Mount Misery

by Angelo Peluso

  Roberta Lowery chimed in. “Can you tell from the bites what did this?”

  The choreography continued. It was Nick’s turn to answer. “All we know at this point is that the bite radius is wide, the bite incisions deep, and that whatever did this has powerful jaws.”

  “It has to be a shark. What else could it be?” Lowery said.

  Nick continued, “We don’t think so. We’ve ruled out sharks. And as Katie indicated, the bites could have been inflicted postmortem. We really need more evidence.”

  “Listen,” Lowery interrupted. “If you mean more evidence as in more deaths, that is totally unacceptable. I have some concerned constituents who are demanding answers. The local newspapers are following this and people are starting to connect the incidents, fueling all sorts of speculation. The owners of those two dogs are causing a panic. I even had one resident who lives here part of the year and the other in Florida tell me that she heard from one of her garden club friends that there are people who bring up baby alligators from Florida and when they get too big they release them in the Sound. Is that possible? Could this be the result of some alligator attack? Those things are always eating dogs in Florida, right in people’s backyards.”

  “While alligators will sometimes frequent saltwater, they are basically freshwater reptiles. They also prefer the warmer climates of the southeast and Gulf Coast states. Louisiana and Florida have the two largest populations of alligators in the United States. The northeast is just not a hospitable climate for alligators. They would have an extremely difficult time surviving in our latitudes. Alligators are cold-blooded and often use the warmth of the sun to regulate their body temperatures. That being the case, it might be tough not noticing a thirteen-foot long, eight-hundred-pound reptilian taking in the rays on a local beach. And there would be foot and tail drag marks all across the sand. I highly doubt this is an alligator.”

  Ted Gunther rolled his eyes and Lowery pressed on undeterred, totally missing the sarcasm. “There is evidence to suggest that two vineyard workers might have also gone missing on one of our beaches. At first we thought the debris found on the beach to be the result of some litterbugs, but a recent review of that junk indicates that some unfortunate souls may have been dragged away and killed. That’s where the idea of an alligator or crocodile came from. One of the guys in our office said he believed a Komodo Dragon is also capable of tearing apart and eating humans. Is that possible?”

  Nick knew that before this got ugly, he needed to field question. He was also glad that this dope had steered the discussion in the direction of a reptile and not a fish. “Ms. Lowery, the Komodo Dragon is indigenous to Indonesia. There really is no way that reptile could have done this.”

  “But there are always stories of people keeping strange pets and of them escaping, even from zoos and wildlife parks. That might be an angle to consider.”

  The wall clock read quarter to five and Ted Gunther needed to get the meeting back on track so he jumped into the mix. “Roberta, you are correct. Those things do in fact happen but I believe I can accurately say that we are not dealing with an alligator, a crocodile, a Komodo dragon, or any other large reptile. Even with the limited evidence available in this case, we can rule those things out. And I would think the two detectives would agree.”

  “I guess my gut is leading me down the path of either a human killer or a shark,” Detective Haney said. “They seem to be the most likely perps. All this crap about bizarre creatures is a bit much to swallow.”

  “We agree with you, Detective,” Katie responded, “except your opinion about the sharks. This is definitely not a shark attack.”

  Assemblyman Zalette then asked the question both Katie and Nick dreaded.

  “Considering that we now have two, maybe four, fatalities linked to odd activity on our beaches and in the water, is it not the prudent thing to make this all public and perhaps even provide warnings about going in the water? Don’t we have an obligation to advise the public and warn them of a potential danger?”

  Katie had mixed feelings about full disclosure at this point since she didn’t yet have the positive proof she needed, and she knew a premature public release could cause unnecessary hysteria. Before she could reply, Delaney joined the discussion.

