“No,” Cindy said. She wanted to go through all the steps exactly as they happened. “No, I appreciate it. I want the room we stayed in before.”
Alex took the baggage from the cab driver, who was listening intently to every word. Cindy paid, tipped and thanked him. He took the money, grinned at her and left slowly through the front door. Cindy was glad he was gone.
Alex picked up her luggage. “Did you have a good trip?” he asked,
“Perfect, easy,” said Cindy.
Alex smiled. “Very good, very good. Let’s go get you settled. “
She followed him upstairs to the room. He opened it and the two of them walked inside.
The room was exactly as she remembered it, the patio overlooking the wide expanse of teeming ocean, the wooden shutters flapped lightly against the windows. Cindy took a deep, salty breath. The huge king bed they’d slept in was there, and so were the seashells and conches, laid out in straw baskets on the table.
Alex put her baggage down and seemed to want to say something, but fought it back, staying silent. He probably wanted to say how sorry he was. He was probably also wondering what in the world she was doing back here now. She would tell him, in good time . Now, she took out some bills to thank Alex.
He shook his head. “Not necessary, Miss. It’s a pleasure to have you here.” Then he turned to leave and stopped at the door. “I hope your stay will be pleasant. If I can help you with anything, Miss Cindy, I’m right here.”
And then he left.
Cindy was relieved to be alone in the room. She went to the bed and ran her hand over the light blue, cotton bedspread, the same one that had been here before. She pulled the bedspread off the bed and held it close, as if she were wrapping Clint around her.
Cindy lay down and stretched out on the bed, looking up at the high wooden, ceiling. She listened to the wind in the palm trees outside and breathed the salt air . Everything was exactly the same as before.
Laying there, she felt Clint’s spirit with her strongly. She hadn’t felt it so powerfully before and felt certain that he would guide her every step of the way.
As she lay there, Cindy went over all the things she wanted to do that day.
First she wanted to walk on the beach, retrace where it happened.
Then, she would go straight to the Coroner’s office to get the report. She needed details about the condition of Clint’s body. Up to now she hadn’t been able to bear even thinking about that. But here in Barbados, a strong energy filled her. She felt planted in nature, powerful and able to deal with anything.
Cindy closed her eyes and slept for a little while and then awoke, swiftly, upset with herself. She hadn’t meant to take a nap. The trip must have tired her out more than she thought. She checked her watch and jumped out of bed and headed right down to the beach.
Even this early in the day, the tides were in and the waves rolling roughly onto shore. Cindy loved the sound of the pounding turf. It cleared her mind and helped her see details she’d never seen before. She and Clint had run along this very beach together. It felt wonderful being here now. She ran faster and faster, in tune to the beat of the waves.
She stopped at the stretch of beach where she’d gone that day Clint died, the spot where his surfboard floated up. It had been a day pretty much like this one, only the surf had been calmer. Cindy stood there looking out at the ocean and gazing around on the beach. There was nothing there that said that a man’s life had been cut short at this spot. That the surf had swallowed him up. As if nothing had happened, the waves simply rolled on.
Farnell’s questions came to mind. How did she know Clint died at this spot? His surfboard had floated up here, but that didn’t prove anything . It was a waste of time to stand here wondering. She had to get to the Coroner’s office, see the report for herself, get the facts.
Cindy broke into a run back. As she ran, she realized how much of this amazing life she’d been blind to. She’d lived in a tiny corner of the world with familiar people and situations. There was no way she could go back to living like that. It was time to open her eyes and go deeper into the island and what it had done to the man she’d loved.
*
Cindy rented a car and drove herself to the Coroner’s office in town. It took a little while to get used to driving here, on the left side of the road.
It was about a two mile drive along a winding road. The Coroner’s office was a three story building in the Center of town, surrounded by some other small buildings, painted white.
Cindy parked and got out.
Little pebbles were scattered along the main pathway and toads scampered here and there. Cindy entered the building and asked a man who sat on a stool where the Coroner’s office was. He barely took notice of her, just pointed straight down the hall. “Wait a few minutes. The secretary’s on a break . Wait over there and I’ll call you when she comes back.”
He motioned to a small waiting alcove with wooden benches.
Cindy went over and sat down. There was a rickety grandfather’s clock standing in it and little tables near the benches with brochures about Barbados and all kinds of articles. There was also a big fan in the corner, whirring, cooling those who came here to wait. Cindy picked up one of the brochures and read.
Three surfers bobbed in the water as a 15 foot swell rolled in on the East Coast of Barbados. One of the surfers paddled into it, snapped to his feet and rode the wave, millions of gallons of the ocean’s energy barreling him forward. He sped left, flipped right, then crouched down and held the sides of his board, launching himself five feet off the crest. He flew, spinning into the air, and landed with perfect ease on the wave, as it settled back down and drove into shore.
Clint had done things like this many times, had described the thrill of it to her, over and over. What went wrong with the wave he caught? Was there really a sudden riptide? Cindy was seized by a desire to read every single word that was written about Clint and how he died. There had to be some articles in the local papers. She made a note to check that out today.
