Alligator Park (27 page)

“Hey Doug. How’s it going?”

“What’s up Fargo? Didn’t know
you were interested in this kind of thing,” he says.

“Indigo here is doing some
research on her own nickel. I wonder if you can help her.”

Doug strolls over to me and
holds out his hand.

“I’m Doug Carpenter.”

We shake hands and I see his
pupils flit from my hair to my moccasins and back to my eyes.

“A cousin?”

“Actually a friend of my
brother.”

“Okay, let’s see what you’ve
got.”

“I need a spectroscopic
analysis of these water samples,” I say, and hand him the bag with the specimen
jars. He takes out one of the jars, holds it up to the light, and then peers
through the clear liquid.

“No problem, it’s exactly
what we do.”

He takes out each of the
jars, one by one, and then organizes them neatly on the table. Suddenly he
stops.

“I believe you may need
this,” he says, and hands me a flash drive he found inside the bag. I’ve
actually never seen it before, but I need to know how it ended up in the bag so
I casually take the drive and slip it into my pocket as if it was mine all
along.

“Thanks.”

“Here, let me show you
something,” he says, and takes us over to a huge machine nearby. I recognize it
immediately.

“It’s a Perkin-Elmer Nexion
350 Series with a Flexar SQ 300 M.S. Detector on an Axion platform,” I say.

“You know this machine?”

“It’s the same machine I used
back at the university. I could operate it blindfolded.”

“Tell you what; I could use a
lab assistant. Give me four hours a day, three days a week, and this machine is
yours to use as much as you want.”

I’m overjoyed and it shows,
but then reality hits.

“I’d love to, but I’ve got
these commitments at the restaurant.”

Fargo cuts in: “Don’t worry
about the restaurant. We’ll hire more help. Do what you have to do right now.”

“Okay, it’s a deal. When do I
start?”

“Tomorrow, if you want.”

“Super. See you at eight,” I
say.

Fargo and I head back to the
cabin and along the way I keep thinking about the flash drive. Was it
originally the property of Judy Swass... or did it belong to Dr. Parker and she
unknowingly dropped it into the bag at her office? I’m pretty confident the
contents of the drive will reveal its true owner and how it ended up in the bag
and I can’t wait to plug it in.

We get back to Fargo’s place at 7:00 PM
and there’s a note on the table telling us Will and Juanita have gone out to
meet with friends. I go directly to my room dying to find out what’s on the
flash drive, and then, a few minutes later there’s a tap at the door.

“You planning on eating
dinner?” Fargo asks.

“In a few minutes. Start
without me.”

I plug in the drive and
search through the files. There are hundreds of them. Practically everything is
legal mumbo-jumbo so it’s obvious this belonged to Judy. She probably used this
as her backup drive... or maybe to transfer work between her office and home
computer. I’m willing to guess it slipped out of her hand when she reached for
the bag and she never realized it was missing.

But then, at the bottom of
the list I see some files with the extension WAV, audio files, either music or
voice. I click on the first one and immediately recognize her voice; she’s
dictating a letter to one of her clients. A half-minute passes and I realize
it’s nothing but routine legal work so I stop the recording and move the mouse
curser to the last file. And then it jumps out at me; the date of the recording
is the same day as her death. It was the last thing she ever recorded.

She starts out with a salutation:

“To Ellis Grimes. From Judy Swass.”

I press pause and think back
to the day of my dissertation. Ellis Grimes introduced himself as special
counsel to Eldridge Broadhampton, the founder and CEO of Global World
Industries. It’s clear now, Grimes was the inside contact at GWI; she was
reporting to him. I wonder who else was aware of this.

I restart the audio and she continues her
report:

“I picked up the specimen jars from the
target today and replaced the contents with bottled water as per your instructions.”

Bottled water? She was
tampering with the samples? No wonder the analysis was inconclusive.

She
continues:

“I’ll be swinging by the university this
afternoon and leaving the samples with Dr. Parker.”

Was Dr. Parker in on this? Or
was she just a pawn, blindly following orders? I hear the faint sound of a door
closing in the background and then some sounds like papers rustling and a chair
squeaking. Her voice gets fainter and there’s an echo like she was talking from
another room.

“How did you get in? The door was locked.”

