Everglade City was not what Cutler expected; it was a small town on the edge of the Barron River on one side and Lake Placid on the opposite side. He drove down Copeland Avenue, which had stilted houses interspersed with some local businesses; he passed the white wooden buildings with small green lawns surrounded by picket fences. Cutler turned left on West Broadway until he went as far as he could, then he came to Riverside Drive.
The intense humidity, as compared to Miami, hit Cutler straight away as he exited his air-conditioned rental. Cutler had found the address quite easily in what was a small town; the name Everglade City was an exaggeration off the scale.
Cheryl lived in a timber-built house that rested on stilts. Her Range Rover, parked under the stilts, rested alongside a small airboat. He climbed up the fourteen white wooden steps till he emerged on a good-sized, square balcony, equipped with a refrigerator for beers and a swinging hammock. Cutler could see there was netting that could be rolled down on all three open sides to keep the hordes of mosquitoes and other flying parasites out after dark.
Cutler did not need to tap on the external netted door, as the dog barking from within had announced his arrival. After the initial introductions, which included a brief introduction to Spike, a black Shar-Pei with enough wrinkles to keep a plastic surgeon busy for life, Cheryl escorted Cutler out onto the rear balcony which overlooked the Everglades.
Cutler accepted a Coke from the outside fridge while admiring the two enormous pelicans perched on the balcony surround, eagerly staring into the mass of water, waiting for their next feed to swim on by.
Cheryl explained that she had been a financial auditor for a large multinational firm prior to her husband Don’s death. Several months after he went missing, and because of her constant searching for the truth, she had suffered what has been described as a nervous breakdown. She lost the high-paying job and saw her five-year-old daughter, Esme, removed and placed in foster care. To this day, two years on, she had been unable to get her daughter back, as the authorities still felt she had mental health issues. Cutler discovered these supposed mental health problems had more to do with her drive to find the truth about her husband than the perceived paranoia the mental health representatives had labelled her with. Cutler knew exactly how she felt, as he had been going through the same emotions and feelings over the past several months.
Within a couple of hours, both Cheryl and Cutler had settled into conversation. The talked about their losses, and family, things they had not discussed with any other living soul. The clarity created an honest and open discussion that would normally be restricted to the closest of friends and confidants, rather than two people who were virtual strangers.
Cheryl explained to Cutler in no uncertain terms that the lost ones and dead at sea had virtually no rights. They crossed national and international borders, and this caused responsibility issues. There were problems with who investigates and where to investigate, as the missing person could have disappeared miles away from where it was reported. She also discovered that police forces are not set up to investigate such disappearances.
Many disappearances are put down to misadventure or suicide, with the odd exception where someone had seen an altercation and witnesses came forward.
After Cheryl’s husband had gone missing, she had approached her local police, the Bahamian police, the FBI, even Interpol, all to no avail. She pestered them, harassed them, and this was one of the reasons she was not allowed her child back. When she mentioned Esme, a sadness fell over her.
Cutler explained that he had been hitting brick walls since Elisa had gone missing as well. Furthermore, with his background and contacts, if there were anything to know, he would have got the data, but the information was just not there. Yes, there were missing person's reports, but not a whole lot more. All the checks and counterchecks generally undertaken for a missing person or murder on the mainland were simply missing for Elisa, and it seemed for most individuals who went missing at sea.
Cheryl told Cutler that she had travelled to Egypt before her nervous breakdown. One member of the ship’s crew had anonymously sent her a letter saying that an Egyptian couple had mentioned that they had seen a fracas on deck, and it might have involved her husband; they gave the forwarding address of the family.
Cheryl had travelled to Cairo to meet the Yacoub family. They met her in a café overlooking the plains of Giza. Any time before her husband’s disappearance she would have been amazed at the sight of the three pyramids, with the Sphinx placed forward of them and lit up by the setting sun, but not now.
Mr and Mrs Yacoub met her in the café at the appointed time. Over Egyptian, apple-infused tea, they explained they had seen two young men beating up an older man. The Yacoubs confirmed it was Cheryl’s husband from a photograph she showed them. Mr Yacoub expressed his regret and shame; he said he had been worried about his wife, and ushered her away. He had been cowardly, he said. The next morning, Mr Yacoub reported the incident to a steward. They had not known the elder man on the floor receiving the beating was missing until they received the phone call from Cheryl.
Cheryl had at first been bemused, as the ship owners denied having received any reports of any incidents on that cruise, apart from the report that her husband was missing. Cheryl thought that a crew member had not bothered to log it, or it had been glossed
