Dangerous Depths by Kathy Brandt Page A

increase in water turbidity that was also
associated with decreases in coral growth and productivity, and
more sediment accumulation in mangroves.
    Calvin had said that Elyse was complaining
about the runoff the Sunday morning when he helped her refuel the
boat. I jotted down the address of the gravel pit and the owner’s
name, Amos Porter.
    Next was a report on rat eradication on
Hermit Cay. It was a summary of the successful efforts written by
LaPlante, the chief scientist who had conducted the project. Elyse
had taken part. She had camped out at the cay for a week, helping
to maintain bait stations and monitor conditions in terms of safety
for other wildlife, especially any birds and other vertebrates that
might ingest the poison.
    Another folder was earmarked for Tom Shields
and Liam Richards. Tom and Liam were two semiretired oceanographers
who were in the islands as volunteers, counting and tagging
turtles. Inside the folder marked with their names I found an old
report about sea turtles along with a map of habitats and nesting
grounds.
    Other loose sheets of paper scattered around
the desk included everything from coral bleaching to the
repopulation of black urchins, which had been almost completely
wiped out of the Caribbean some twenty years ago, to an e-mail from
a guy over at Brandywine Bay about someone leaving bags of garbage
on shore. When I turned the fax machine on, a message from the
coast guard spewed out about the prosecution of the fishermen whose
boat we’d found last month loaded down with shark fins.
    I found Elyse’s appointment book in the top
desk drawer. It was filled with notations and appointments: dinner
dates with her boyfriend, Alex Reidman, support group meetings, an
appointment to meet with Abernathy, the candidate for chief
minister. She had penciled in an appointment with LaPlante for
Monday that she’d obviously missed. I wondered if LaPlante knew
that Elyse was in the hospital.
    I tossed the folders and appointment book
into a shopping bag Elyse had stashed under the desk. I’d pass the
old turtle survey on to Tom and Liam and go through the rest of the
material back at the office. I shut down the fax machine and was
just placing a finger on the light switch when a shadow appeared at
the front door. Someone turned the knob and pushed on the door,
then peered in the window. The shadow moved away and I could hear
footsteps crunching along the side of the building. I stepped into
the back room and waited, pressed against the wall behind the
door.
    Who the hell would be snooping around Elyse’s
office at this time of the morning? Someone looking for something?
Kids looking for a place to hang out instead of being at school? I
waited. Whoever it was hesitated at the back door. Finally, the
knob turned, the door slowly opened, and one foot wearing an
expensive, hand-tooled cowboy boot crossed the threshold. Then a
man’s fingers, big, soft, and manicured, wrapped around the edge of
the door and eased it open. Obviously trying to remain soundless,
he pushed on the door and stepped inside, where he stopped again,
hesitant. Then he moved into the room.
    “Hold it right there,” I said, slamming the
door shut as I pulled my gun. I hoped the guy would be cooperative.
I hate pointing guns at people, much less firing.
    “What the hell?” The man turned. “Hannah,
jeezus, you scared the shit out of me.”
    “Alex, what are you doing sneaking in here?”
Alex Reidman. I lowered the gun.
    “I was on my way to the bank. I saw the light
on. I thought I should check. Make sure everything was okay. What
are you doing here?” he asked, glancing nervously at the gun
I held by my side.
    “Checking on a few things.”
    “Like what?”
    “Like what Elyse has been up to the last few
weeks.”
    “Doesn’t seem as though you should be rifling
through her stuff,” he said, noticing the shopping bag I held.
    “Look, Alex. I’m just not buying this
accident theory. I think someone tried to kill