I turn up the loudness and
can just make out a man’s voice, but the recording is poor and there’s a lot of
traffic noise in the background.

“I’m sorry, I’m really not interested,”
she responds.

The man says something in
reply, but it’s unintelligible.

“That’s none of your business.”

“Unintelligible...”

“This is an official investigation and
completely legal.”

“Unintelligible...”

“Are you trying to blackmail me?”

“Unintelligible...”

“Either you leave now, or I’m calling
police.”

“Unintelligible...”

“You think that scares me? I have
contacts that eat people like you for lunch.”

“Unintelligible...”

“Okay, you’ve had your chance.”

I hear the man say something
and then the door slams.

“Idiot,” she says.

There are
footsteps and they’re getting louder, as if someone is getting closer to the
microphone, and then I hear the chair squeak and some papers shuffling.

“Moron, who does he think he is? Where
was I?”

The rest of the recording is
just a lot of boring legal talk that has nothing to do with me. As a
precaution, in case the flash drive gets damaged or lost, I copy all the files
to my laptop and then join Fargo in the dining room.

“I think I know who killed
her.”

“Who?” Fargo asks.

“I’m pretty sure it’s Damon.”

“How do you know?”

“She left the recorder
running when a man came into her offi
ce. It sounds
like Damon.”

“Sounds like
Damon?”

“Well, the
recording was bad. I could barely make him out.”

“The police need
more than that.”

“She was killed
the same day as the recording.”

“Circumstantial
evidence,” Fargo says.

“He had the
means, motive, and opportunity.”

“What was the
motive?”

“Blackmail.”

“Blackmail? What
in the world could he have on her?”

“Think about it;
they meet at the Gainesville mall and she introduces herself as Dr. Parker.
Then he goes to her office and sees that her real name is Judy Swass. It
doesn’t take a genius to figure out she’s up to something. Probably thought he
could get some easy cash.”

“How’d he find her?”

“After he left, I
assumed he had driven away. But he could have come back, parked a couple of
rows away, waited for her to leave, and then followed her back to the office.

“But why would he
kill her? He was after money.”

“Because he’s a
psycho and she was a threat. If she filed a police report, she could identify
him. Why does a psycho do anything?”

“Detective Bolt
needs to hear this,” Fargo says.

I finish up my
dinner and he takes me to the State Police barracks. Detective Bolt meets us at
the door and leads us to his office. I hand him the flash drive.

“You say it’s all
on here?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“You know
Gainesville is out of my jurisdiction, but I can send this over to the local
office. Do you want me to do that?”

“Sure, whatever
you think is best.”

“Okay then, I’ll
let you know what happens. That’s about as much as I can do right now. Wish I
could do more.”

“You realize of
course if Damon is the killer, he’ll be after me next, because I’m the only one
that can identify him at the mall.”

“That crossed my
mind,” he says.

“And that’s it?”

He stumbles for a
moment, searches for a way to pacify me.

“Keep wearing
that outfit. I like it, Native American. Great disguise! At twenty feet, I
would have never known it was you.”

“Isn’t he a
suspect? Can’t you question him?”

“Alright, here’s
what I’ll do; if you see him anywhere in these parts, call me... anytime, day
or night, and I’ll send a trouper to keep him under surveillance.”

“Indeed I will,”
I say, and then Fargo nods for us to leave. We head home in his jeep and about
half-way back he turns to me.

“We need to do
something about the PT Cruiser. Those cartoon bugs get your attention like
vultures on the side of the road.”

“I can’t afford
another car.”

“What do you say
we get it painted?”

“Yeah, sure, whatever
you think.”

“How about white?
It’s a popular color. Damon’s looking for a green Cruiser with bugs on it. With
white, you’ll blend right in. And if you keep wearing that outfit, he’ll never
figure it out.”

So at midnight,
under the cover of a moonless sky, I follow close behind Fargo’s jeep towards
the reservation to meet with a friend who has a small private body shop. Even
with Fargo directly in front, I find myself nervously stroking the loaded handgun
by my thigh, and repeatedly checking the rear-view mirrors for suspicious
headlights. But I see nothing but blackness, and once we pass through the gates
that mark the entrance to the reservation, I am relieved of my stress assured
by the affirmation that the locals have little patience for strangers sneaking
onto their property. Damon may indeed be clever and cunning, but he would be at
a distinct disadvantage against any Native American on his own land.

