by Tom Lowe
Savannah leaned back in her chair. “Then why didn’t she just use a swimming pool?”
Rex looked at his daughter through caring eyes. “Maybe, sweetheart, the same reason you were out there. You wanted to catch some big waves. Could be the girl in the mermaid tail wanted to bodysurf and lost control, drowning in the rough waves.”
Savannah shook her head. “Did she lose her top at the same time? Dad, you didn’t see her … didn’t see her face … the way her hair looked arranged around her head against the sand. I don’t believe she drowned and washed up that way.”
Wynona said, “I agree with Savannah. It’s all too convenient or happenstance. That doesn’t happen in murder.”
“You think somebody killed her?” asked Rex.
Wynona nodded. “Most likely. I’m just hoping that there will be enough forensics and physical evidence to prove it. Often, those things become compromised if the victim was in the water or left outside in the elements too long.”
I said, “Wynona was a Special Agent with the FBI for eight years before returning home to Florida to work as a detective on the Seminole reservation in South Florida.”
“That’s impressive,” Rex said. “You can walk the walk and talk the talk.”
Wynona smiled. “Sometimes, but not always. A homicide investigation is never a slam dunk. Not until the jury returns with a verdict of guilty as charged. If investigators get lucky, maybe there’s some sort of forensic evidence on or inside that mermaid tail. Detectives might be able to trace it to a point-of-sale, or even to the movie production’s prop room, if that’s where it originated.”
Savannah hugged her tanned arms, looked toward the bar, then back at Wynona. “The weird thing … all of this is really weird, but the odd thing is that I was thinking about going to a casting session to see if I could get a part in the movie. I’d like to have a little more money in the bank when I go back to college.” She glanced over at her father and blew air out of her cheeks. “I even thought about applying for a part-time job as a mermaid to work the Weeki Wachee show. It’s not far from my university in the north section of Tampa. But, after I saw that girl … I’m not sure what to do.”
“You do whatever you hear is callin’ out for you to do,” Rex said. “You saw a horrible thing on the beach. You gave your findings to the police. That’s all anybody can ask of you. If you want to audition for a movie role, do it. If you want to earn some extra money workin’ as a mermaid at Weeki Wachee, do it. The ocean’s been in your blood since you were in diapers. Follow the call. You want to be a marine biologist … just do it.”
Savannah said nothing, looking down at Max and then lifting her eyes up. “I remember the first time I saw a picture of Earth taken from space. The moon was rising over our blue planet, and it didn’t look much bigger than a large marble. It seemed so fragile, like a jewel floating in the universe. When I looked closer, I could tell the blue was Earth’s oceans. So much water. And, now, when I see the coral reefs dying, when I see the tons of plastic and garbage floating in the ocean … I imagine those things we can’t see, the invisible stuff doing just as much damage. I want to do something to help.”
Savannah used one finger to touch the rim of her coffee cup, steam rising. She looked up at me. “Sean, I remember a couple of years ago, I was helping Dad on his boat, and I was just starting college. You’d sent some customers over to us. To say thanks, Dad had me deliver some fish to you and Nick Cronus. As Nick was cooking them on the grill in the cockpit of his boat, you heard me tell you how I wanted to protect the seas. You listened to everything I said, all my hopes and dreams. And then you told me something I never forgot. Do you remember what it was?”
“I remember the conversation.”
She smiled, pulled a strand of hair behind her left ear. “You said my destiny wouldn’t be so much about chance as it would be about choice … it was about what I decided to do and how much I really wanted to do it. You said, just like early sailors who took their guiding light from the stars to sail the sea, I’d have to transfer that light into my hands and set my own course. I really pondered that. It wasn’t too long after that I decided to major in marine biology in college. I want to use science and facts to help change human behavior and protect Earth’s oceans while they’re still blue … at least from space.”
Rex grinned. “I’m so proud of Savannah, and she hasn’t even graduated college yet.”
I said, “You should be. She’s going to be a tour de force when it comes to protecting the sea.”
Wynona said, “Let nothing stand in your way, Savannah. We need a lot more people like you. Your dedication to our oceans is noble and very much needed. Where’d you find your calling for conservation?”
Savannah smiled, looked up at the TV screen on the wall and then back to us. “From my parents. Dad has always fished responsibly, never taking more than the legal limit. Always tossing the little fish back into the ocean. Before my mother died, I spent a lot of time on the beach with her, walking and playing in the surf, hunting for the perfect seashell. Listening to her talk about how important the seas were to all life on Earth. She was an excellent swimmer and a great surfer. She loved to SCUBA dive, too.” Savannah smiled—her eyes deep, reflective. “Mom never called it just the sea or the ocean. She named it Mother Ocean and told me it was the forever home to all water on Earth and in the sky in the form of rain. She said all water had to return to Mother Ocean after if fell from the heavens and began a journey back home. She said water that trickled down snow-capped mountains in the late spring, water carried by the world’s rivers moving slowly back to the sea … had the calling to return home.”
“That’s so true,” Wynona said, stirring her coffee. “It all cycles back to Mother Ocean.”
