Mermaid

by Tom Lowe

  “When do you start?”

  “I’ll be training on Wednesday, and I officially begin the following Saturday. I have even more good news.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’m auditioning to play the part of the Little Mermaid in the Weeki Wachee show, at least it’s their version of the story. I get to save a handsome sailor, and … listen to this … I have to memorize some words I’ll actually say or pantomime underwater.”

  “If anyone can talk underwater, it’s you. I have two fishing charters this weekend, otherwise I’d drive over there and get a front row seat to watch you. I promise I’ll get there soon to catch a performance.”

  “That’s fine. I’ll be working with three other girls each time we dive. It’ll be fun.”

  “I’m proud of you, baby girl.”

  “Thanks, Dad. Oh, I almost forgot.”

  “What’s that?”

  Savannah unlocked her car and got inside. “One of the consultants on the set of Atlantis, he’s like the world’s foremost expert of dolphins. His name’s Doctor Howard Ward. He’s really well connected with a lot of oceanographic and marine science institutes around the country. He led the dolphin research project at the Canaveral Marine Lab. Anyway, he invited me to tour the facility when I have some time. After working with me on the movie set, he said he’d be happy to serve as a reference for me when I graduate.”

  “That’s fantastic. Wow, you’re knockin’ the ball right outa the ol’ ballpark.”

  Savannah grinned, glancing at her reflection in the rearview mirror. She put on a trace of lipstick, listening to her father’s congratulatory comments. “Dad,” she said, fixing her hair. “I met another person on the set, too. Actually, I met a lot of people. Some were a little eccentric, but I guess that comes with show biz. But I met this guy … his name’s Eric Young. He just graduated from college. I’m meeting him for dinner, and then we’re going to see a movie. I think you’ll really like him.”

  “I’d prefer to meet him before you go out on a date. Nowadays, you never know—”

  “Dad, I’m not sixteen anymore. I graduate from college in like seven months. It’ll be fine. One thing that Eric and I were both talking about is how we’ll be looking at movies now.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, now that we know how they’re made, we’ll be looking for things like continuity in shots. Editing and jump-cuts. We understand the art of the aesthetics, or production value a lot better now.”

  Rex tied off a line and looked across the marina. “Well, that’s all good. However, the next time you and I are watchin’ a movie, don’t stop in the middle of it to tell me how they did a scene. Some stuff ought to be left to the imagination.”

  “I promise.”

  “When am I gonna see you again? I think the sooner I meet your new boyfriend, the better.”

  Savannah smiled. “He’s not my boyfriend. He’s just a friend. We have similar interests. That’s all. I’ll be back over in a few days to get some of my stuff.”

  “We’ll go do dinner and celebrate your new job. Love you, baby.”

  “Love you, too, Dad.”

  • • •

  Wynona and I met Dave and Nick for lunch on Gibraltar. Max settled on the teakwood floor between Wynona’s deck chair and mine. Along with a large Greek salad, Nick made blackened grouper sandwiches filled with ripe tomato, sautéed onion, and feta cheese. The afternoon was warm. The hard-blue sky looked like a porcelain dome laced with the soft white whiskers of clouds. As we ate, I told them what Detective Ron Hamilton had said to me about the potential threat of a hitman. I concluded by adding, “In the meantime, Ron, along with Detective Grant, are stretched thin conducting an investigation into the mermaid murders. So, Wynona and I will be watchful and yet lead our lives without being fearful. I will feel less suspicious of strangers once we’re on the open ocean with the wind in our sails.”

  “I’ll second that,” Wynona said.

  Nick set his beer bottle on a cork coaster with the image of a sand dollar on it. He said, “This is one helluva bad note. Somebody ought to take Timothy Spencer by his little tweeny weeny balls and squeeze ‘till he calls off the big dog.”

  Dave sipped water with lemon, his brow creased, eyes filled with thoughts, possible settings and consequences. “At this point, we don’t know if he’s secured the big dog. Sean … Wynona … you’ve both been in this game for a long time. How viable of a threat do you see this? I ask that especially since law enforcement and the state attorney general’s office now are involved. Can it be quashed before it’s launched?”

