Buzzard Bay (10 page)

Bob couldn’t believe it. July also told Bob that Tom had little credibility in the Bahamas. “They think he’s just another quick buck artist, out to look after himself,” she explained. She knew that Bob wanted to see this project go ahead more than anything.

“I will say one thing. Tom’s got a lot of guts, maybe he can pull it off,” July said, but deep down, she didn’t think so. It was one of the hardest things she’d had to tell Bob in a long time.

Whether it was vanity or just plain stubbornness, she worked out every day. Christmas was the hardest; Bob’s mother was a tremendous cook, but she persevered. By the time she had to go back, she was close to 5 lbs. lighter and in tremendous shape; she knew she looked good. Bob knew it too; he was very proud of her. He hated to see her go but was happy for her. It had been a long time since he’d seen her so excited. “I kept her tied down on this damned farm too long,” Bob thought. It’s time she went out and had some fun.

“I hate leaving,” she told him, “I’ll miss you all so much.” But Bob assured her it wouldn’t be long until they were together again.

Bob thought March would never come, and then when it did, Tom informed them that his money had not yet come through, but he wanted them to pay their own way down to see the site.

Bob met with the Drinkwaters and the Shonavons. They decided to go. “If nothing else, we’ll have a holiday,” they said.

They met in Toronto; there were ten couples in all who had decided to make the trip. They met four more couples in Miami that Tom had recruited from Ohio, and the rest came from all over Canada. They spent two days in Nassau where they got to know each other. One thing Bob had to admit, Tom had picked very good people; not only did they get along well together, they were all professionals. July had met them at the airport. She and Bob were very interested to see how the others would like Andros Island. It was a far cry from what most of these people were accustomed to, very primitive with few services.

The hotel on North Andros was decent. The area around it was filled with flowers and shade trees. It was built right beside the airport, about five miles inland from the ocean. Tom found an old bus to use for touring and a car for his own personal use. The first morning, the bus pulled up to take everyone on tour. They were surprised to find Bill going around collecting money for the bus driver. However, the tour went well; they visited the beach and ate in the only other hotel on North Andros. It was a beautiful seaside setting, mostly catering to Europeans.

That night, the main topic was Tom’s inability to pay for anything. “It’s like he’s the tour guide and we pay,” Dale Drinkwater explained, summing up the situation.

The next day was the same ritual; no one got on the bus until they all paid. Since there was no other way of getting around, everyone grumbled and paid. This time Tom took everyone to the south end of the island. Along the way, they stopped at several small villages. Bob and July noticed that several of the people were appalled at the poverty and squalor. Many of the Bahamians were not ready for the disposable age. Some of the yards were littered with baby diapers and garbage. The houses were small and very shabby looking.

“They’re in for a culture shock,” July said to Bob very quietly.

They knew the Bahamians to be a very warm, happy-go-lucky people, and their needs were few; the next day would be the same as today. Their answer to difficult problems was “no problem.” By the end of their stay, this would be everyone’s favorite saying.

A big naval base was situated at the south end of the island. Tom explained it was really a submarine base used to test new technology because of the tremendously deep water just offshore, making it very suitable for these operations. Being fairly close to Cuba also made it even more strategically important.

. He added that a lot of local people worked on the base, so there were some signs of affluence here, but still pockets of poverty showed up as they toured the small town and stopped at Skinny’s bar for a beer and a meal if they desired. That night, back at the hotel, Tom told everyone that the next day they would be touring the project site.

“It’s a long way from anywhere,” he told them. “It was a research center at one time, run by the Americans. The farm was built around a freshwater lake. The farmland has since grown up and will have to be rebroken. The road there is very poor, so we’ll have to start out early. Let’s get a good night’s sleep.

ome of the people asked him about the poverty and poor living conditions. Tom responded by telling them a bit about the Bahamian culture. “The people are fun-loving, they don’t have a lot of money, and they look after their families very well. They are personally very clean and like to dress well. I took you to these places today to show you what to expect. Anyone who came here to work on my project might as well know all the facts and what they are up against. I don’t want people to come here to work and then leave because it’s not the exotic place they thought it would be in their minds.”

July and Bob agreed with him on this part. “He’s doing a good job,” Bob told July when they returned to their room. July had to return to Nassau to work early the next day; Bob would stay longer than the rest and would take July to the site later in the week when she returned.