As we approach
the shop, Fargo’s friend opens the garage door and waves me inside. I park the
Cruiser and hand him the keys. He tells us the paint job will cost $300 and
take a couple of days so we pay him and I ride back with Fargo. Of course, it
goes without saying, this is all strictly confidential; Indians have been
burned too many times to trust anyone outside their own people. I feel
confident there is no way Damon could ever track us here or would be able to
find out about this.

...

It’s Tuesday morning and the
first day of my no-pay job at Semi-Environmental. Actually, I’m happy to get
the opportunity. The access I’ll have, at no charge, to some of the finest
analytical equipment in the world, will more than compensate me for the work
I’ll be doing for free.

I get up before first light,
slip into some loose-fitting exercise wear, and then grab my rolled up Yoga
mat. I became interested in Yoga during my freshman year when I was invited to
attend a free session in the dorm. I liked the way it cleared my mind and
prepared me for the day so I became diligent about doing thirty minutes every
morning without fail. But the pace of the last few months and the endless
distractions have left me no spare time.

Today will be different; I’ve
decided to reinstate my old routine. I sprint down to the dock, roll out the
mat, engage the Lotus pose, and peer out across the vast lake illuminated by
the faint glow of the rising sun. I focus on the black silhouettes of tiny
islands miles away, release myself from the confines of space-time, and allow
my mind and body to coalesce in perfect harmony with nature. I reflect on the
past, on the present, and on the things I must do to become fully engaged with
my earthly existence.

A half-hour passes, and then,
as the sun’s rays sneak over the horizon, I finish up my routine and head back to
the cabin to get ready for the workday.

I get dressed in my Native
American garb and grab a quick bite for breakfast. Will tells me he’s hired
Juanita as an assistant manager and I’m glad for it. It gives them more time
together, and more importantly, takes the pressure off of me. He’s graciously
offered me the use of his SUV until I get the Cruiser back, so I pick up the
keys, dash out the door, and head over to my new job.

When I arrive, Doug hands me
some customer samples to process and I complete them with ease. At noon I
decide to skip lunch and check the samples I obtained from Dr. Parker. As
expected, they have all the characteristics of plain old bottled water. I was
being deceived. But in a way I am refreshed by the outcome. It tells me I still
have a chance to refine my theories and reapply for admittance to the
university. With my four-hour workday complete and little else to do, I head
back home.

Juanita is helping out at the
restaurant when I arrive and offers to take me to a General Store on the
reservation to buy a few more Native American outfits. The rez is the place to
get the best deals and the highest quality, but off limits to non-Indians, so I
jump at the opportunity. When we arrive, there are about a dozen women in the
store, most dressed in deer skin outfits, but a few in jeans and flannel
shirts. As I browse through the racks, they glance at me with a surly look
wondering no doubt who the stranger is and why I am here. But then Juanita
stands beside me and everyone realizes we’re together so they go back to their
own business. I pick out a half-dozen outfits that I could mix and match while
maintaining a genuine Indian look. With Damon around, I have no choice but to
lie low until he either gets arrested or becomes frustrated and gives up. I
won’t feel safe until I’m certain he’s left the area and is back in his native
North Carolina.

For the next two days, I
fulfill my four-hour work commitment at Semi-Environmental, and then, head home
for lunch. In the afternoons, Fargo takes me to the same places where I
obtained the original water samples: the locations of the two alligator
attacks, the swampland where we hunted, and the spring, once a source of
drinking water but now suspected of being contaminated. I also add some samples
from random locations along the way to get a better idea of the topology and
the extent of the problem.

Then, on Thursday afternoon,
Will bursts into the kitchen and tells me the PT Cruiser is done. I follow him
out the door and towards the parking lot and hardly recognize it. It’s white.
And those ugly black bugs are gone. The driver hands me my keys and then Will
takes him back to the reservation in his SUV.

By Friday, my daily routine
is pretty well established; up at five, Yoga till six, shower and dress till
seven, and breakfast till seven-thirty leaving me just enough time to get to
work by eight. But today is a no-work day and I’m anxious to analyze the
samples I accumulated during the week. I drive to Semi-Environmental and
surprise Doug in the back.