Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Epigraph
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Epilogue
PRAISE FOR
SHARK RIVER:
“Woven knot by knot, the work of a master.”
—Publishers Weekly
“White’s most satisfying to date.”
—Sarasota Herald-Tribune
“The real joy for me in this underread series . . . is not so much the careful plotting, which in Shark River is triangulated and tricky and more revelatory of Doc Ford’s elusive background than before. Rather, it is White’s meticulous and loving description of Florida’s vanishing natural landscape that sets the books apart from those by a host of other ‘Florida’ mystery writers.”
—The Raleigh News & Observer
“Doc Ford fans will not want to miss Shark River, which gives a revealing look at Ford’s dark background and explains his curious bond with Tomlinson. But readers do not need to be familiar with the series to relish a novel that shows one of the nation’s most accomplished wordsmiths at the top of his game.”
—The Tampa Tribune
“His mano-a-mano action scenes adhere to the muscle-flexing style of writers like James W. Hall and Les Standiford.”
—Marilyn Stasio
“A real winner here. I am an instant fan in search of the author’s earlier books. More, please.”
—The Washington Times
PRAISE FOR
TEN THOUSAND ISLANDS:
“This latest entry in the Doc Ford series is one of the strongest. . . . A taut story of modern greed and violence. Plenty of great twists . . . make this one of the most satisfying thrillers in recent memory.”
—Chicago Tribune
“We can’t think of a better way to spend a summer afternoon than curled up with this book. . . . A wild, dangerous adventure . . . Breathless action.”
—The Denver Post
“A powerful look at Florida’s heart of darkness. . . . A rapid-fire tale that will snare readers like a treble hook. . . . No on around today writes as well about Florida. . . . Rough-edged and violent. . . . One of the best in a series that is as good as anything being written today.”
—The Tampa Tribune
“When it comes to Florida, White is positively lyrical. . . . Marvelous description, good plotting, and plenty of action.”
—The Florida Times-Union
“No one evokes life along the sultry mangrove coast of Southwest Florida as perfectly . . . White’s best book yet.”
—The Albuquerque Tribune
“White . . . can be counted on to produce the real goods. . . . And although he’s subtle about the atmospherics, when White cranks up the momentum, he tosses in everything.”
—The Palm Beach Post
“Fast paced. . . . This is Key Largo meets Wild Kingdom.”
—The Raleigh News & Observer
“Maintains an edgy sense of adventure . . . White’s strong sense of place and people keep us wanting to return to Florida’s west coast.”
—The Albany Times Union
PRAISE FOR
THE MANGROVE COAST:
“Captivating.”
—Chicago Tribune
“White reels in readers with another effective combination of atmosphere and action.”
—The Orlando Sentinel
“[White] seems more than a match for any of Florida’s fictioneers.”
—Los Angeles Times
“Action-packed and skillfully plotted . . . a pleasure to read.”
—The Dallas Morning News
“A first-rate thriller.”
—The Tampa Tribune
“White is a master of the finishing touch.”
—The Miami Herald
PRAISE FOR
CAPTIVA:
“A Doc Ford novel has more slick moves than a snake in the mangroves.”
—Carl Hiaasen
“Captiva is . . . packed with finely drawn characters, relevant
social issues, superb plotting, and an effortless writing style.
We’ll drop anything we’re doing to read a new Randy Wayne
White book and be glad we did.”
—The Denver Post
“One of the more dramatic finales in mystery fiction. White tells one whale of a story.”
—The Miami Herald
“An enticing brew of hard-drinking, thick-skulled anglers, plodding detectives, and plotting marina bosses. White knows a thing or two about friendship, love, and honor.”
—Entertainment Weekly
“Edginess is what sets White’s work apart from the rest of the pack . . . a prickly, enigmatic hero . . . ambience, compelling characters, and straightforward suspense.”
—San Francisco Chronicle
“An inventive story . . . White knows how to build a plot . . . with touches John D. MacDonald would have appreciated.”
—Playboy
“This is a top-shelf thriller written with poetic style and vision. Don’t miss it.”
