Free Dangerous Depths by Kathy Brandt Page A

His shirt was pressed and spotless, not a speck of
perspiration on his face. But I could tell Porter was used to hard
work. He was brawny, the creases of his hands permanently embedded
with dirt and oil.
    I’d heard that he was a shrewd businessman,
self-made and determined. He’d worked hard to get where he was. He
supplied gravel to just about everyone on the island, had the
contract for the roads and the new airport construction, and worked
with most of the developers. Two back hoes were parked behind a
modular unit and another was lifting huge chunks of earth into a
dump truck. Another one waited behind the first, exhaust wafting
from its stack. This was a major operation, with hundreds of
thousands of dollars invested in equipment.
    I’d left Snyder back at the office and told
him to tell Dunn that I was going for a late lunch and then to have
Hall check out the burns on my shoulder. I’d be back in the
morning. All lies, but not Jimmy’s lies. He would simply be passing
on what I told him.
    The gravel pit was just around the point, a
huge scar in the landscape above Simpson’s Bay. The sun was already
back out, but I could see the effects of the heavy rain. Gullies of
water were running through the pit and washing sediment into the
bay. A stream of brown was spreading over the turquoise water in an
increasingly large arc. It looked even worse than what Elyse had
described in her report.
    As I walked up, Porter asked, “What can I be
doin’ for you, ma’am?” confused about what someone who didn’t look
like she drove a back hoe was doing at his gravel pit.
    “I’m Hannah Sampson, Tortola police,” I said,
offering a hand. He wiped his palms on his jeans, a habit he’d
clearly developed and refined over the years. His grasp was
firm.
    “Police? One of my guys be in trouble?”
    “No, nothing like that.” I was surprised that
was his first thought and wondered what kind of trouble his guys
got into.
    “Dey be a kinda a misbehaving bunch sometime,
down at da Doubloon,” he explained.
    I wasn’t at all sure how to begin a
conversation about Elyse. Dunn had made it painfully clear that I
was not to pursue any investigation into the explosion on her boat.
And I didn’t know whether Elyse had ever confronted Porter about
the runoff. Only one way to find out. I decided on the direct
approach.
    “Do you know Elyse Henry?”
    “Sure, I know her.” His voice hardened and he
dropped his light-hearted island slang. “She was down here last
week. She said she was writing up a report about the effects of the
gravel pit on the bay. If she thinks she can shut down my
operation, she’s mistaken. I’ve worked hard to get where I am. I’m
not going to give it up because she’s worried about a few fish and
coral in the harbor. What’s this got to do with the police?”
    “Elyse has been injured. She’s in the
hospital.”
    “Well, I be sorry to hear that,” he said. He
didn’t seem surprised though, and he didn’t seem sorry.
    “Do you know anything about it?”
    “Why are you asking me? You think I’d hurt
her?”
    “Well, you just said she was threatening your
livelihood.”
    “That don’t mean I’d hurt her. I’m not into
solving my problems that way. Besides, nobody’s gonna close me down
because of her reports. She can write as many as she wants. Folks
on these islands need my gravel. The folk who call the shots down
at the government offices know that. Hell, half of ‘em are involved
in some kind of building themselves or they want better roads to
their homes and businesses. That’s called progress. And the
tourists, they want them fine hotels.”
    I knew that was only one side the story. The
people who owned property down in the bay, including the owner of
the Coral Head resort, had to be complaining to the Conservation
and Fisheries Department about the runoff, maybe even to the chief
minister.
    “What about the effects on that bay down
there?” I asked.
    “Just one little bay. But I