  Wynona said, “The informant is looking for a get out of jail pass. In the vast majority of scenarios like this, you’re dealing with pathological liars. They often invent situations that don’t really exist. I just hope and pray that’s the case here. We’ll know for sure when the informant wears a wire and investigators get an audio recording of Spencer talking about hiring a hitman … if that’s the real situation.”

  I said, “Spencer’s threat is most likely the situation. Spencer was found guilty of conspiracy to commit murder, pedophilia, and money laundering. He’s like second-hand smoke. He may not have pulled the trigger, but he can eventually kill you by hiring others to do the dirty work.”

  Dave nodded. “It would seem to me, in addition to getting Spencer’s inquiries about an assassin on audio tape, the FBI could freeze his known bank accounts to prevent him, or his middle-man—the broker, from getting the cash. However, I’m sure that a ruthless guy like Spencer has money stashed away in dozens of foreign and offshore accounts. Wynona, maybe it’s time to call in the feds … see what can be arranged. The Timothy Spencer case, his conviction and incarceration, was very high profile. It was a somewhat rare case … a member of the super wealthy getting exactly what he deserved. He was connected to two known murders, sex with underage girls … all exposed when Sean invaded Spencer’s secure estate south of Miami Beach. He now sees you, Sean, as his arch nemesis. Blames you for his corruption and other sins and for removing him from his cushy lifestyle where he felt untouchable. And, apparently, he wants vengeance.”

  Wynona started to say something when my phone vibrated on the table. I looked at the caller ID. “It’s Detective Ron Hamilton,” I said, answering the phone.

  Ron gave me a brief update on the mermaid murders investigation and then paused. He sighed. “Sean, our informant, Frankie Costa was murdered. Happened in the prison yard. With dozens and dozens of inmates in the yard, lifting weights, smoking, and keeping within their various groups, someone walked by and shanked Costa. Throat cut ear to ear. No doubt that Timothy Spencer somehow got wind of a snitch about to go public. If he can have someone killed in there, he’ll have the resources to do the same outside of prison. Be damn careful.”

  “Thanks, Ron.” I disconnected.

  Wynona looked at my face. “It’s bad news, isn’t it? What did Ron tell you?”

  “The asset—or informant, Frankie Costa, was killed in the prison yard. Throat cut. Of course, no one saw anything.”

  Wynona said nothing, her eyes distant, looking toward the lighthouse. Nick blew out a breath and said, “That sucks. Sean, what can you do?”

  “If, somehow, and in some way, Spencer manages to commission an assassin, I hope I see him coming. At that moment, I might have an opportunity to change the consequences.”

  Dave said, “All the same, it would be better if you and Wynona were on Dragonfly heading to some distant islands in the sun. You’d be hard to follow and harder to find.”

  “But I’d still be looking over my shoulder. To stop the cancer from spreading, you have to cut it out and cauterize the wound. That’s what I need to do with Timothy Spencer. And I will.”

  SEVENTY

  It was noon the next day when Detective Grant received news he didn’t want. He was eating a cold cheeseburger at his desk when crime lab tech, Celeste Thompson, called and said, “Two strikes. No hit. Sorry, Dan.”


  “What do you have?”

  “We looked at the water samples Zack took from Lake Kingsley. He took them from three areas in the lake along the shoreline of Camp Blanding. We couldn’t find a match. The microbes were similar but not close enough to throw a horseshoe around the pole. The second strike out was Brandon Fisher’s DNA. It didn’t match the skin cell DNA from the fingernails of the third victim. Sorry … wish I had better news.”

  Grant tossed the remaining half of his burger into the trashcan next to his desk. “Well, this whole method, catching the bad guys, is a process of elimination, too.” He glanced down at the papers on his desk. “I’ll mark Fisher off the list.”

  “Maybe the perp has nothing to do with the movie, Atlantis. All the victims were issued mermaid costumes to use for practice before the cameras rolled. Some sicko with a fetish for mermaids could have come along when the girls were practicing in the costumes, kidnapped and later killed them.”

