Riptide (Sam McRae Mystery #3)

Chapter 13

The Farmworker Protection League had offices in an old house in Salisbury. The house had been converted into offices not unlike my own in Laurel.

I entered a small reception area, outfitted in furnishings with utility utmost in mind. A small second-hand wooden reception desk greeted me. Multicolored metal file cabinets lined the far wall. To the right, a sofa covered in a faded red and white floral pattern provided visitors a place to cool their heels.

As I walked in, I glimpsed in profile a slim brunette, late twenty-something woman dressed by L.L. Bean in Capri pants and a striped T-shirt. Engrossed in searching through a filing cabinet drawer, she squatted and bent to her task.

"Amber Moore?" I asked.

She jumped and turned.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I didn't mean to startle you. I'm Sam McRae. We spoke earlier."

She smiled and rose. "Right. Come in, come in."

Amber ushered me into the office where she worked as a summer intern at FPL. She offered me coffee or water. I declined and explained my interest in Marshall Bower.

"Oh, he's an interesting character, all right. Let's talk."

Thank God, I thought.

"So, where'd you study law?" she asked.

"University of Maryland."

"I'll be starting my third year there this fall," she said. She indicated a guest chair, taking a seat in a matching one. "It's nice to meet a fellow Terp."

I couldn't help grinning. Could it get much better than this?

"How did you end up here?" I asked.

"Maryland has a great environmental law program. I got interested in agricultural practices—use of pesticides, runoff into the Bay—that kind of thing. So I sought out opportunities to work on those issues and found out about this internship. This makes my second summer at FPL. As I learned more about the agricultural industry, I became aware of a number of other issues. Things you wouldn't believe. Worker safety problems, immigration issues, and employees working eighty-hour weeks for peanuts. And their living conditions ..." She shook her head. "Don't get me started."

I thought about doing just that, but chose for the moment to focus on Marshall Bower.

"What can you tell me about Bower Farms and its owner?"

"Well, Marshall Bower got into the poultry business only recently. The really big players, like Purdue and Allen's, are institutions around here. However, Bower has connections and ... I think he may tend to cut corners a little to try to compete with the big guys."

"Cut corners how?"

Amber clasped her hands and planted her elbows on the armrests. "How much do you know about the poultry industry?"

"Not much."

She smiled. "Let me give you a little tutorial then. You may find it helpful.

"For the major players, the days of family chicken farming are long gone. Poultry companies rely on contractors—known as 'grow-out farmers'—to raise the chickens. These are high-volume operations that use cheap, nonunion labor. The farmers don't even own the chickens. It's the companies that provide the chickens, their feed, and anything else needed to care for them."

She paused, as if waiting for questions.

"So, we're talking big business?" I said.

"Huge. Poultry processors on the Delmarva Peninsula and in the South have virtually sewn up the market. These businesses dominate the local economy. Yet most of their workers aren't locals."

"Really?"

She nodded. "When the chickens are ready for slaughter, the company sends a crew of chicken catchers to round them up and bring them to the processing plant. Because the poultry industry no longer pays enough to attract local workers, they've come to rely on migrant workers—many of them Hispanic, many of them of dubious legality, immigration-wise."

She paused to let this sink in.

"Are you telling me Marshall Bower cuts corners by hiring illegal alien workers?"

"I'm not saying that he does," she said. "But it has been known to happen. Using undocumented workers cuts costs. And we've become aware of cases in which illegal workers have been injured or killed due to poor working conditions."

I wondered if there was a point to this discussion and was about to ask, when she resumed her spiel.

"Illegal workers are afraid to report health and safety violations, so it's hard to prove anything against their employers. I couldn't say for sure that Bower Farms has engaged in these practices. But given the cutthroat competition—um, no pun intended—I suspect they may have done so."

"Where does Marshall Bower's stepson fit into this picture?"

"According to my confidential sources, Billy Ray was being groomed to take Bower's place at the helm of his vast empire. Essentially, Marshall Bower was sharing a great deal of authority over the poultry company with his stepson. Theoretically, Billy Ray could step in at a moment's notice and take over the whole company in the event of his stepfather's demise."

"So, he would've known about any shady hiring practices? Or poor working conditions?"

Amber nodded. "Even if he didn't know, he'd certainly be held responsible for them."

Could any of the hapless workers have wanted to kill their employer? Was there any straw I could grasp in this? Especially when I considered my alternatives. Billy Ray's friends. Probably not forthcoming. Conroy. What a guy. And Jinx. Shit.

"I'd like to take a look at Marshall Bower's operation," I said. "Talk to some of his employees. Any chance of that?"

"I can probably arrange it with a man I know there. When would you want to do this?"

"As soon as possible." I attempted to not sound desperate.

"All right. I'll try to set this up and get back to you with the details." She looked somber. "And just so you know, the tour won't be easy or pleasant."