For the first time since we greeted Savannah and Rex, she grinned, looking at her father then at Wynona and me. “Dad, you and Mom both told me how often she would wade out into the ocean when she was pregnant with me, right?”
“Just about every day, up ‘till you were ready to pop out of your mama’s womb.”
“In the early half of her pregnancy, Mom told me she’d waded out beyond the breakers and float on her back, looking up at the blue sky and a passing gull or two. She said you guys hadn’t come up with a name for me, so she wanted to ask Mother Ocean what name I should have. Mom said she floated out there for a long time, leaning her head back in the water and listening to the sounds of the sea … listening for a whisper … a hint for what name I should be given. She said she heard dolphins in the distance. Heard them exhale through their blowholes. She said she heard them whistle and then giggle, like young children playing. Mom found joy in those sounds and wanted to name me Avalon.”
Wynona smiled, leaning closer to the edge of the table. “So, where did the name, Savannah come from, the ocean?”
Savannah eyed her father for a second. “No. Dad didn’t care for the name, Avalon, so they reached a compromise.”
Rex chuckled. “Don’t get me wrong, I like the name Avalon. It’s sweet … Welsh for Apple Island … or apple of my eye, which Savannah certainly is. I just liked the name Savannah better. Plus, it was a very special place for her mama and me all through our marriage.”
I asked, “Are you talking about Savannah, as in the state of Georgia?”
“Yep. It was the place where Faith and I used to vacation. Sometimes we’d go to Charleston, too. But it was in Savannah where our Savannah was conceived. It was in a beautiful, old bayfront house—a bed and breakfast place. Faith always thought it was a little haunted. We sure had a bond with that city, though.” He leaned back in his chair and grinned.
Savannah shook her head, cheeks slightly flushing. “Dad, you don’t always have to give so many details.”
I said, “Your name is beautiful, just like the city.”
Savannah smiled. “Thanks. I may have been conceived there, but I’ve never been to the city. It’s on my bucket list.”
I nodded. “Savannah, o
n the TV news story, you mentioned that you saw one other person on the beach when you were surfing, before you found the body.”
“Yes, a man—he was standing back in the sand dunes, wearing a hoodie. I don’t guess that was strange considering there was the chance of rain and storms.”
“How long did he watch you?”
“I’m not sure. I do know that, from when I first saw him to the time he was gone, it wasn’t very long. It was in the timespan from when I was about to catch a wave to the point where I got off my board. When I ended the ride, I looked toward the beach where he’d been standing, and he was gone. I really don’t want to talk about it.” Savannah averted her gaze from me, shaking her head.
I leaned a little closer. “Earlier, you mentioned something I told you a couple of years ago that you said stuck in your mind, made you get serious about marine biology, right?
She nodded. “Yes.”
“Savannah, I’m going to tell you something else. And it’ll be even more important than that career advice I shared with you when you first started college.”
She eyed me, tilting her head and then folding her arms. “What is it?”
SIXTEEN
There were the throaty sounds of engines revving in the Tiki Bar parking lot. Harley-Davidsons. Distinct in the roar and rumble. The motors silenced, a slight whiff of motorcycle exhaust drifting through the restaurant’s open walls, exiting the far side toward the boats in the marina. A blonde woman, wearing an orange halter top and cut-off jeans, stood in front of the Wurlitzer, making selections, the music of Dire Straits and the song, Single Handed Sailor coming from the jukebox.
I looked across the table at Savannah and said, “The man you saw may have been the person who killed the girl.”
Savannah made a dry swallow, cut her eyes from me to Wynona and then to her dad. She said nothing. Wynona asked, “Beyond the hoodie he was wearing, do you remember anything else. Color of his skin … his approximate age … anything?”
“He looked to be white, but I can’t be sure because of the hoodie and the distance. I remember he was watching me through a pair of binoculars. That made me feel creepy. Not because of the binoculars. At surfing competitions, lots of people use binoculars, even telescopes. Many people, especially the sports media, use long lenses on cameras. But it just seemed eerie for me to look up and see him standing next to a sand dune, the only person on the beach, and looking right through those binoculars at me.”
Rex picked at a callous on his left hand and said, “I don’t like the sound of that. Savannah told the police everything she shared with us, so maybe they can get a line on this guy. Sean, you think Savannah saw the killer … the guy who actually did it? Why would he stick around and watch her surf after he killed a girl?”
“Because he probably didn’t kill the girl on the beach. He most likely took her there and left the body in the sand. According to Savannah, the girl’s hair looked arranged. She was semi-nude. He’s taunting police … saying I’m smarter than you. Come find me if you can.”
Rex shook his head. “They’ll get him—the cocky freak.” He paused, blew out a breath, “Do y’all think my daughter’s safe?”
“No one can answer that,” I said. “Was the guy Savannah saw the killer or just a beachcomber? If he was the perp, and he thinks that Savannah might be able to ID him, that could be a different story.” I shifted my glance to Savannah. “I don’t want to make you fearful, but I do want to leave you with something to think about, at least until police can make an arrest.”
“Okay,” she said, her voice soft.
