Oil Change: A Nina Bannister Mystery (The Nina Bannister Mysteries Book 4) (16 page)

“We try,” answered Jackson.

 
“So, I might as well tell you: we’re ready to run with Narang’s story. He called us yesterday then sent the story electronically. Somehow the feature got routed to me. Didn’t take much checking. He’s one of the pre-eminent authorities on this kind of thing.”

“I know,” said Nina.

“I’ve got to ask you some things. I’ll be typing as you talk, so don’t worry if I look distracted. I’m not.”

“I understand,” said Nina.

“All right. The big thing, of course, is, where did all this data come from?”

“From Aquatica.”

“They just volunteered it?”

“No, I went out and stole it.”

“You what?”

“I stole it.”

“From Aquatica?”

“Yes.”

“Oh this just gets better and better.”

“Nina.”

“I’m sorry, Jackson; this is the story and I’ve got to tell it.”

“Don’t worry, counselor,” said Liz. “She’ll be out in twenty years, with good behavior.”

“I don’t,” said Nina, almost despite herself, “feel like behaving good.”

“No. I guess not. So go ahead. Tell the story.”

“Almost exactly a week ago, I found a body in one of the drainage canals in Bay St. Lucy.”

“
You
found it?”

“Yes.”

“Come on, the two of you are making this whole thing up. This is a gag that one of my old boyfriends is pulling.”

“No,” said Nina. “It’s the truth.”

“The young man’s name,” said Jackson, “was Edgar Ramirez. The cause of death is still listed as drowning. There was great deal of alcohol in his bloodstream, and it seems he may have fallen.”

“Fallen,” said Liz, “into a drainage canal?”

“That’s the current theory.”

“Bullshit. But go on.”

Nina did.

“Edgar’s brother contacted me.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“Everybody,” Jackson said, “has gotten into the habit of contacting Nina when there is a murder to be solved.”

“I can see. Go on, Nina.”

“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.”