by Leanna Floyd
“A year ago, it was a hot summer, even for Miami,” said Clark, narrating as a montage of photos appeared onscreen, showing a beautiful brunette woman at various stages of her life—school shots, cheerleading, a beauty pageant, in an office setting. “The temperatures reached a sweltering 110 degrees, and the humidity draped a blanket of sticky heat over the South Beach area. Debbie McIntyre had just moved there from Spokane, eager for a change and the chance at a modeling career through an agency where a friend of her mother worked. The agency signed her, and Debbie got a job bartending while waiting for her career to take off. Life here was good, at least in the daytime. But after dark, the crime in Miami was about to reach to a new level.”
Jacob listened as Clark described how the woman’s body had been found in a swampy drainage ditch not far from an industrial park on the edge of the city. Debbie McIntyre was apparently the first victim of the Surfside Killer, a serial murderer of at least eight women over the past year. The victims were all attractive women who worked night jobs or who happened to be out late at bars and clubs. Candid snapshots of the various women flashed onscreen. Jacob hated to think ill of the dead, but the women all had a seductive look about them, a kind of predatory sexiness that he detested.
Clark was now cutting away to an on-site reporter, “Our affiliate station’s Susan Moore is on the scene in the Everglades. Susan, can you give us an update on the discovery of the latest victims surrounding this case?” A well-dressed woman appeared on the screen. She looked to be in her early thirties, young and fresh-faced. Her wavy chocolate-brown locks were pinned behind her ears, and she had that intense expression all reporters apparently learned to master. She spoke in a dramatic, scripted way, pausing frequently to emphasize the grave situation she was describing.
“Over the past month, the Surfside Killer has claimed at least two more victims. One was 32-year-old Samantha Sawyer, a dancer and paid escort whose body was discovered two days ago in the dumpster at a construction site on the east side of the city. However, late today, another woman’s body was found near this canal. While she has yet to be officially identified, investigators believe this body may be the remains of Leslie Salizar, a 42-year-old realtor missing since Thanksgiving.”
Jacob slowly drank his bourbon as Susan Moore droned on about the details of this woman’s life. He wondered how a killer would feel if he read the news or watched shows like this one. Did he enjoy the attention? Or did he just like knowing that he made other people, especially women, afraid?
“As you can see, behind me, investigators are working tirelessly to uncover more information about the woman’s body found here tonight. At approximately 3:00 P.M., the Miami Police Department received a phone call from Jaime Lopez, a retired welder who was fishing in the canal. I spoke with Mr. Lopez earlier today, assisted by an interpreter at his request.”
Jacob saw an elderly, white-haired man with a deep-bronze tan appear. He wore cut-off shorts and a wife-beater t-shirt and held a fishing pole. The reporter asked her questions in English as the translator, an attractive Latina with a thick ponytail, repeated them in Spanish. The old man’s accent sounded Cuban, and his eyes got big as he described his discovery.
When he stopped, the translator provided his description in English: “As he cast his rod and bait into the brown murky water, he felt something bump up against his boat. At first, he thought it was an alligator, but then as he looked more closely, he saw a large black plastic garbage bag with silver duct tape tightly wrapped around it. Curious, Mr. Lopez lifted it into his boat and pressed down on the wet plastic bag.”
Jacob watched as a dramatic recreation of the scene played. He thought it seemed a little too contrived, a bit too theatrical. The translator continued, “The contents inside felt firm yet his fingers bounced back. At this point, he was curious and cut a small hole into the top of the bag. Upon doing this, a rancid and fowl smelling odor pierced through his nostrils along with a small strand of flowing blonde hair that escaped from the inside of the bag. He continued to cut into the bag carefully to make sure that its contents were indeed a human body. This is when Mr. Lopez called the authorities.”
Susan Moore thanked both the fisherman and translator and once again assumed the spotlight. “As of now, authorities are ruling this case a homicide. This investigation has forced I-75 to be shut down for over six hours now, and word is that it will not be reopened until 5 A.M. tomorrow morning.”
Behind her, a dark swampy marshland created a desolate landscape. Large oak and mangrove trees glistened with dew as steam rose from the opaque waters. The camera then panned to show miles of swampland and tall strands of saw grass on all sides of the reporter. She said, “The Everglades is a subtropical wetland, 60 miles wide and 100 miles long. This land contains various forms of exotic plants and animals that include alligators. This vast and expansive land has been ideal for killers, having served for decades as a dumping ground. Often called Alligator Alley, one anonymous source from local law enforcement told me that dozens of bodies have likely been consumed by the hungry predators, making the victims’ deaths even more tragic. Now, back to you, John, in New York.”
“Susan, is this the first time a victim of the Surfside Killer has been found in this location?” John’s voice was that of a concerned father.
“Actually, if this body is indeed a victim of the Surfside Killer, it will be the third found near this location. Laura Ann Turner, age 34, and Stephanie Lewinski, age 23, were found in similar duct taped packages less than a mile away last September. Needless to say, police will be keeping a watchful eye on the surrounding vicinity, and our viewers are encouraged to call this hotline if they have seen anything suspicious in the Dade County area.” A toll-free number floated along the bottom of Jacob’s flat screen.
“Well, Susan,” John said, “It sounds like yet another tragic and horrific event took place there sometime over these past few days. We will check back in with you later to get the latest on efforts to apprehend this heinous killer.”
Jacob clicked the TV off as his mind sifted through assorted details from the program. He felt smothered inside by his feelings…like he had a huge weight pressing down on his chest. The deeper Jacob inhaled, the more his heart felt like it was gasping desperately for air. He needed some fresh air.
Standing on his balcony, the cool pre-dawn air kissed his face with moisture.
Birds twittered and somewhere a siren faded away. He saw a palm tree sway at the edge of the parking lot below. Outside reminded him it was a new day. Jacob smiled to himself.
I have never felt better, he thought, as he fingered the small shells in his pocket.