It was just after sunup as Bob walked July down the paved path to the airport. It had rained overnight, leaving a fresh smell in the quiet morning breeze. A plane sat on the runway, its doors open. It had brought someone to the island very early and was now waiting for a load to go back. There were always people waiting around the airport, waiting for a ride to Nassau. Now they would negotiate a price and pile in as many as possible. July went up to the pilot and spoke with him for a moment. Then she came back to Bob.

“Yes,” she said, “he was expecting me. This is the plane I’m to take. My fare’s been taken care of.” She grabbed both of Bob’s hands.

“I don’t want to let you go,” Bob told her.

“Hang in there,” July looked at him; there were tears in her eyes. “Soon we’ll be together.”

“I guess our lives were meant to be filled with turmoil,” Bob told her. Sorry, I have to be so unstable, always looking for something or wanting something I can’t have. I’ve been very hard on you and the kids. This little adventure could end up being a dud too, and even if it isn’t, it will be quite a change for all of us.”

July laughed. “You may not be rich, darling, but at least you’re not boring,” she reached down and gave his nuts a little squeeze. They heard the pilot call. July gave him a kiss and headed for the plane.

He heard her shout, “Good morning, boys,” as she went in the door. He stood watching the plane go down the runway and then disappear into the cloudless sky. Bob’s mind was elsewhere as he returned up the walk to the hotel, not realizing where he was until Dale hollered at him to pay up for the bus.

“Where’s Bill?” Bob asked, handing the bus money to Dale.

“Tom’s taking some people out to the site in his car,” Dale told him. “Bill’s going out with them.”

It was almost impossible to tell how far the site was from the hotel. The road was so bad; they could only travel at a crawl. It had once been a main road. They could tell by the ditches and grade that it hadn’t been maintained for years. They could tell it was still used to some extent because it was an easily followed trail; otherwise it would have grown over. The driver told them the road was still used by wild boar hunters traveling out to the old farm. Finally, the bus stopped in a wide opening.

“We walk from here,” the driver told them. “This is the only place I can turn around.”

They walked along a poorly marked trail until all at once there were buildings on each side of them. They were in all kinds of disarray, having been abandoned for many years. At the end of the yard was the lake, discernible through the trees. All this gave for an eerie yet beautiful setting.

Bob left the others gazing out over the lake. He walked along the shore following an old trail, passing several old buildings and a wooden water tower until he came to the airstrip. There he caught up with Tom and Bill who were with two black men he didn’t know. They were all standing looking out over the landing strip; as he approached them, he realized the runway had been blocked off every few feet with rows of pushed-up dirt.

“Why did they do that?” Bob asked.

The black man closest to him answered, “To keep the drug runners out.” He was a big man, very impressively built; his sunglasses looked almost too small for his wide head.

Just then Bill called him to come and see the famous Charlie’s Blue Hole situated just a ways off the runway. Bob had heard of the blue holes but had never seen one. This one was the most famous; it was, they claimed, bottomless yet filled with freshwater. The rest of the group caught up with them there. Though awed by the Blue Hole, most of the group were overwhelmed by what they had encountered at the supposed farm. Even Bill wasn’t as enthusiastic as he had been.

Bill and Tom had looked over more of the farmland than what the rest of them had. “There’s a tremendous amount of work to do, Bob,” he said, “I’m not sure Tom is allowing enough time or has the resources to reclaim it.”

Bob, Bill, and Dale discussed what Bill had seen until it was time for the bus to leave. “I know it doesn’t look like much,” Bob tried to reassure him, “but you have to admit there’s potential here.”

Bill, who would be in charge of restoring and getting the farmland going, didn’t seem totally reassured but more like dazed; he had no idea there would be so much work here. He told them he would have some hard questions for Tom on the way back to the hotel.

“By the way, Bob, Tom asked me to tell you to ride back in the car with us.”

But Bob’s mind was made up. “No,” he said, “the people on the bus are rather overwhelmed right now by what they saw here. I’ll try to talk to them on the way back. They saw the beauty of the place, but the site of the old farm and the remoteness of the place were pretty scary. They need some reassurance right now.”

On the way back, Bob had the driver take a detour through the government experimental farm. Here, people saw what could be made out of this raw coral. That indeed, it would break down into productive soil. They saw fields of vegetables and cattle roaming on grassland. By the time they arrived back at the hotel, the group was in a more confident mood, but Bob was sure there were some of them who would not return.

They had a party at the hotel that night. Tomorrow, all except for Bob, were returning to Nassau for one final day before returning home. They had all become fast friends; Bob actually hated to see them go.

“I hope to see you all back here soon,” he said.