  “You all know that the first mangled body washed ashore in my district. The fifth precinct has been on top of this as Detective Spinello can attest. Other local officials and I have received information from the medical examiner’s office that the body was at some point assaulted by some form of marine life, perhaps as either a killer or a post-death scavenger. No one seems to really know. One such incident based on those facts is certainly extremely troublesome but may not warrant such drastic action as public notification or closure of beaches. And I do think we need to consider the possibility of these deaths being homicides. I’d prefer not to cause any unnecessary fear without having hard evidence.”

  “I agree,” Detective Spinello said. “But if we have one more related incident, I think we had all better consider some form of public notification. My bet is that the daily and weekly news rags are close to breaking this story. I’m surprised we haven’t seen more coverage and I’m even more surprised we weren’t invaded by the press today. I guess someone’s good at keeping a secret.”

  “That may be true,” Zalette said, “but if our esteemed US senator gets involved, this will all be prime time news in a heartbeat . . . fact, fiction, and everything between.”

  Katie looked at her watch. Five p.m. She wanted this to be over, so she could get to the captain’s dinner with Rick. It was looking like the meeting would begin to wind down when, out of left field, Detective Haney asked an unexpected question. “Ms. DiNardo, I understand that you and your associate, Mr. Tanner, have conducted extensive research on all forms of local marine species. It is part of what you do, right?”

  “Yes, that is correct, Mr. Haney.”

  “And I also understand that you and your associate assisted in processing the evidence at the site of the Smith’s Bay incident, called in by the medical examiner for the combined extensive experience that you and Mr. Tanner have with marine life. Is that correct, Dr. DiNardo?”

  “This is beginning to sound a bit like cross examination, Mr. Haney. What’s your point?” Ted Gunther said, providing some air cover for Katie.

  “Well, I further understand that Ms. DiNardo and Mr. Tanner conducted a review of photographs of the bite marks and did some computer analysis. It would seem that with their combined expertise, the resources of the entire Marine Division of Fish and Game at their disposal, and hi-tech computer imagery, they must have some idea what the bite marks are from. This ain’t rocket science. Is the bite that of a minnow, a bass, a shark, an orca?”

  “Detective Haney, both Katie and Nick are two of the best we have. They’ve worked as a top team on all the tough assignments that come through my office. They have briefed me on all their efforts thus far on this case and I can assure everyone in this room that it is too premature to make any definitive statements about the nature of the bite profiles. We could be as wrong as we could be right. In all fairness, without further evidence, Katie and Nick can’t draw any hasty conclusions.”

  “In all fairness to the public, Mr. Gunther, we owe them some answers and some protections,” Detective Haney protested.

  “Well put Mr. Haney. When the time is right and we have all the facts at our disposal, we will disclose the findings.”

  “That is all well and good, Mr. Gunther,” Lowery interjected, “but let’s hope the further evidence they need isn’t more bodies.”

  “On that note, if there are no more questions, this meeting is adjourned.”

  As the politicians and detectives filed out of the room, Ted Gunther motioned for Katie and Nick to stay back.

  “We don’t have much time to solve this. We are sitting on a powder keg here. If someone scoops us or if there is another unexplained incident, this thing is going to blow sky high.”
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  CHAPTER 17

  Katie dialed Rick. “The meeting just broke, I’ll be on my way in a few minutes. Nick is coming with me.”

  “Glad you can make it. Everyone is here. We are having a nice jawboning session and downing a few beers. I haven’t gotten into anything yet so we will wait for you to get here. How’d the meeting go?”

  “It went well, Rick, but if there is one more incident, I’m going to be up to my eyeballs in pissed off politicians.”

  “Don’t sweat it. I’ll see you in a bit. Drive safe. Lots of summer loonies out there tonight.”

  “Go slow on the brews with your buddies. What I have to say is going to be tough enough to swallow.”

  Rick had invited some of the best north shore captains and guides to sit in on the meeting with Katie. These folks were on the water every day, usually for two half-day charters. One of them also often guided on beaches at night in addition to his daytime boat charters. As members of the North Island Boat Captain’s Association, they all knew each other well and often worked together during tournaments or for overflow bookings. Rick requested a small private room off the main dining area. He knew Katie would want privacy for this meeting.