  “Why take the time to pose the bodies?”

  “I wish I could help there, but I’m basically a scientist, looking at the physical evidence. The stuff of forensic psychology—the criminal profiles, that’s more in your area.”

  Grant leaned back in his chair, looking at a large clock on the wall. “Thanks, Celeste. Talk with you later.” After he disconnected, Grant placed a call to Detective Ron Hamilton to give him the latest news and to hear any new information Hamilton had from his investigation or had heard from the detective in charge of the third case over in Pinellas County.

  When Hamilton answered, Grant gave him an update and added, “I’ve gone over the list of employees and freelance workers connected to the movie, Atlantis, looked at arrest records, examined residences near freshwater lakes and ponds. Nothing. My partner and even our senior lab tech are just about convinced the perp’s name isn’t on the list. They think he’s simply a nut-job with an obsession for mermaids and domination over women.”

  Hamilton, driving his unmarked car back to the Miami-Dade PD headquarters, said, “Maybe they’re right. But, what keeps bothering me is, somehow, this perp has inside information—he either has access to the movie’s mermaid costumes or he knows who has been issued them. So far, the only outside mermaid connection is with the girl killed in my area who also worked in a mermaid show. But, with her, there’s still a connection to the movie. You mentioned the results of the diatoms.”

  “Yeah, zilch so far.”

  “One of the forensic techs at the crime lab in Tampa, an older fella who examined the water sample from the lungs of the third vic … he found something interesting. Detective Juan Degado in Pinellas County called me about an hour ago. He said the senior lab tech there found a higher concentration of nitrates in the water than what you’d typically find in a lake.”

  “How about water from a pond where the current or circulation flow might not be as strong as a lake or river?”

  “That’s a possibility. However, the tech—a guy who’s raised prize koi fish for years, said that he found a nitrogen compound called ammonium N-H-4 in higher concentration levels than what you’d typically find in ponds or lakes, regardless of their size or depth. More like what you’d find in a koi pond.”

  “What’s ammonium N-H-4?”

  “Basically, it’s fish shit. One of the fundamental reasons public water pumped from lakes and rivers is treated and filtered, right? You have to remove the fish feces and the bacteria that grows out of the stuff.”

  Grant stood from his chair, looking across the room, his partner on the phone, two detectives entering the captain’s glass-walled office. “Ron, are you telling me the perp drowned the girls in an outdoor koi pond?”

  “We don’t know. We do know that since this lab tech specifically looked for the stuff, it’s there. At least it’s in the water sample taken out of the lungs of the last vic. We need to test the samples from the other two girls, looking specifically for those things.”

  “Send me the official chemistry report done by the Tampa lab. I’ll have our people look for the high concentrations of fish feces. No doubt, if the diatoms were there … that stuff would be as well. Now, all we have to do is canvas the state of Florida, looking for all of its hundreds, if not thousands, of koi ponds.”

  SEVENTY-ONE

  A few days later, Savannah was finally ready for her first performance as a mermaid during the Saturday afternoon shows at Weeki Wachee. Backstage, she chatted with eight young women around her age, most of them college students. Some, however, were recently married and looking for ways to supplement the family income. All were excellent swimmers, able to hold their breaths underwater for up to three times longer than the average person in their age group.

  Three other women, all in their late thirties, worked as wardrobe assistants, helping the performers prepare for the afternoon show, lending a hand with the mermaid costumes, sewing small tears in some of the colorful fabric. They helped the girls apply waterproof makeup to their faces, lipstick and blush that would not run or fade unless washed off with soap and water.

  Savannah and two other performers sat in front of a long mirror mounted against one wall, soft white lightbulbs on all sides of the mirror. She said nothing as an assistant, a brunette with her hair pinned up, helped apply the makeup to Savannah’s face. The woman smiled and said, “You really don’t need any of this. You have such pretty skin. A nice tan. Do you spend a lot of time outdoors?”

