by Tom Lowe
“No,” Grant said, cutting his eyes from the techs to the Blake mansion. “Just let me know what you find as soon as possible. In the meantime, you have the locations of a half-dozen other possible lakes in the grid area. Maybe what you have in those water samples will mean you don’t have to search elsewhere.”
The woman held up the glass vials. “Let’s hope we can be so lucky. Maybe what we’re looking for is in here.”
They nodded, got in their van and left. As Grant walked to his unmarked cruiser, his phone buzzed. He looked at the caller ID. Detective Hamilton calling. Grant answered, and Hamilton said, “I’ve been speaking with Diana Harmon. Excluding the killer, we think she was the last person to see Kristen Morgan alive. Diana remembered something Kristen had told her the last night she saw her in the Odyssey Restaurant parking lot.”
“What was that?” Grant stared up at the Blake house on the hill above the lake.
“She remembered Kristen telling her about a customer in the restaurant who’d placed his hand on one of the windows looking into the giant aquarium where the mermaids make their nightly appearances. She said it’s hard for the girls working as mermaids to see very far through the glass because of the water in their eyes. But Kristen told Diana that she could make out a guy’s eye, able to see it through part of his hand. Said the eye looked dead … or without a soul, as she put it.”
“You said through part of the guy’s hand. Which part?”
“The part where there was a missing ring finger.”
Grant leaned on the side of his car. “Oh shit.”
“We dusted and were able to lift a complete handprint off the window. We’re running the prints through all state and IAFS databases. So far, nothing. Our next step is to see how closely the handprint we pulled off one of the windows on the mermaid tank matches the one on your phone … the one that Sean O’Brien sent you.”
Grant stared up at the Blake’s house. He could see the curtains part on a window and someone looking at the lake. “You worked with O’Brien. Tell me, how did he know? Lucky guess or what?”
• • •
Wynona and I watched two marina workers put the wide straps on Dragonfly. I couldn’t help but think of the old phrase … like a duck out of water. The sailboat, fast and graceful on the surface of the ocean, looked the opposite as the boatyard workers carefully put her into the slings attached to a massive mobile lift and hauled her out of the marina water. I studied the surrounding area, rooftops, alcoves, people walking the docks.
Gulls circled right above the main mast, shrieking. A plump, brown pelican sat atop a dock post, cocking its head, one big yellow eye watching as Dragonfly came out of the water. Max stood next to us, eying the pelican and the haul-out operation.
The marina staff had placed two large straps across Dragonfly’s underbelly, one on either side of the keel, using a hydraulic lift to raise the 41-foot sailboat. I was pleased to see there was very little bottom growth below the waterline. I walked over and inspected the hull, water dripping back into the wharf, the smell of algae and wet barnacles in the motionless air. The marine bottom paint had held up well since the last time I hauled her out, months ago.
“How’s she looking?” Wynona asked, following me, Max at her side.
“Good. Almost doesn’t need new bottom paint.”
I waved to the man in a red baseball cap operating the moveable crane on wheels. He nodded and slowly began moving Dragonfly to a spot in the boatyard where she’d be propped up on jacks and undergo the work to clean and repaint the hull. After that I had a diesel mechanic scheduled to overhaul the engine. Everything else on the sailboat appeared to be in excellent working order, especially the plumbing system and the air-conditioning. I never liked to keep any boat out of water too long. Dave always said it was like taking a cork out of a wine bottle that had been stored on its side because the cork was at its best when making contact with liquid.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw two people approaching. “She looks damn good in or outta the water,” Rex Nelson said. Savannah was walking with him. She flashed a wide smile, Max trotting over to officially greet them with a dachshund snort.
I said, “Dragonfly looks okay out of the water. But she looks great at sea.”
Rex grinned, scratching his scruffy face. “No doubt. When I hang up my job doing fishing guide work, maybe I’ll get me a sailboat. Or maybe Savannah will buy her daddy one after she becomes a big-time movie star.”