—Booklist
PRAISE FOR THE NOVELS OF
RANDY WAYNE WHITE:
“Randy Wayne White and his Doc Ford join my list of must-reads. It is no small matter when I assert that White is getting pretty darn close to joining Carl Hiaasen and John D. MacDonald as writers synonymous with serious Florida issues and engaging characters.”
—Chicago Tribune
“White is a wildly inventive storyteller whose witty, offbeat novels come packed with pleasure.”
—The San Diego Union-Tribune
“Enough twists to satisfy any hard-boiled but intelligent detective fan.”
—The Dallas Morning News
“One of the hottest new writers on the scene.”
—Library Journal
“Great action scenes, terrific atmosphere, and a full-bodied hero add up to a pleasure.”
—Booklist
“Packed with finely drawn characters, relevant social issues, superb plotting, and an effortless writing style. . . . The best new writer since Carl Hiaasen.”
—The Denver Post
“White is the rightful heir to joining John D. MacDonald, Carl Hiaasen, James Hall, Geoffrey Norman. . . . His precise prose is as fresh and pungent as a salty breeze.”
—The Tampa Tribune
“A series to be savored.”
—The San Diego Union-Tribune
Titles by Randy Wayne White
Sanibel Flats
The Heat Islands
The Man Who Invented Florida
Captiva
North of Havana
The Mangrove Coast
Ten Thousand Islands
Shark River
Twelve Mile Limit
Everglades
Tampa Burn
Dead of Night
Dark Light
Hunter’s Moon
Black Widow
Nonfiction
Batfishing in the Rainforest
The Sharks of Lake Nicaragua
Last Flight Out
An American Traveler
Tarpon Fish
ing in Mexico and Florida (An Introduction)
Randy Wayne White’s Gulf Coast Cookbook
(with Carlene Fredericka Brennen)
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
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Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
SHARK RIVER
A Berkley Book / published by arrangement with G. P. Putnam’s Sons
PRINTING HISTORY
Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / June 2002
Berkley mass-market edition / August 2005
Copyright © 2001 by G. P. Putnam’s Sons.
All rights reserved.
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eISBN : 978-1-101-14385-8
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http://us.penguingroup.com
With love, respect, and admiration, this book is for my son, Rogan White, upon his graduation from high school—a great Third World traveling companion, a superb organizer, navigator, waterman, fly fisherman, a good man to have at your side in a tough spot, and one of my dearest friends.
The nervous system of the Herring is fairly simple. When the Herring runs into something, the stimulus is flashed to the forebrain, with or without results.
—WILL CUPPY
Technology is the knack of so arranging the world that we do not experience it.
—MAX RISCH
Acknowledgments
Sanibel and Captiva islands, and the Koreshan Unity at Estero, Florida, are real places, though used fictitiously in this novel, as are certain actual businesses, marinas, bars, and other places frequented by Doc Ford and his friend Tomlinson. The same is true of Horse Eating Hole on Cat Island in the Bahamas, a place to which islanders will not stray because they fear the dragon. The lake and the legend attached to it are accurately described. I know because my friends Captain Mark Keasler and Captain Andy Fox were the first to sound and dive that lake, and find the caves there. I was lucky enough to be with them. As eighty-one-year-old islander Gaitor Ishmel told us on that day: “That lake a very bad place. If the creature don’t eat you, it ’cause he down there sleeping.”
In all other respects, this novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.
The author would also like to thank the following people for research assistance and for providing valuable contributions to this novel: Captain Peter Hull and Dr. John M. Miller of Mote Marine Laboratories; Craig Watson, director of the Tropical Aquaculture Laboratory for the University of Florida, Department of Fisheries and Aquatic Sciences; Ms. Jessica Lewis of Panama; Ms. Sue Williams; Ms. Sara Weber Rea for her help with the Koreshan Unity; Dr. G. B. Edwards of the Florida Museum of Natural History; Dr. Thaddeus Kostrubala, M.D., for insights into the brain’s chemistry and effect on human behavior; Debra White for her unfailing support; and Ms. Laura Cifelli at Lee County Library. These people provided both guidance and information. All errors, exaggerations, omissions, or fictionalizations are entirely the responsibility of the author.