  Savannah smiled. “I surf as often as I can. Love the outdoors. I help my dad on his boat sometimes. And, although I protect my skin with a good sunscreen, I’ve sort of built up the tan over the years. Living in Florida, it takes a long time to fade. Plus, my mom had beautiful olive skin.”

  The woman nodded, adding a touch of blush to Savannah’s cheeks. “Are you a little nervous, this being your first day here and playing the role of the Little Mermaid?”

  “Yes. I’m shaking inside. Can you tell?”

  “Not really. You seem calm to me. Dora mentioned that you recently ended work on that movie, Atlantis. She said you played a part of a mermaid. I bet that was fun and challenging.”

  “It was. I had to get comfortable swimming in a unique mermaid tail that the studio made. And I had to try to get used to cameras being everywhere when they shot the scenes I was in with some other people in the cast.” Savannah watched a refection in the mirror when the woman who hired her, Dora Sweeny, entered the large dressing room.

  Dora smiled at Savannah, walked over to the makeup mirror and touched her shoulder. “Savannah, we’re so happy to have you here.”

  “I’m thrilled to be working here. Ever since I was a little girl, I wondered what it would be like to perform as a mermaid at Weeki Watchee.”

  Dora chuckled, folding her arms. “Well, you’re about to find out. You did great in training and rehearsals. You’ll do just fine as the Little Mermaid. Break a tail.” She smiled and turned around, looking at the other performers. “Ladies … let me have your attention. For those who haven’t met her yet, this is Savannah Nelson. Like a lot of y’all, she’s a college student. Goes to the University of South Florida, studying oceanography. And she just finished working as a mermaid in that Hollywood movie called Atlantis. Savannah, we’re delighted to have you here at Weeki Wachee. You, like the other girls in this room, are now following an esteemed tradition that very few women in the world will ever do. And it’s unique to Florida.”

  Savannah smiled, slightly embarrassed. “Thank you. It’s great to be here. I can’t wait to get started.”

  Dora nodded. “We’re expected to have a full house today. Looks like every seat in the theater will be taken. That’s more than 500 people. As y’all know, we’re doing our own version of the Little Mermaid story today. We’ll go topside in a few minutes because, as they say, the show must go on.”

  • • •

  A half-hour later, Savannah and five other girls dressed in mermaid costumes swam down a vertical chute, descending sixteen feet below the water into th
e natural spring of Weeki Wachee. They took their places as the curtain began to rise on the other side of the massive glass.

  In the packed theater, the music started, and the curtain lifted completely. There were six beautiful mermaids, an underwater statue of a Greek-like god, and dozens of fish swimming by the mermaids and over the softly lit rocks. A slight, collective gasp came from the audience as the mermaids began their choregraphed show. Young girls clapping, pointing, whispering to siblings and parents. “They’re so beautiful!” said one six-year-old girl in a ponytail.

  Savannah was positioned near the center of the large glass viewing area, small fish swimming by her. She and another performer grasped each other’s fin area at the end of the mermaid tails. They made a complete circle as did the other performers in adjacent areas behind the glass. After another minute of the underwater dance routine, the girls reached for their own air hoses, taking one breath and continuing.

  On a musical cue, the other mermaids left, leaving Savannah alone. She swam over a submerged statue of what resembled artist’s renderings of the Greek god, Poseidon. She looked at the statue’s legs and mouthed the dialogue the audience was hearing in the theater.

  A little girl with strawberry-blonde hair asked, “Mama, how does she talk underwater?”

  “It’s because she’s a mermaid … she’s the Little Mermaid,” her mother whispered. The child beamed, clasping her hands together.

  Savannah continued with the show, rising to the surface to rescue a handsome, dark-haired sailor who was tossed overboard in a storm at sea. Once she had resuscitated and saved him, making sure that he was safe on a small piece of land, Savannah returned to the center of the underwater stage. She moved in synch with the music, the lights changing colors, the music building, the audience caught up in the performance—this seemingly real mermaid commanding center stage as the other mermaids rejoined her for the grand finale.