  Captain Jack Connors was the first Rick called. He had been one of Rick’s closest friends and a mentor. Despite his sixty-three years, Captain Jack was as spry as any of the other guides half his age. When it came to fishing, he could keep up with the youngest of them and stayed in shape by walking and jogging the local beaches whenever he wasn’t out on the water. Jack fought in Vietnam as a Scout Sniper in the Marine Corp’s Expeditionary Unit. His mild disposition gave no clues to the thirty-one confirmed kills he made during his tour of duty in Vietnam. He had number thirty-two squarely in the crosshairs but before he could squeeze off the round, his spotter fell dead following the unmistakable sound of a hollow thwack. An enemy sniper had fired first. Jack was never the same after that and spent his remaining time in the military as a shooting instructor at the Marine sniper school in Camp Lejeune. Following the military, Jack pursued a career in private security. Now retired from that occupation, he spent all his time fishing, duck hunting, and carving wooden decoys. Jack had uncanny visual acuity. Rick knew Jack would see things on the water that others would otherwise miss.

  Captain Joey Marrone was the youngest of the guides. In his late twenties, he was already one of the best and most popular fly-fishing and light-tackle guides on Long Island. What he lacked in experience he more than made up for in enthusiasm. Joey also guided surf anglers during the graveyard shift. When pushed to choose, he would tell you that being a surf rat was his first love. If it were possible, he would fish twenty-four-seven. But as with many guides, another source of income was often needed to help pay the bills, so Captain Marrone worked a number of odd jobs in construction. Those jobs were somewhat tight this summer since the Great Recession had taken its toll on the Long Island construction industry, so Joey was determined to fish nonstop. He was on the water more than any of the other guides that Rick knew and he fished the widest range, west to east, within the Sound.

  Captain Valerie Russo was also added to the list. Tough and capable, she was one of the first women on Long Island to break into the traditional man’s game of sport fishing charters. Rick had helped her out in the beginning, often sending overflow charter bookings to her. As a single mother of four boys, she was constantly on the go with their school and sports activities but she could still be found on the water every day in season. She always made the most of her guiding opportunities and quickly became a very popular captain. Rick liked her for her tenacity and willingness to keep at it and do whatever it took to find fish for her clients. He knew Valerie would make it her business to seek out what Katie was trying to uncover.

  Captain Sandy Bassonet was a communications expert who’d much rather be on the water chasing fish than chasing down problems with fiber optics. Sandy preferred to fish light tackle but most of his charters liked bottom fishing so he’d go wherever the money brought him. Since he was a full-time network engineer for a large cable company and a part-time fishing guide, he used all his vacation and personal days to get on the water. Although not out every day like the other guides, Captain Bassonet had that sixth sense about fishing and could find fish when most others struck out. Rick fished with Sandy often and admired his skills. Sandy was a renowned big bass and bluefish expert; this was the primary reason Rick selected him for this scouting mission. While catching small fish is a relatively easy thing to do, consistently catching large, chopper bluefish and bass over twenty pounds is much easier said than done. Sandy had also won the prestigious annual Long Island Sound Bluefish Tournament three times and held the current New York State bluefish record.

  Captain Al Robinetti, was a former high school science teacher. Once the early-out retirement package was offered by his school district, Al signed on the dotted line, bought himself a boat, and grew his fishing passion into a full-time business. He still did some math and biology tutoring for high school students wanting to pass the state proficiency exams, but he put strict limits on that part-time activity so he could maximize time on the water. Al steadily built his guiding business to the point where he was booked solid from May until the end of the fall run in November. Most of Captain Al’s fishing was done in the Long Island Sound but he spent much of the fall off Montauk. With two master’s degrees in biology and environmental science, Al was sure to be an objective participant in this project who spoke Katie’s language.

