BRITS’ SCUBA DEATH TRAGEDY
A British couple drowns while scuba diving together in Bora Bora after panicking underwater and removing their breathing gear
A BRITISH couple has died in a tragic scuba-diving accident while on holiday in the French Polynesian island of Bora Bora this week.
Daniel, 35, & Sally Sharpe, 32, died after the accident off the luxury resort island of Bora Bora. The couple were diving together along with their hotel resort dive instructor in a world-renowned scuba spot in the South Pacific when the incident occurred.
According to eyewitnesses the couple panicked, removing their breathing gear while eighteen meters underwater at the Four Seasons dive site.
A police spokesperson for the island said the couple had swallowed mouthfuls of seawater, while an autopsy later showed their lungs were also filled with water.
There were no signs of foul play, a local news website reported.
The Medical Examiner’s Office examined the equipment worn by the couple and experts concluded there were no problems with any of the dive equipment but that both of the Brits’ primary air tanks were empty.
While their secondary tanks did have air, the Sharpes were unable to access them in their panicked state, authorities explained.
The incident unfolded on the afternoon of Saturday, September 17, nine days into the tragic young couple’s planned two-week trip.
Problems began ten minutes into the half-hour dive, when Investex UK fund manager, Sally, noticed her oxygen gauge had swung into the red zone and signaled to the dive leader that she was out of air. It was at this stage, Conrado Tenaglia, 31, the resort’s dive instructor, tried to intervene. But it soon became apparent that Sally’s husband, Daniel Sharpe, was also experiencing trouble. The instructor was unable to assist both divers simultaneously, and panic quickly took hold as the couple, realizing the desperate situation unfolding, fumbled with their own equipment. Eyewitness accounts from other dive group members state that “things escalated fast.” According to fellow diver Kazia Vesely, 29, at some point the masks of both divers came completely off because “they were struggling,” which may have caused both to panic further. The instructor tried to rectify the situation but it quickly spiraled out of control.
“We all started to panic too, the other divers, because we didn’t know what we were supposed to do either. We didn’t know what was happening. We thought there might be something wrong with all our tanks, so we broke off and ascended to call for help from the boat. The instructor signaled us to ascend slowly because we were all panicky. It was really scary,” Kazia told local news agencies.
First responders at the scene where unable to revive the two tourists. Both were declared dead on arrival at Vaitape Medical Center.
The British embassy in the French Polynesian capital of Papeete said it was providing consular support to the family.
Bora Bora is a major international tourist destination, famous for its aqua-centric luxury resorts.
The location is a favorite amongst honeymooners and the jet set alike, with celebrity couples such as Jennifer Aniston and Justin Theroux, Benedict Cumberbatch and Sophie Hunter, Nicole Kidman and Keith Urban, and the Kardashian clan all flocking to its luxury hotels.
The resort also attracts divers from all around the world eager to see the island’s tropical wildlife.
The dive site where the couple met their tragic end is an area described as suitable for divers of all experience levels, according to the International Dive Directory.
The directory says the site in question has “hardly any current” and a maximum depth of 18 meters—the deepest you can go without a PADI Advanced Open Water or equivalent diving license.
Mark and I sit in silence, stunned.
Oh my fucking God. The couple from the hike. The nice young couple from our hike are dead. And the way they died. Utterly horrific. I catch an echo of the panic they must have felt. Fuck. I push it down. Away.
The question hangs in the air. Two questions actually. We’re both thinking it. Were they murdered? Did someone tamper with their diving gear?
“What do you think?” I finally break the thick atmosphere. We’re sitting in the darkness, the half-light of the screen illuminating our pale faces.
“Could be an accident,” he says. I’m not sure whether it’s a question or a statement.
A couple in their thirties are dead in our resort three days after I accessed the plane people’s email account. Two days after we left the island.
“Is it, Mark? I want it to be an accident. Tell me it’s an accident, please.”
He looks at me. There’s doubt in his eyes, but he’s thinking it through.
“Look, diving accidents aren’t unusual. Sure, it’s a huge coincidence, the timing and place, but that doesn’t mean they were definitely murdered. The police are saying no foul play, right?”
“Their whole island economy is based on tourism, Mark! They’re not going to tell the press that tourists get murdered out there.”
“No, fair enough—but, come on, it’s not the easiest way to kill someone, is it? By empty oxygen tank? I mean, anyone on the dive could have ended up with those tanks. They could have just not panicked and used their secondary tanks and just dealt with it, couldn’t they? What if they’d just done that? They wouldn’t be dead, would they? It doesn’t really strike me as a targeted attack, does it?” He’s starting to believe himself now. He’s getting into it.
And he does have a point. It is a fairly blunt murder weapon, an empty oxygen tank.