The next morning, July arrived on the plane that the group was to fly out on. The group exchanged goodbyes with her and Bob, and when they were gone, Bob told her about their trip to the project and what he thought of it.

A car pulled up to the front of the hotel that afternoon; the driver found Bob and July inside having lunch. It was Arthur, July had asked him to come and meet Bob.

“This is the man who saved my life,” July told Bob. Arthur had gone out of his way to look after July while she was working in Nassau. Bob was extremely happy to meet Arthur.

“I can’t thank you enough for looking after her,” Bob told him. “This lady doesn’t need much protecting,” Arthur responded. Bob laughed; he knew exactly what he meant.

The next day, Arthur drove them out to the project site; they spent the day roaming around the old farm. On the way back, he talked about what the black man had said about the airstrip. July asked what the man looked like, and Bob described him to her.

Both Arthur and July responded at the same time, “That’s Manly Waddell.”

July had told Bob about what had happened between her and this man in Nassau. Again his shadow had been cast upon them. They tried to put Waddell to the back of their minds for the rest of the time they were on Andros.

They spent their time meeting Arthur’s family and at their private little beach doing as they’d done every time they’d come to Andros. But as the sun sets every day, their time came to an end, and they had to part again.

On the plane home, Bob’s mind once again turned to Manly Waddell. “I’ve got to find out more about this man,” Bob thought. “In fact, I’d better find out more about Tom too; no one had ever thought to find out about him.”

TEN

1997

I
’D BEEN AWAKE
for a while thinking about Manly Waddell, “You didn’t get me yet, you prick. Now, I’m going to get you.”

My anger brought me back to reality. “Where am I? Oh yes, Bill and Hania’s.” Slowly, it all comes back to me. What day is it, I wonder turning toward the window. I see light outside; the snow has stopped, and the sun is shining. It’s in the east, “Morning.” Now I’m really confused. How long have I slept? My body is stiff, but a lot of the pain is gone. I feel a lot better. I realize I’m hungry.

Hania’s cupboards are well stocked, so I have no trouble making breakfast. It is the first coffee I have tasted in quite a while. The radio solves my dilemma for me. It soon tells me that it is Tuesday. I had escaped from my home on Friday night.

That means that I have been here since Saturday afternoon. I still don’t think I realize how traumatic my ordeal has been on my mind and body.

Going into the bathroom, I look at myself in the mirror. Except for the cut on my forehead, my face is no worse for wear. My clothes are still lying on the floor; they’re covered with blood and in tatters. My body is still black and blue in places, but the main concern is a long nasty gash on my right leg. The edge of the wound has turned white, and pieces of flesh are protruding from the center, and it has started to bleed again. I find some gauze and a large bandage in Hania’s bathroom closet. I do the best I can with the wound, and then I go to the bedroom and borrow some of Bill’s clothes.

uddenly, the radio has my full attention. It tells me the Mounties have no new information on the bodies they’d found, and then tells of a farmyard that has been burned to the ground west of town. It goes on to say that the storm has hampered the police investigation, but it looks like some lives were lost in the blaze. The skin crawls up the back of my neck.

I take Bill’s coat from the rack by the door and go outside. The temperature is nice considering it’s northern Saskatchewan in the middle of winter. There is a shovel and a broom beside the door. My muscles protest as I begin clearing the snow from around the step and then dig my way over to Bill’s shop. I clear the snow away from the big drive-in door. Bill would be mad if he found out I made a mess in his shop. It must have been a big storm. The walk-in door is half buried in snow. Once the snow is cleaned away, I open the door, and there is my truck sitting there. Now I’m totally confused. I was pretty sure I didn’t leave it here and, “Where is Bill’s truck?”

I guess it’s time I go and find out what is going on. I have to shovel a bit to get my truck out of the driveway, but once I reach the highway I notice the snowplows have been out, making for easy going. I was pretty sure the farmyard the radio had been talking about was Mom’s place. My suspicions are confirmed when I find the road to her place already plowed. As I pull into the yard, my heart is torn in two; the old farmhouse lies in a blackened hole in the snow. The shop is also burned, leaving nothing but the blackened skeleton of a vehicle and my tractor.

With tears in my eyes, I hardly notice there is a 4x4 and a neighbor’s vehicle in the yard. The neighbor comes running toward me.

“God, Bob,” he said, “I thought you were dead.” We’d been good friends for years, one of my old drinking buddies.

He put his hand on my shoulder, “I know how you feel, Bob, and I tried to get hold of you. When we couldn’t, well, we just assumed you were in the house when it burned.”

