Riptide (Sam McRae Mystery 3)

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.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

I drove back to our motel. Was taking a peek at Bower’s processing plant a smart move or simply ridiculous? Getting an up-close look at his operation could be quite revealing. Or not. Worrisome, since time was running out and I couldn’t afford to spin my wheels.

En route, my phone rang. I pulled over to the side of the road.

“The cops are done with the condo,” Jamila said. “I checked us out of the motel and moved our stuff back.”

Her voice sounded strange. “What’s the matter?”

“You’ll see soon enough.”

When I arrived at the condo, I couldn’t believe my eyes.

I didn’t know for sure what I was looking at until I climbed upstairs and saw the mess. The front of the condo had been egged. Rotten eggs.