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.
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.
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.”