“But they, the plane people, if they were there, they probably watched them, Mark. They probably knew the Sharpes couldn’t dive, they might have watched them do their pool training? We don’t know, they must have done this before. Made things look like accidents.” It feels weird saying the Sharpes’ surname out loud. I wish I hadn’t. It hangs in the air of our home, strange and cumbersome. We didn’t really know them, who they were. The idea of them feels odd and unwieldy, these two dead people we shared memories with. Strangers but like us, young, British, on honeymoon. Surrogate us’s. Like us but dead.
I remember them from the resort. We were only on nodding terms. Small talk. Then again they’d only been there three days and we’d already found the bag. We weren’t really paying attention.
Mark breaks the silence.
“I just don’t think someone did this, Erin. I don’t. It’s beyond odd that this has happened, I won’t argue with that, but why didn’t they just kill them? If someone had wanted to kill them? I mean, come on, it’s a bit convoluted, isn’t it, honey? Why not do it in their sleep or poison or—I don’t know! If these people are as rich and as powerful as we think they are, why do it like that? And why the Sharpes? Christ, they don’t even look like us!” He’s completely convinced now.
But one little thing keeps niggling at me.
“Mark. How would they know it was a couple that found the bag?” And then another thought strikes me.
“How would they know to look for a British couple, Mark?!” The fear rises in me. Because, how would they know? Unless we left a trail? Did I miss something? Did I leave some crucial piece of evidence behind?
Mark slowly closes his eyes. He knows why. Oh God. There’s something he hasn’t told me.
“What is it, Mark? Tell me!” I’m not messing around now; I’m up on my feet. I bang on the light switch, flooding the room with light.
He squints up at me, momentarily blinded.
“Sit down, Erin. It’s…it’s fine. Please, honey.” He pats the seat cushion next to him wearily. This is a conversation he never wanted to have. I give him a hard look before sitting down next to him. This had better be good.
He rubs his face and leans back with a deep sigh. “Oh fuck. Okay, here it is. Um, when I went back, at the hotel, in Bora Bora, when I went back to erase the check-in info from their system–slash–look for your earring, er…” He blows out hard through his mouth. “Shit. I ran into the watersports guy.” He looks at me.
“Paco?” I say.
He nods. “Yeah. He asked if we’d got our bag back.”
Shit.
“He said one of the porters had mentioned we’d left our bag by the boat. Paco wondered if we got it back in the end. I guess the porter we left it with must have totally misunderstood.”
“What did you do, Mark?” I demand. But I don’t really want to hear the answer. Because if I hear it, it’ll make it real.
“I had to say something. So, I don’t know, I was thinking on my feet. I didn’t, you know, think through the implications or whatever, I just…It just came out.”
I say nothing. I wait.
“I asked Paco what he was talking about and acted confused and then suddenly remembered that the other British couple, the Sharpes I think they were called, had mentioned something about a bag on our hike. Something about finding a bag, or something. The porter must have mixed us up, I told him. I said it was funny that he’d confused us because we’d had a similar problem before, it must be our accents, I said. And he laughed. And we left it at that.”
When he stops speaking, the silence floods the room again. We’re submerged in it.
“And now they’re dead,” I say.
“And now they are dead,” Mark echoes.
We let that and all its implications sink in.
Either the Sharpes had a diving accident or they were killed because someone thought they were us. We might have killed two people.
“Why did you say it?” I ask it with half-hearted intensity, because I know he couldn’t possibly have known this would happen, could he? I would have done the same thing, put on the spot like that, wouldn’t I?
He shakes his head. “I don’t know…I just did.” He rubs his face again and groans.
“Do you think it was them? Do you think they killed them?”
He drops his hand and stares at me now. Sober, focused.
“Honestly? Honestly, Erin, there’s no way of knowing. But it’s a pretty elaborate way to kill someone. It could definitely have just been an accident. But—and I know this is awful—but if they were murdered, as terrible as that is, nobody will be looking for us now. As awful as that may sound…If it was deliberate—if they did come looking for and then killed ‘the couple that found the bag’—then it’s finished. Isn’t it? The couple is dead. They couldn’t find the missing bag. It’s finished. We’re safe. I made a mistake, definitely, but I’m glad with all my heart it wasn’t us, Erin. I’m glad no one is coming for us.” There’s finality to what he says. He takes my hand in his and I look down at our tightly gripped fists. He’s right. I’m glad it wasn’t us too.
We’re dead. They think we’re dead. And—bizarrely, for just a second—it does make me feel safer.
I’m almost certain we left no trace, but that’s the thing about slipups, isn’t it, you don’t know you’ve made one? I hear what Mark’s saying but in my heart I know, I just know, that they are still looking for us. Maybe we should call the police?
But I don’t say it out loud. Mark has made up his mind: no one is coming for us. He can tell me in a million different ways that it’s over now, but I won’t really hear them. I’ll know they’re coming for a long time yet.
So I don’t pursue it. I let it go. I’ll have to come to his conclusion on my own or not at all.
I nod.
“You’re right,” I say.
He wraps his solid arms around me and pulls me close in the silence of our home.