The Delta Chain by Iain Edward Henn

Carole in Seattle.
    The conversation turned to Jean’s newspaperman son. ‘I visited Kevin a few times after he moved down here. After my husband died I’d stayed on in Washington, running the family hardware business. I really don’t know why, Hank, I never had much interest in hardware to tell you the truth.’ She shrugged and gave him a lazy smile.
    ‘I’d say you were doing it for your husband’s memory, and for your son and no doubt grandchildren.’
    ‘Won’t be any of those now.’ After a brief pause, she continued: ‘When Kevin died I thought damn it, damn the whole wide world.’ Hank nodded. He knew that feeling and his eyes conveyed his empathy. ‘I came down here, decided I’d stay on. I think maybe I wanted to live out my days in the place Kevin spent so much of his time. But I also needed a fresh start. I learned how to skipper a cruiser, bought the Tide Flyer, built the business up from there.’
    ‘Good for you.’
    ‘Mostly, though, deep down anyway, I think I’ve always hoped I’d come across something to lead me to the men who murdered Kevin.’
    Hank started. He hadn’t expected that Kevin Farrow’s death had been something that dramatic. The sudden fact of the matter chilled him out of the comfort he’d been feeling in this peaceful home with this warm woman.
    ‘I’m sorry.’ Jean’s open palm flew to her mouth, ‘I shouldn’t have just blurted that out. I forget that it comes as a shock to people.’
    ‘That’s okay,’ Hank said. Jean picked up her glass of red wine and took several sips. They ate for a short while in silence. ‘If you’d like to tell me about it, Jean, then please. I can be a good listener. Had the training, you know.’
    She smiled. ‘Of course.’ Her eyes took on a dreamy quality as she mentally searched out the facts. ‘Kevin was one of those writers who had a whole swag of causes he was passionate about. One of them, a very big one, was the conservation of animal species, something of a major, on-going concern here in Florida.’
    ‘Yes. I’ve been doing some reading on that lately.’
    ‘He’d picked up on some reports, tourists exploring the more isolated areas of The Everglades, who’d reported a sleek water craft, manned by poachers, capturing alligators.’
    ‘That would’ve got his hackles up.’
    ‘You bet it did. It’s only been in recent times, with the alligators under the Protected Species laws, that their numbers started flourishing again. The rangers had investigated the reports without success, but then after a long silence, six months or so, there were a couple of new reports. Kevin went out there, backpacking, with tents, cameras, you name it, to trek through the ‘Glades in search of the hunters. And what he believed was a big story. He loved doing that kind of thing.’
    Hank waited while she took a break, sipping more wine.
    ‘It seems these bastards, whoever they are, got hold of Kevin and strung him up good and tight between branches over the river bank.’ Hank’s eyes widened as he listened. ‘Well, the ‘gators they left him for got him all right but apparently couldn’t dislodge him from the binds, so they bit him clean in half, carried off the torso…’
    ‘Oh my God…Jean…’
    ‘The rangers found his upper remains, still hanging from the ropes, a few days after he was reported missing. They combed the place for those hunters, bringing in the State police, the Feds, everyone and his dog according to them, but they never found a damn thing to lead them to the culprits. Nothing whatsoever.’
    ‘I don’t recall hearing about any of this.’ Hank’s heart was crying out for this sad but feisty woman.
    ‘They never released the full details to the public. Too gruesome, they said. Didn’t want it to hinder their investigation, they told me. Of course, they wouldn’t have wanted anything like that to become known to the massive tourist trade down here. Not good for business.’
    ‘These