I stand there and look at what had once been the house I was raised in.

“Why?” I just can’t comprehend how someone could do this. They hadn’t killed me, but this was the next best thing.

Jim, my buddy, must have seen the look on my face.

“Take it easy, Bob,” he said, “I know your Mom’s away, so at least your family is all right.”

“Little do you know, Jim,” I thought, “My wife and son are in mortal danger, or maybe they’re already dead. I have to get the hell out of here, that’s all I know, and I have to do it quickly before the police put two and two together.”

My mind begins to work overtime; I’d have to concoct a story, and a good one, if I am to get out of here without the police holding me. Right now, I may be under suspicion; I have to keep my wits about me.

Jim follows me as I walk over to what had been the farmhouse. Three RCMP officers are working among the rubble; I ask them what they are doing.

One of the officers inquires as to who I am. Before I can answer, one of the other officers looks over; we had met each other before.

“This is Bob Green,” he said, walking over to me. “We thought it was your remains we found in the house, but I see it’s not you.”

The other officer comes over too. He asks, “Any idea whose bodies we found here, Mr. Green?”

“No,” I answer. “You mean there are more than one?”

“Yes,” he answers, “There are at least three bodies in here, possibly more.”

“Where were you that we couldn’t reach you, Bob?” the officer I knew asks.

Now I have to make up a story, and it better be a good one. My main concern is for July and my son to be protected. The best way to do that I figure is to get at the source of what is threatening them. This means I have to leave the country and do it quickly. If I tell the cops what really happened, they’ll hold me here. No, I’d have to lie my way out and do it convincingly enough to be above suspicion.

“I was up snowmobiling at Candle Lake,” I tell the Mountie.

“Is that your truck over there?” he asks.

“Yes, I drove it down this morning.”

This seems to pacify him, but then Jim butts in, “Whose van is burned in the shop, Bob?”

This startles me; I had seen a burned vehicle in the shop but thought nothing of it, being so upset about the house.

“Oh, a friend of Bill’s went snowmobiling with us, and he left his van in the shop so that it would start when he got back.”

I look at both of them, and they seem to accept my story. Well, I have built my nest now; I would have to live in it, hoping it didn’t come unraveled.

“We’d appreciate it if you would follow Corporal Novak into our office in town,” the officer Bob didn’t know said to him, “he’ll have you make out a statement.”

I figured this was coming; well, might as well get it over with.

“Okay,” I answer “I’ll follow him in.”

I had met the department’s staff sergeant two weeks ago when we were forced back to Canada and had to report to the nearest police telling them that we were living here, our passports were being held; and we were under investigation.

I am sure he had a military background before he became a Mountie. I come by this impression of the man by the way he presents himself, reminding me more of an officer in the army than a cop.

Bob was right in his assessment of Staff Sergeant Anderson. He had spent three years in the army before being accepted for training in the Mounties. He had spent twenty-nine years in their service. He came from the old school; his image of the Mounties was what the people saw in the movies from the fifties, and he lived up to this image.

This posting was to be his last; one more year, and he could retire. He hated computers and the new image was demoralizing the force. The spit and polish, the discipline, all this had disappeared. He was ready for retirement, so he had accepted this quiet posting.

“Maybe I’ll retire here,” the sergeant had thought. He loved to hunt and fish, and he also loved the north. There was little crime, a perfect place to spend his remaining years.

Now, all hell was breaking loose; just when you thought you had it made this had to happen.

His service record had been impeccable; this time however, he realized, he had made some vital errors. This incompetence may have cost one of his officer’s lives, which made him sick to his stomach.

This is the first thing Bob notices about the sergeant as he shakes hands and sits down at the desk across from him. The sergeant’s hair is disheveled; he hasn’t shaved for a while, his eyes show lack of sleep.

I hadn’t expected to see him look like this. This shit must be really getting to him. I have to be very careful, just follow along and let him lead. Looking at him made me realize just how bad I must look. I had put on Bill’s big winter hat to cover the scar on my forehead as much as to keep warm. Now it is hot in the office; I’ll have to take it off. I would look rather stupid sitting here with sweat running down my face, with a big fur lined cap on my head. I hadn’t taken time to shave either.

“Shit, I look worse than he does.”

“Well, my story better be damn good,” I think as I remove my hat. Sergeant Anderson is so preoccupied that he doesn’t seem to notice, but I am sure Corporal Novak did.

The sergeant excused himself for a moment while he and Novak went into another room. Novak would bring the sergeant up to date on what they had found and how they had met me.