Randy Wayne White
Cypress House
Key West
1
The day I met the Bahamian woman who claimed to be my sister, and less than an hour before I was shot during the attempted kidnapping of a diplomat’s daughter, my eccentric friend Tomlinson said to me, “Know how desperate I am? I’m thinking of having Elmer Fudd tattooed on my ass. Seriously, the cartoon character. You know who I’m talking about? The chubby guy with the red hunting cap, the one with the shotgun.”
My eccentric, drug-modified friend Tomlinson.
I was lying in a hammock, leafing through a very old issue of Copeia, Journal of the American Society of Ichthyologists and Herpetologists. It contained an article on Gulf sturgeon, written back in the days when the occasional sturgeon was still caught in saltwater south of Tampa Bay. I paused long enough to straighten my glasses and stare at him. “You’re kidding. From the Bugs Bunny cartoons? Even a regular tattoo, I’ve never understood the motivation. Something like you’re talking about, I just can’t comprehend.”
“I told you about the . . . difficulty I’ve been having.”
Yes, he had. Over and over he’d told me. Which is why I thought: Boy oh boy oh boy, here we go again.
“I did tell you, didn’t I?”
“Yes, and I don’t care to hear any more about your personal problems. It’s sunset. In your own words: The Mellow Yellow Hour. I’m trying to relax before I change shoes and run. Don’t screw with the molecular harmony—again, your words.”
“I know, I know, but this is serious.”
“So you keep saying.”
“Anything that concerns Zamboni and the Hat Trick Twins is serious. They’re just not theirselves, man.”
Zamboni and the Twins—my friend’s private name for his private equipment.
He explained, “The inflatable monster has finally turned all control over to my brain’s moral guidance system, which is like a stone cold downer.” He made a fizzling, whistling sound. “Sooner or later, it happens to every man, right? . . . Right?”
It was the fourth, maybe fifth time he’d asked me that question, but when a friend fishes for reassurance, you must reassure. “Of course. Very few exceptions.”
“Okay, so you at least have a minor understanding of the motive behind the tattoo. Picture it”—Tomlinson created a frame with his huge, bony hands—“Elmer Fudd on the cheek of my ass, aiming his shotgun toward the shadows, and he’s saying, ‘Come outta there you wascally wabbit!’ Lots of bold color, reds and greens, but still...tasteful. Something that lightens the mood but also makes a statement.”
I was nodding. “Yeah, choose the wrong shades, a tattoo like that could seem almost frivolous.”
“Sarcasm. My equipment hasn’t worked dependably in more than two months, yet my compadre offers sarcasm.”
“Only because it’s such a ridiculous idea. I still don’t understand the motivation. Or maybe you’re just joking.”
We were on the second-floor veranda of a tin-roofed house, eye level with palm fronds and c
oconuts. Looking downward through the palms, we could see clay tennis courts, a swimming pool, sugar-white beach, and bay. Florida’s Gulf Coast has a couple of exclusive, members-only islands. Guava Key is the one you read about occasionally, always associated with the very rich and rigorously private. The island is south of Tampa, north of Naples: a hundred acres of manicured rainforest and private homes centered on a turn-of-the-century fishing lodge built on an Indian mound. It is an island with no roads, no bridges, no cars, and no strip malls, so it has the feel of a solid green raft at sea—boat and helicopter access only.
We were on Guava Key as guests of management. Tomlinson, an ordained Rinzai Zen Master and Buddhist priest, was there to teach a moneyed few members a course called “Beginner’s Mind,” which, I knew from our long association, has to do with Zen meditation and breathing techniques. I have no interest in meditation, nor do I feel the need to take vacations. Life in my little Sanibel Island stilthouse, collecting marine specimens to study and sell, is sufficiently satisfying. Plus, I tend to fret about my fish tank and aquaria if I’m gone for more than a few days. In them are delicate creatures that interest me, such as immature tarpon, sea anemones, and squid—fascinating animals that require a lot of care. Even so, he’d pestered me about tagging along until I finally lost patience. I told him enough was enough. Unless he came up with a good and practical reason for me to leave my work and go to Guava Key, drop the subject, damn it!
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