“Try hard not to be in remote places alone. Stick with friends if you’re out on the town. In school, at work, even going to the grocery store, remember to park as close as possible to areas where there are more people and other cars. Be aware of anyone in your immediate area. Look for security cameras in parking lots and try to park near them. I’m sure you probably carry your phone at all times. Let others, especially your dad, know where you’re going if you’re heading places you normally don’t go. Do you carry mace in your purse?”
“No, and you’re making me afraid, Sean.”
“I’m only trying to make you more aware of your surroundings. Become more observant. Be present. Just be cautious. When Ted Bundy was killing women your age, he’d fool them to take them. He would fake an injury, wear a phony cast on his arm while he pretended to be having trouble opening the trunk of his car. He’d smile and ask a woman passing by for help. When she helped, Bundy would hit her in the head and push her into the trunk of his car.”
“Why are you telling me this? Do you think the man with the binoculars is a serial killer, like Bundy and others?”
“We don’t know. But we do know that he’s left a macabre message in what I think was the posing of the body. Savannah, I only bring that up because wolves can definitely hide in sheep’s clothing. Some people just aren’t who they appear to be.”
Wynona smiled and said, “If it was a murder, and preliminary observations indicate that’s a good possibility, it may be an isolated case. But, if this killer strikes again, he’ll be selective. Just like he was the first time. Choosing his prey and striking the victim when she least expects it. For these types of killer, their overwhelming motivation is to dominate and frighten their victims before murdering them. Of course, we don’t know if any of this will come into play. The guy with the binoculars just may have been an innocent guy watching a pretty young woman on a surfboard.”
I sipped the remains of my coffee and said, “There is no reason for you to become paranoid and suspicious of everyone you see and meet. Just be cautious and don’t let the guy with the binoculars steal your fun, okay?”
Savannah managed a smile. “Okay. I know that you’re only trying to help. With your background as a detective … and Wynona’s history with the FBI, you both offer good advice. It all makes sense.”
Wynona reached in her purse and picked up a plastic gun. She slid it across the table to Savannah. “Here, take this. There’s a small canister of pepper spray in the plastic pistol. If you need it, don’t hesitate to use it. It’s effective up to fifteen feet. With a direct hit to the face, this spray will bring an offender to his or her knees.”
Savannah nodded, picked it up and put it inside her purse. She made an awkward smile. “Thank you.”
• • •
Detective Dan Grant knew there was no way he could soften the blow. When he stepped through the green metal door from the county morgue to walk down the hall of the medical examiner’s complex and into a small conference room, he knew he’d be delivering absolute proof of death. And he’d be delivering it to the parents of Michelle Martin. The moment would come when they identified the face on the body in the picture with a white sheet pulled up to the chin as their child. It also would be the moment when the victim had a name making it personal for him to seek justice for the family. He carried the manila file folder in one hand and sorrow with an anticipated weight in the pit of his stomach.
Monica Martin and her husband, Chuck, sat at a small table and looked up as Grant entered. “Thank you for coming,” he said, sitting down on the opposite side of the table from them.
They both nodded, remaining silent. Monica Martin had the gaunt face of a mother who’d lost her only child. The look of hours of hard crying, sleep deprivation—the exhausted tracks of stolen hope at the corners of her eyes and mouth. Her honey-brown hair was pulled back and pinned with a barrette. Chuck Martin was dressed in a black polo shirt and matching slacks. Graying hair, slumped shoulders. Flushed face with tiny blue blood vessels on his round cheeks. He had the far-away look in his eyes of a man who was suffering overwhelming heartache, a sorrow that only the death of a child can draw on a grieving parent’s face. He held his wife’s hand on the tabletop, bracing for the worst, but trying to hang on for a sliver of hope.
Grant glanced at the file folder next to him, then raised his eyes to the Martin’s faces. “I’m sure you’l
l have questions, but before I can answer any, I need to get a positive identification.” He opened the folder and slid the picture toward them. “Is that your daughter?”
Monica bit her bottom lip, her red eyes filling with tears. She nodded. Chuck held her, his eyes welling. He looked up at Grant. “You have to find the monster who did this to Michelle. He can’t get away. She was so precious. Our daughter would go out of her way to help others. She was active in church, and she was a good person with enormous potential.”
Grant cleared his throat. “I am very sorry for your loss. The medical examiner has finished the autopsy. It’ll take a few days to receive the results of the toxicology reports. The initial findings indicate the cause of death was by drowning.”
Chuck Martin shook his head. “Drowning? Michelle was an excellent swimmer. She couldn’t have accidentally drowned.”
“I didn’t say it was an accident.”
Monica leaned forward in her chair. “Are you saying our daughter was murdered, Detective Grant?”
“Most likely, yes. The medical examiner estimates the time of death at approximately eight hours before she was found.”
Chuck Martin folded his arms, a red blotch forming on one side of his neck. “Do you think, maybe, she could have drowned in the surf and was washed ashore for all that time?”
“No. Her hair was fanned out around her head, like someone arranged it. There was a handprint bruise on her lower back. The ME found evidence of sexual intercourse. We don’t know if she was raped or something consensual. Fresh water, not saltwater, was in her lungs. Michelle died away from the beach.”