  The last of the captains was John “Sully” Sullivan, a sometimes surfer, sometimes snow boarder, and sometimes commercial fisherman who owned and operated two recreational party boats. He was fond of using the Hawaiian “Shaka” hand expression—a closed fist wagged with thumb and pinky spread apart to convey that all is right with the world. But to put bread on the table, Captain Sullivan fished every day for a living. He kept two sixty-five-foot party boats in Port Roosevelt Harbor: the Port Rosey Queen and the Port Rosey Princess. During the summer months, Sully packed the rails of each boat with up to seventy fishermen on the hunt for bluefish and striped bass trips. He ran two cycles of trips each day with each boat as well as nighttime trips. With two boats dumping buckets of smelly chum, there was a good chance Sully would run into what they were looking for. Sully also liked to fish the deeper Middle Grounds that the other skippers might miss. Rick was confident that if some oddball fish were swimming in the Sound, this group had the best chance of tracking them down.

  CHAPTER 18

  The school of killer creatures numbered about three hundred, all between 60 and 120 pounds. The biggest were over 6 feet in length. They represented the apex of their species. Spending most of the daylight hours in the deepest parts of the Long Island Sound, these creatures marauded endlessly in continuous search of food. At dusk, the entire school would slide inshore to the shallow edges of shoals and along troughs parallel to the beaches. It was here they separated into smaller pods of eight, ten, or twelve fish and hunted like wolf packs. Much like the social hierarchy of wolves, each pod of hunters was led by a large alpha male. Their size was not a normal trait among fish-like animals where the females are typically the larger of the sexes. A dominant male ruled over each pack, while the largest and most violent of the males was respected as the leader of the entire school. It was an alpha male that Jimmy McVee had hooked and that led the attack, culminating in his death. That cold-blooded organism and his schoolmates were far from being satisfied.

  The gargantuan beasts were a unique phenotype of their species and began life as minute larvae. While they controlled much of their environment, early life was governed by the currents upon which they drifted and by their ability to escape being eaten. The species spawned on the Continental Shelf, in an area off the Carolinas. Even though that was the primary spawning grounds, there were also secondary spawns off the New Jersey coast and off Long Island. While specific procreation habits and behaviors of this genus are not well understood, t
he crop of altered killers was given life in the Long Island Sound. Once spawned, the fingerlings moved to safe havens and were nurtured in the protective and fertile backwaters of local harbors like Mount Misery, Port Roosevelt, and State Channel Harbor.

  While victims themselves of food-chain predation, the creatures grew more rapidly than normal. By the end of their first season, these oversized juveniles had transformed from the hunted to the hunters, cannibalizing much smaller and normal members of their species, and anything else that was beneath them on the evolutionary ladder. As pack hunters, they were capable of assaulting much larger, smarter, or more highly evolved prey. During the fall of their first season, the yearlings had grown to about a foot in length and made way from the sanctuary of backwaters out through the harbor inlets and into the more perilous waters of the Long Island Sound. This exodus began their migratory journey to wintering grounds in the warmer waters of the southeast United States. Although these immature killers were superior to other fish species, they were, nonetheless, subject to severe predation during their first passage south. They were high on the menu preferences of many inland and oceanic predators like striped bass, fluke, weakfish, tuna, and sharks. Even as young adults, many larger fish and mammals regularly sought out these fish as a food source.

  Once fully-grown and part of a hunting pack and a larger school, very little else in the oceans could challenge them. Those members of the year classes that survived the process of natural selection became formidable adversaries and quickly turned the tables on any species that diminished their early numbers. Within a year, they were eating the same fish that ate the smaller and less fortunate members of their unique clan. Revenge was sweet and constant. Human traits are not often assigned to fish behavior, but in the case of these killers, an exception had to be made. They were vicious, vengeful, and vindictive, with a malevolent neon-yellow eye and piercing stare that was intended to cause its victims to make mistakes. That is all it took.