Savannah smiled. “Dad, it’s only a couple of lines in a movie. After that back to college. And maybe I’ll get lucky and land part-time work over at Weeki Wachee.”
Wynona gave Savannah a hug. “I heard the good news. You got the part. Congratulations.”
“Thanks. It’s only two lines, but I’m a little nervous.”
“You’ll do fine. Don’t overthink it. On a television interview a couple of years ago, I heard a talented actress say that the best acting isn’t acting at all. She said it’s responding with authenticity to the other actors and to the mood and tone of the scene.”
“I’ll try to remember that when the director yells action.”
I asked, “When do they film your scene or scenes?”
“It’s in two days. One of the assistant directors said for me to be on standby, if possible.”
“Do you have the mermaid costume?”
“Yes. I practiced in it once, in a pool. After they told me I got the part, I practiced a couple more times. It’s pretty easy. A production assistant called today and asked me to return it. When I told her that I had the part and was supposed to be on set in a couple of days, she said I could return it then.”
I said nothing, glancing over to Wynona. She looked at Savannah and said, “It sounds so exciting. What a great opportunity for you. All of this, no doubt, should help you land the part-time job you mentioned at Weeki Wachee. And who knows what other potential opportunities it might open for you down the road.”
Savannah was silent for a moment, glancing down at Max, inhaling deeply before answering. “I’ll be glad when my part is done, and then I can go see the movie when it comes out.”
Wynona picked up on the subtext. “Obviously, you got the message I left on your phone because I received your text that said we could hang out before Sean, Max, and I take Dragonfly to the islands.” She looked at the sailboat and then back at Savannah. “Well, now’s a good time as the boat’s going in for prep. We can let these guys finish overseeing Dragonfly’s safe move into the boatyard while you and I get coffee or tea in the Tiki restaurant.”
Savannah smiled. “I can do that.” She looked at Rex. “Dad, if you can spare me from doing busy work on Wind Dancer for a little while, I can hang out with Wynona.”
“Sounds good. Keep your phone on you in case I need something heavy moved on the boat.” He winked and smiled.
“Okay.” She turned toward Wynona. “We’re good.”
“Let’s go. Come on Maxine. It’s girl time. All three of us can hang out together.” Max sniffed, following them down the dock, her tail wagging.
I looked over at Rex. “I can see the worry in Savannah’s eyes. I assume she heard the news about the death of the second girl wearing a mermaid tail.”
“Yeah. It’s sick, Sean. Let’s stand under the shade of those palms. If you don’t mind, I need some advice. Figured you have the background and the knowledge to give me some guidance. I know you’re a straight shooter, because what I want to ask you isn’t easy for me to say.”
FIFTY-ONE
Wynona and Savannah sat at a corner table in the Tiki Bar, a table with a view of the marina. Wynona lifted Max up and set her on her lap. Max watched one of the servers walking with a tray filled with blackened grouper sandwiches, tail wagging, thinking one of them might be for her. Savannah smiled. “If I ever have a dog again, I’d like it to be like Max. A dachshund. Feisty and female. What’s amazing is how tall Sean is and how little Max is in comparison. The first time I saw them walkin
g down the dock together, I burst out laughing. It was like the odd couple.”
“And then I came into their lives and sort of balanced out the height and weight difference, but only if I’m walking in the middle between Sean and Max. That’s hard to do because Max likes to take the lead. She is so beyond using a leash.”
Savannah laughed and then sipped her cup of hot tea, the steam rising.
Wynona said, “You’ve got a great laugh. It’s good to hear it, especially after what you witnessed on the beach. The victim, Michelle Martin, was about your age. And she had auditioned for a part in Atlantis. You may have become friends, had she lived.”
“I thought about that, but all I can see, when I think about what I saw that morning … is her face. So pale … so delicate … almost like a waxed figure of someone dressed as a mermaid. Not a real person.” Savannah set her cup down and hugged her bare arms. “I feel guilty even auditioning for a part in Atlantis … like I’m taking something that she was about to do but was killed before she got the chance.” She paused and looked out the open window to the marina where a 50-foot sailboat, sails wrapped, was puttering to its slip.
