Page 84 of Original Sin

‘So tell me about immigrant smuggling,’ said Brooke. As they bumped along, her heart was racing at the drama of it all and, given her worried thoughts only minutes ago, she was excited to be involved with David’s other life for once. She reached over and squeezed his hand. One of the many things she loved about David was that he seemed to know everything. He was not intellectual in the way those foul people at Estella Winston’s party had been, but his head was like a dusty old library, packed with endless facts.

‘Well, it’s been going on for years,’ said David, not taking his eyes from the road. ‘Everyone thinks it’s all about smuggling drugs in Florida, but human trafficking is, if anything, even bigger business. Every day of the week, you can almost guarantee there’s some boat sliding up to some deserted beach along the Keys, dropping off people from Cuba, Puerto Rico, even Mexico. Smugglers can get up to ten thousand dollars a head, so if you’re ferrying over thirty people, that’s three hundred thousand a trip. It’s illegal, of course, but the penalties for transporting heroin and cocaine and those for carrying a handful of farm workers just don’t compare.’

‘And what happens to the people?’ asked Brooke, fascinated now.

‘Ah, well, that’s where it gets controversial,’ said David. ‘Generally, if they make it to land they can stay, but if they are found at sea they are sent back home. Although that only applies to Cubans. People from Haiti are usually sent straight back.’

‘That doesn’t seem fair.’

‘Life’s not fair, honey,’ said David, pulling the car to a stop and pointing out to sea.

They had turned off the main road onto a beach track with what looked like a landing jetty, surrounded by vehicles, their lights still on. On either side, the beach looked grey in the moonlight, but out in the inky distance, possibly less than a thousand metres offshore, was a fireball. Above it, she could see a helicopter training its spotlight onto the choppy blackness of the sea. A pick–up truck was parked by the jetty and a tall man jumped out. David climbed out to meet him.

‘Charlie, hi,’ he said. ‘You made good time.’

‘We’re the first media to get here,’ said the cameraman, already unloading his equipment.

‘Have you spoken to the police yet?’

Brooke could see the man’s teeth flash in the Jeep’s headlights. ‘I thought I’d save that treat for you.’

Brooke saw her fiancé run over towards a police cruiser, its red and blue lights swirling.

‘Sir, you’re going to have to move back,’ said the officer. He shone his flashlight into David’s face and his tone immediately changed. ‘Sorry, Mr Billington,’ he said more politely. ‘But you’re still going to have to move.’

‘How bad is it?’

‘Can’t say,’ said the officer vaguely. ‘I do know they’re pulling bodies from the sea.’

‘Alive or dead?’ asked David without emotion.

‘I don’t know,’ said the officer grimly. David quickly asked him a few more questions, memorizing the facts and figures.

‘Please, sir,’ said the officer, holding up his hands. ‘You’re going to have to move further down the beach. I’ll speak to my captain, and see if someone will come talk to you later.’

They jumped in Charlie’s pick–up and moved a hundred metres down the beach to the edge of the police cordons.

‘Okay, we’re not going to wait for the official version,’ said David decisively. ‘Let’s roll from here, Charlie, with the fire in the background.’

He looked back at Brooke. ‘Charlie can feed this straight back to the studio in New York from that little satellite dish in the back of his pick–up.’

Charlie grabbed some lights and set them up on the sand, running power cables from the truck. David stood in front of them and winked at Brooke.

‘Well, this is going to be basic,’ he said under his breath. She could see his sheer professionalism, his passion for what he was doing. She ran over to him and straightened his collar and smoothed down his hair, then ducked out of sight of the camera. He looked straight ahead, paused, then launched into an eloquent monologue about the events unfolding before them.

He’s good, thought Brooke, unable to take her eyes from her fiancé. He had no speechwriter, no script, and few hard facts available, yet he spoke with knowledge and authority. He wasn’t just good, he was brilliant. She felt a rush of pleasure, which turned into a curl of lust. She stopped herself, thinking how completely inappropriate it was to be thinking about sex when there was a search and rescue effort going on behind her.

Brooke’s eyes drifted out behind David. The glow from the fire was illuminating the tops of the waves, like the last rays of a sunset. If it wasn’t for the horror of what was happening out there, she thought, you might even think it was pretty. Suddenly she stopped, narrowing her eyes. There was something at the water line. Was it seaweed? Debris from the boat? Then she realized it was a body. Before she could think, she was running towards the sea.

‘David!’ she shouted. She turned and saw him drop his microphone and begin sprinting across the sand towards her.

Brooke splashed into the water, freezing cold against her bare legs, but David got there first. He hauled her out and, with Brooke’s help, dragged her onto the sand. David glanced up at Brooke and said simply: ‘Get help.’ Then he bent over the woman and began to pump her chest.

Brooke ran across the beach, towards the police cordon, waving her arms.

‘Quick!’ she screamed to a paramedic beyond the barrier. ‘We have a woman over here.’

When she got back, David was bent low over the woman, his hand under her chin as he blew air into her lungs. Finally, a small plume of water exited her mouth, her whole body shaking as she turned onto her side, coughing violently. An ambulance roared up to them, the noise of the siren surrounding them.