reasonable to speak into Matt’s ear rather than try and shout. No one could possibly hear what she was saying. She leaned into him. “Hey, on the drill about the pony bottle, don’t warn me you’re going to do it. Let us be in the kind of situation where I don’t see it coming. Just grab me at some point when we’re alone and give me the out of air signal.”

  He nodded. “Sure. I thought we’d go on in to the mess area. You’re used to that route from the wreck specialty class we did.”

  “Yeah, I remember.” They completed their gear check and Crystal saw there was only one other boat moored to the wreck. It was a smaller Island Hopper. She counted four sets of tanks on board which also meant the captain and probably no mate. Good, the fewer extra divers and dive professionals around, the better.

  Tyler gave the site briefing with the history of the ship and all the warnings about not diving beyond limits of training and aborting the dive if you weren’t comfortable. A minimal current was always welcome news and visibility of sixty feet wasn’t bad. It suited Crystal’s purpose because at seventy feet or less, they would naturally be obscured from others on the wreck. She could add to the murkiness by stirring silt that clung to every surface. Matt would be in the lead, unaware of what she was doing. “Let’s get on in,” she said eagerly, wanting to be down the line and isolated as quickly as possible.

  Matt gave her an indulgent look and shuffled forward to take a giant stride off the boat. Crystal plunged in seconds later, forcing herself to slow her breathing. The last thing she needed was to consume air at a faster than normal rate. They were planning a dive of approximately thirty minutes and she wanted to use nearly all of it. She assumed Matt would wait until the latter part to run the drill with her.

  They had tied up to the Number Five mooring ball, the starboard crane. As promised, Matt was leading her along the same route they’d taken before. She hung back slightly to his right which allowed her to move her fins around enough to loosen silt with Matt not watching. Away from the divers who weren’t trained to penetrate into the wreck, they moved along the corridors through the machine shop. In other circumstances, Crystal would have once again enjoyed the sight of large pieces of equipment left intact as it had been when the ship was active. Even with marine growth on all the surfaces, it wasn’t difficult to imagine sailors at their duty stations. She was oblivious to anything other than what she was about to do, as they made their way through another corridor and passed the well-known image of the cartoon character Snoopy riding an alligator. The whole thing had always seemed a bit silly to her. She focused on controlling her breathing and they came into the kitchen area at a depth of ninety feet.

  Matt swung around to face her, moved closer, slashed his hand across his throat in the “out of air” signal and reached to grab the regulator from her mouth. Despite being prepared, the gesture did startle her. Him trying to snatch her regulator was a nice touch in mimicking the actions of a diver on the verge of panic. She blocked his hand with her left arm, yanked the regulator from the pony bottle, and thrust it right to his mouth, maintaining eye contact with him as she’d been taught in the rescue class. Projecting non-verbal reassurances to calm a diver in a distressed situation was a given. He obligingly removed his own regulator, took the one offered and breathed in the toxic 100 percent oxygen mix instead of Nitrox. She could tell it didn’t register on him what the problem was and he began to seize after a couple of breaths. He dropped the pony bottle regulator, his primary one still dangling to h
is side. She pulled it out of grasping range as he flailed briefly and his eyes rolled upward.

  She angled to watch him and keep line of sight in case other divers unexpectedly appeared. Timing was everything and she reaffixed the regulator to her pony bottle, her hand shaking, heart spiking momentarily. She exhaled deeply and checked her time and air. She wanted a full five minutes for safe measure, but if anyone approached, she would have to start to move him toward the nearest exit. The way she was shielding him, anyone coming upon them would see her back first and assume she was following standard rescue procedures. Matt’s body had gone limp, bumping against the counter. After four minutes elapsed, she checked her gauge again. Shit, she was down a little more on her air than she planned, but it wasn’t by too much. Swimming with him would take longer and cause her to consume more air than swimming alone, but she had to make this look right. If she abandoned him and went for help, there would be too many questions. Maneuvering the still body was more awkward than she expected and when she cleared into the nearest opening to the outside, two divers were swimming beneath and to her left. Damn, she didn’t know anything about them, but there was no way to avoid them. Anyone with experience could see there was a problem and the pair rapidly closed the distance. She didn’t have to pretend to be scared — there was a chance Matt wasn’t dead yet. The first man to reach her pulled Matt toward him and pointed to his chest, then the thumbs up ascent sign. His eyes were the calm of someone who knew what he was doing. His dive buddy was with them now and he gently pulled Crystal away asking for her to give the “Okay” sign. It was obvious they could more effectively swim with the unconscious Matt. Damn it, she had no choice but to relinquish him. It was apparent the man with Matt intended to angle him up to the surface and perhaps cut his own safety stop short. With minimal current he could probably come up near the boat. The second man led her the shortest route to the mooring line and held his hand flat at the twenty-foot mark to indicate she should do her full three-minute safety stop. She flashed another “Okay,” realizing he was also going to continue his ascent where they might have begun in-water resuscitation. Had it been long enough? Was Matt past the point of rescue? If they revived him, was there the chance of brain damage and maybe he wouldn’t remember what happened? Two more divers were beginning their ascent and Crystal edged up to fifteen feet, nervously watching the countdown on her dive computer. The pair with Matt were at least four or five minutes ahead of her and all she could do was wait. Anything else would weaken her story of having acted properly under the circumstances. She had to maintain the image of not panicking to lessen the amount of attention they would devote to her.