Then she noticed another small brochure on the table next to her, a travel guide from a consulate in another country. Someone had left it there. An item caught her eye.
Visitor, sexually assaulted at knife point, life threatened and robbed in the middle of the day.
The police were indifferent. Locals outside of the tourist business confided that this was not surprising. She also read a consulate travel advisory warning of rape of tourists and increase in violent crime.
Cindy felt jarred. She’d had no idea about this, nor had she checked her consulate’s travel warnings. She folded up the brochure and stuck it into her purse. Every scrap of evidence added to the picture.
The guy that had originally told her to wait came over, and pointed to a door down the hall. The secretary had returned from her break.
Cindy went to the door, opened it and walked in. There were only a few people milling around.
A lovely woman with sparkling eyes and pearl white teeth greeted her at the main desk.
“Welcome to Barbados,” she smiled, incongruently. She seemed to take an instant liking to Cindy.
“I need a little information,” Cindy said to the woman.
“Of course, dear, anything,” the woman said.
“I’m looking for the original Coroner’s report about my husband’s death.”
The woman looked up at her. “Oh my!”
“It happened a few months ago,” Cindy said.
The woman shook her head. “I’m so sorry. Happened in Barbados?”
Cindy nodded.
“And to such a young woman.”
The woman sighed. “Only God knows why he takes our loved ones from us.”
Cindy wanted to stay on track. “The report we have in the US is a summary. It says accidental death, by drowning. I need more details.”
The woman shook her head back and forth. “So much pain for such a beautiful young woman, like you.
”
Cindy was becoming frustrated. “I need more information about the investigation.”
The woman shook her head again.
“What do you mean investigation? An accident is an accident. What is there to investigate? The surf can be dangerous on the East Coast. An investigation takes a long time here. First we have an inquest -” she sighed .
“I want the full Coroner’s report.” Cindy said more forcefully.
“We don’t just release that.”
“I just want to read it. You can make a copy of it. That’s all I want.”
“Yes, yes, I understand. But, we’re very busy right now.”
Cindy looked around. They didn’t seem busy at all.
“It’ll just take a minute. Isn’t there some file with the reports?” she said.
“Of course there is a file,” the woman said, “but you can’t just come in and see it. We’d need identification and things like that.”
“I have identification,” Cindy said. “I came all the way from the United States alone to see the report.”
The woman’s eyes opened wide. “Alone?” That seemed to get to her. “Are you asking for an inquest?”
“No, I’m not,” Cindy said. “I just want to compare your report and the one we have. See if we might have missed something.”
“An inquest can take a couple of years,” the woman said as if reading from a form. “We have to line up the witnesses, collect testimonies. The Coroner listens to the evidence.”
Clearly, she wanted to discourage Cindy, send her away. That was her job. Those were her instructions. Cindy had to get around it.
“ I don’t want an inquest,” Cindy repeated. “Believe me.”
The woman’s eyes glazed over.
“I’m all alone,” Cindy said in a soft, trembly voice. “Woman to woman, I know you can help me. I just want to look at the report.”
“Are you sure?”
Cindy bent close and touched her arm. “It’ll only take a few minutes. Can’t you give me a hand?”
Something in Cindy’s tone touched the woman.
“Listen, sweetheart” she said, “I’ll get the report and show it to you. I’ll make you a copy, and that’s it. We don’t need any more trouble down here in Barbados.”
Cindy was grateful . “That’s great, that’s fine. That’s all I want.”
“That’s never all they want,” said the woman. “And, what good is that gonna do? He died in Barbados. It’s our jurisdiction. These cases go on for years, and then nothing happens . Let the dear man rest in peace and save yourself a lot of tears.”
Cindy didn’t want to say that the killing may have happened here in Barbados, but the crime took place in the U.S. There was no need to go into that with this woman.
“I miss my husband,” Cindy said instead, “I want to see what happened to him.” Exhausted, her voice was catching, almost on the verge of tears.
“Okay, come on, don’t you cry. I’ll get that report. It’s not so difficult,” the woman got up and motioned for Cindy to follow her.
They walked to the back of the room and then turned to walk down a narrow corridor.
“Rain’s gonna whip up later,” the woman remarked as their footsteps sounded on the old, wooden floor. Then she turned into a long, narrow room, filled with huge filing cabinets everywhere.
“Give me the name and the date.”
“Clint Blaine. May 23, 2010.”
“Recent,” she murmured and ruffled through the files. “You know, I think I heard about that one. Died on his honeymoon?”
“Right,” said Cindy.
“Okay,” the woman said, ruffling through each report quickly, expecting Clint’s file to be right there. It wasn’t .
She paid more attention then, looked more slowly, carefully checking each name and date. Suddenly, she stopped and turned to Cindy.
“I can’t find it anywhere.”
“What are you talking about?”
The woman looked distressed, and turned back to check again.
“That’s funny. We usually have a copy of everyone here.”
A second go around brought up nothing.
“Someone must have taken it,” the woman said.