Wynona said, “It’s natural to feel some degree of guilt under the circumstances. But you had nothing to do with Michelle Martin’s death. And you are in a unique position, when they catch the guy, to help bring justice to her death by telling a jury what you saw that morning.”
Savannah pursed her lips, almost catching her breath. “I haven’t thought about that, going to court.” She looked at the steam rising from her cup of tea on the table. “I heard that another girl in a mermaid costume was found dead south of Miami, in Key Biscayne. What if it’s the same insane guy? What if it’s the man I saw on the beach that morning? I don’t know what to do. I know there are dozens of other girls that will be working as extras on the movie. I don’t want to quit, but I don’t like being scared either. I think one of the reasons I’ve done well in competitive surfing is because I’m not afraid of a twenty-foot wave. I respect it but don’t fear it. Now I’m having really bad dreams, and I’m afraid.”
“In my career, I’ve found that fear is a good thing. It works well with adrenaline. It mixes well with the art of survival, too. Just remember to draw the line between being fearful of someone or something and paranoia. There’s a difference. Paranoia, allowing the illusion of stalking shadows to alter your natural fight or flight defense mechanisms, can be crippling. Don’t give it permission to take up space in your psyche.”
“Okay. That’s what I needed to hear. And it’s what I need to do now—differentiate and stay aware. Thanks.”
“You have my number. Call me anytime you want to talk … and I mean about anything. Understand?”
Savannah nodded. “Yes. I’m supposed to be on the movie set soon. I’m just going to look at it, even with the difficult circumstances, as another challenging wave to conquer. I’m hoping it will be a thrilling ride.”
“It will be.”
• • •
Detective Dan Grant was walking across the justice department parking lot when he received a call from the crime lab. He answered and the female forensic technician said, “Detective we have a good and bad news scenario.”
“Why do I have conversations that begin that way?”
“We all do, so I’ll give you the negative data first, saving the positive information for last.”
“What do you have?”
“The water samples taken from the lake near the Blake’s house, we could find no matching diatoms from that body of water. However, we did comparisons of the handprint removed from the aquarium window in Miami, the Odyssey Restaurant, and compared that print to the photo of the handprint in the sand that you gave us. We had to perform a number of comparison tests, but in the end the size and shape matched closely enough that we can say the prints came from the same person. That should give you a solid lead.”
FIFTY-TWO
Rex Nelson and I stayed in the boatyard, within a hundred feet of where the crew was moving Dragonfly. Under the shade of coconut palms and a banyan tree, I watched the workers carefully transport the sailboat. Then I looked over at Rex. “I have an idea of what’s got you worried. It’s written all over your face.”
Rex took a deep breath, the rumble of the moving crane’s diesel motor coming across the boatyard. “I guess I’d never be a very good poker player.” He glanced around the marina. “Sean, I know that the last poor girl was killed down in Key Biscayne, but the fact her body was found in a mermaid tail is making my skin crawl. In one TV news report, they interviewed a forensic psychologist. She said, based on information that the cops released, the odds of the killer being the same guy are more than seventy percent. What if he’s the guy Savannah saw that morning?”
“I spoke with the lead detective here in Volusia County, Dan Grant. He’s thorough, pays close attention to details. One of the detectives investigating the murder on Key Biscayne, his name is Ron Hamilton. I knew Ron when I worked with him in the Miami-PD homicide bureau. He’s old school. A bulldog who often would keep a picture of the most recent victim on his desk so he could look at the person’s face every morning when he came to work. Between Ron and Dan up here, you have two of the best detectives in Florida working the case.”