I am angry at myself for not cleaning up a little better before I left Bill’s. Sergeant Anderson comes back and sits down at his desk. Corporal Novak brings a chair from across the room; he also sits down at the desk, a pen and paper in hand.

“Here goes,” I think, “be alert.”

“Constable Novak tells me you were up north snowmobiling this weekend, Bob, is this right?” The sergeant seems much more focused now, his eyes on mine.

“Yes, Candle Lake,” I answered.

“When did you leave?”

“Last Thursday,” I answer, giving myself lots of leeway.

“There were other people with you who can confirm this?” he asks.

“Yes,” I answer. “I went with Bill and Hania, and the Drinkwaters, and another couple from down south,” I add, covering for the van in the shop.

Novak takes up on this immediately.

“They’re the ones whose van was burned in the fire?”

“Yes,” I answer.

“And where are they now?”

“They’re still up at Bill’s cabin,” I answer. “With the snowstorm this weekend, they didn’t get much fishing done so they decided to stay a day or two longer.”

“So why did you come back, Bob?” the sergeant asks.

“Well, I was worried about Mom’s house. I didn’t know if the snowstorm had knocked out the power or not. I didn’t want it to freeze up. Also,” I go on, “I fell off my snowmobile up there.” I point to my forehead, “Bill thought maybe I should get it looked at, so I came home. I was going to clean up at the farm, but I guess that’s sort of out of the question now.”

Both the sergeant and Novak grunt in agreement with me.

“Yes, that’s a nasty looking cut you have there,” the sergeant says. “I suggest you have a doctor look at that.”

But Novak isn’t done with me yet.

“So you have no idea whose bodies we found in the house?”

“No,” I answer truthfully, “unless someone got caught in the storm and stayed there is the only thing I can think of,” I suggest.

“We’ll know better after we get some dental work done,” the sergeant interjects. “The bodies were burned so bad that’s the only way we’ll be able to get any identification.”

I decide it is time to do a little detective work of my own.

“I hear you guys found a couple of people shot,” I query. “You’ve had a busy weekend.”

The sergeant becomes very agitated.

“Yes,” he answers. Then he begins to spill out what he knows; it is as if he has to talk to somebody. I don’t discourage him.

“Saturday afternoon we got a call from Gus Helek. I guess you know him, he lives out your way.”

I knew him very well, but I just nod my head.

“Well, apparently, he and some guys were out hunting when they heard some shots, a lot of shots actually. Anyway, they went over to see what was going on. What they found was a guy with his head shot off. They figure it only took them about twenty minutes to get over there, but no one else was around, not that they saw anyway. So they headed back to his farm and phoned us. I was going to send a couple of guys out, but just then Constable Novak here called in from downtown that two guys with rifles were running down Main Street.

I thought the way Helek spoke it was a hunting accident, so I sent one guy to check it out and hold down the fort until the forensic people got there. Then we started getting reports of another guy riding around town on a snowmobile all covered with blood. So we set up roadblocks. The two guys with rifles on Main Street jumped on a snowmobile, and they were gone by the time we got the roadblocks set up. We couldn’t find the man covered with blood either. Oh, we had lots of calls from scared people, but they all turned out to be false leads.

The forensic boys were held up so they got here late. I was out checking on one of the leads. Everyone else was busy when they did get here, so they decided to check out what was going on uptown. Meanwhile, Constable Reich called in saying that they had found another body not far from the first one. I finally got out there, but it was pretty well dark by then, and it had started to snow. The forensic people could only do the best they could under these conditions. Then we loaded the bodies and headed back to town. Now there’s a reason I’m telling you this, Bob, and I’ll get to it in a moment.”

o far the sergeant hasn’t told me anything I don’t know, except for his problems, but I feel things are going to get dicey.

The sergeant rubs his forehead and continues his story.

“My problem is that I was careless. I sent a green officer to look after this situation and then forgot about him.

Before we got there, Constable Reich decided to follow the snowmobile tracks to see where they came from. He was right, in a way, he was worried that the snow would hide the tracks and as usual, news travels fast. The scene attracted a lot of people. He was scared they’d obliterate the trail, making it impossible to follow. Anyway, he has disappeared.”

“You mean you don’t know where he is at all?” I ask.

“We thought you might be able to tell us,” Corporal Novak broke in.

“How in the hell would I know?” I tell them truthfully, although I have my suspicions. They both sit looking at me.

“Some of the people who saw the guy covered in blood thought it was you,” the sergeant tells me, watching my face. I look them square in the eye.