“Who took it?” Cindy asked.
The woman had no idea.
“I just work at the front desk,” she said in a sad, lilting tone. “I was trying to help you.”
“Let me talk to the Coroner myself.”
She looked at Cindy with a dead pan face. “Honey, he’s a busy man. He’s not going to talk to just anyone.”
“I’m not just anyone. My husband was killed.”
“I know and I’m sorry. But he’s not available.”
Cindy couldn’t be angry with her. She was just doing her job and had done more than she was supposed to, anyway .
“Thank you for everything,” Cindy said, turned and walked away.
“So sorry, so sorry, sweetheart,” the woman called out. “Let him rest in peace. Let the island hold him. Let his spirit fly with our beautiful birds.”
*
There was no doubt. The original report was hidden. There had to be a reason. It had to have been tampered with. Cindy had to confront the Coroner himself.
She knew the Coroner’s office was in this building. He had to be a few steps away. She went to her car, opened her phone and checked out the Coroner’s website to learn more about him.
His picture came right up. He was a prominent figure with a big, round face and smiling eyes.
Cindy immediately called his direct office and asked if he was in today.
The voice on the phone asked if she had an appointment. Cindy didn’t, but needed one right away. The Coroner was in, but an appointment took three weeks to get, the person informed her. The Coroner was a very, very busy man.
Cindy didn’t have time to wait. And she didn’t have to. She would drive the car to the front of the building, sit there and wait for him to walk out. There was only one door he could exit from. The minute she saw him, she’d rush over and talk. How could he refuse her?
It seemed as if hours went by as she sat there in the heat, her eyes glued to the front path. She didn’t turn on the air conditioner, as she wanted to be ready to jump out of the car the minute she saw him.
As Cindy waited, she wondered what her father would think if he saw her now? Cindy rarely thought of her father . She barely knew him; as she was growing up, he was so busy with his police duties. And she was so young when he died. But vague memories of him had been coming into her mind these past days. He was big and strapping and good natured. She’d always wanted to be strong like him. Would he be proud of her now? Or would he think she was crazy, subjecting herself to this ordeal?
As she was musing, Cindy suddenly saw the Coroner walking leisurely out of the building. She jumped out of the car and ran over to him.
“Mr. Kartrite,” she said quickly, blocking his way.
He moved to the side, “Excuse me, miss,” and kept walking.
Cindy slid beside him and walked at his side.
“I have to talk to you. It’s important, urgent.”
He kept walking and said nothing.
“I’m the wife of Clint Blaine,” she continued. “The man who was killed on his honeymoon. I’m sure you heard.”
“Please stop a minute and talk to me.”
“I have an appointment.”
“I need a copy of your report.”
Cindy talked faster and faster and she walked beside him. “I have to compare your report to the one we received back home. A lot of terrible things have been happening since I got back to the U.S.”
He stopped and looked at her. “What’s a young lady like you coming here alone to find something like that?”
“I have no other choice. Please help me.”
“There’s nobody back home who could come and help you?”
Cindy shook her head.
He looked
at her kindly, seemed to feel badly.
“It’s not only my husband, my sister was hurt, my husband’s friend killed.”
The Coroner looked troubled.
“What can I do?” he said, flustered. “I told them everything I knew. They didn’t listen. They changed the information.”
“Oh my God,” Cindy stopped moving. “Who?”
The Coroner stopped as well. They stared at each other.
“The report you have is not the one I wrote. It happens sometimes. Facts become inconvenient.”
“I’m begging you to tell me what’s in your report. I have to know.”
“Your husband did not die from drowning,” he finally said, sighing deeply.
Cindy’s heart skipped a bit. She was afraid to ask.
“Then…of what?” she asked.
He stared at her. “He died from trauma to the head. And not from a surfboard.”
Cindy felt herself trembling inwardly.
“From…what?” she asked, her voice almost a whisper.
“I couldn’t say for sure. From the angle, though, I’d bet it was a speedboat. Run over.”
Cindy felt physically sick. The image of it horrified her.
Still, finally, she had facts.
“ I need the report and I need you to be a witness,” she pleaded, tears filling her eyes.
He shook his head, and started walking away again.
She hurried to keep up with him.
“I cannot be a witness and I don’t have the report. I just told you what I know. Let’s keep it at that.”
She grabbed his arm. “Please, it’s not just him. My life is in danger. “
He grimaced. “Those rotten companies think they own the world.”
“Yes,” breathed Cindy.
“They think a few dollars in your pocket and they can do whatever they want.”
“It’s wrong,” said Cindy.
“I know.” He stood glued to the spot.
“Please,” said Cindy heatedly, “you must have the report.”
He nodded. “You promise that you will never tell them where it came from?”
“Never,” Cindy vowed.
She gave him her card with her email address.
He stared at it, thinking. Finally, he relented.
“I’ll email you. Pictures of the body, the medical examination, all of it,” he suddenly said.
“Oh my God, thank you. Please, send it as soon as you can.”
Without another word, he turned and hurried off to his car, jumped in, and sped off.