Rex nodded, a streak of spotted sunlight breaking through the tree limbs and falling onto the right side of his face. “That’s good to know. The sooner they can catch this guy, the better. I don’t want to scare Savannah any more than she’s already scared. But I’ve got my misgivings about her working on that movie set. I know there are hundreds of people working there. They’ve hired hundreds of extras, including Savannah. They have a lot of visible security and whatnot on the sets, at least according to the news. But she’s my only child. If something were to happen to her, I don’t know what I’d do. Am I being an over-protective father? Do you think I should let her do the movie role?”
“First of all, Savannah is old enough to make her own decisions about what jobs she decides to take. I know her ultimate calling is to help save the oceans of the world. Maybe, in some way we can’t see right now, working on a movie in which the ocean is the backdrop, a story about how a continent vanishes into the sea, will open doors for her down the road. Who knows, really? The only suggestion I can offer is for you to tell her how you feel, as her dad, and let then her make her own decisions. She should know that you will support her in whatever choice she makes.”
Rex said nothing, watching the portable lift slowly move Dragonfly across the boatyard to what would be its nest for a few days, a series of jack-stands and wooden blocks. He looked back toward me, the whites of his eyes reddened. “Savannah, like her mama, is a free soul. That’s a rare thing today. It’s something that’s hard to define in a person. All I know is that folks have always told me they feel good or better when they’re around Savannah. Maybe it’s some kind of positive energy she has, but people can feel it.”
“That kind of authenticity is compelling. She’s a good kid.”
“Savannah once told me about a time she was practicing for an upcoming surfing competition. A tropical depression way offshore was kicking up some large waves. She said on her third ride in, she fell and hit her head on the board. Said the blow briefly knocked her out, her body moving like a ragdoll caught in a washing machine. When her shoulders touched the sandy floor of the ocean, she came to—disoriented. She saw her mother’s face on the surface, looking down though the water. Then, with Savannah’s lungs burning, she used her feet and legs to kick from the bottom, shooting up to the surface. After swimming to the shore, she coughed up sea water for a minute, got on her board and paddled back out, catching and riding the largest wave of her life up to that point.”
“Our time here is leased, borrowed at best. Sometimes to fully grasp the finite terms of the lease, you have to come close to death. There’s a higher clarity then.”
“I suppose in your former line of work, you experienced some of that.”
I said nothing, watching the marina workers carefully set Dragonfly on the jack-stands. Rex looked at a fresh scratch on the back of his left hand. “Maybe I’m not supposed to say it, Sean, but since it’s just the two of us standing out here ….” He blew out a breath through his nostrils. “I heard that you still work behind the scenes sometimes. You know, doing things for people when the cops can’t solve crimes … a private investigator. Word is you take on very few cases. Maybe you could consider looking into who’s killing these girls, slipping a mermaid costume on them and then putting their bodies out there for the public to see like an exhibit in some sick ass freak show. I don’t have much money, but I’d hire you to take a look into this thing. I hate like hell to even ask you, but I don’t have the skills you have. If a man can’t protect his daughter, it’s a punch in the gut. Will you do a side investigation for me and Savannah?”
“I think I’d just get in the way as two police agencies work hard to track down the killer. Let the police do their jobs. I know that’s not the answer you wanted to hear, but it’s the best I can offer right now.”
He nodded. “I understand. Just hope I don’t have to come to you and ask for help when it might be too late to do anything if this guy decides to stalk and hunt down another girl … or my Savannah. I best be getting back to my boat. I got a charter in the morning. If you’re going into the restaurant, maybe you can tell Savannah I’ll be on Wind Dancer.”
“I’ll do that.”
I watched Rex turn and walk away, his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his worn jeans, bent forward, shoulders rounded. He looked small among the yachts propped on the jack-stands, his demeanor as if he were walking down the center of railroad tracks, following a cleared path of gravel, steel and crossties. Head down, hoping when he raised it up, an oncoming train wasn’t on the same path. He wore a pair of orange rubber boots, pants tucked inside. I thought about the tracks I’d found in the sand at the turtle’s nest, the odd-looking handprint. Was it somehow connected to the deaths of the girls? If so, who was there that morning, tripping on a sea grape bush and falling onto an abandoned turtle’s nest?