Mermaid

by Tom Lowe

  Nick stood, pointing at the TV screen. “It’s gotta be the same sick dude. I’m not a detective, and even I can see that. I feel the urge to take St. Michael to sea, chum for sharks and go swimmin’ with them ‘cause it’s safer than the land sharks here. I’d like to know if the mermaid tail found on the second dead girl came from the Atlantis movie set.”

  FORTY

  Wynona and I took Max for a long walk before returning to Gibraltar where Dave and Nick where finishing a card game—rummy. Dave looked up as we came aboard and said, “Ah, yes. I assume Max took you for a very long and enlightening walk. Did you walk the beach?”

  “Not this time,” Wynona said, “We went off the beaten path and strolled down to the lighthouse.”

  Dave nodded. “Let us hope that no young women dressed as mermaids will be found dead in the shadow of the Ponce Inlet Lighthouse.”

  Nick said, “We do have a long jetty on the left side of the inlet as you take a boat out of the pass. Now, every time I go by there in St. Michael, I’m gonna remember the pictures we saw of the poor girl killed on the jetty near the lighthouse on Key Biscayne.”

  Wynona said, “Police don’t know if she was killed there, or taken there after she was killed somewhere else.”

  Dave grunted and shifted his weight on the couch, a soft but briny breeze moving through Gibraltar’s salon. “Did you two former detectives discuss the case of the mermaid murders on your long walk?”

  “Briefly,” Wynona said. “What we did talk about is our upcoming sailing trip. If we’re lucky, perhaps we’ll see a real mermaid on a reef overlooking a tropical island. Like what Nick said he saw in the Caribbean. My hope is that the real mermaid will be far away from humanity, happy in her world, and very much alive.”

  Nick grinned, sipped a beer and said, “I’ll draw you a sailor’s map. Put a circle around the place I spotted the beautiful mermaid. She might be hangin’ out here again when y’all sail by there.”

  “Maybe so,” I said, setting Max down. “It’ll be something to make nautical memories.”

  Nick blew out a deep breath. “I just hope the girls in mermaid costumes killed here were not murdered by some psycho workin’ with the movie company, some dude who’ll be gone in a few weeks like a carnival worker headed for the next town. I’m bettin’ the same creep killed both girls. I have no background in police work. But I gotta lot of experience in human nature or inhuman nature.” He set his beer on a coaster with the words Sanibel Island on it.

  Dave nodded. “There are strong similarities. But does one psychopath bring out the worst in other like-minded criminals, creating copycat killings? Detectives will be eliminating suspects until they find the evidence that really connects the dots to someone in the shadows. And because these appear to be staged murders, the victims killed somewhere other than where the bodies are being found, that opens up more opportunities for police to find additional evidence. When bodies are moved, they leave traces, even miniscule—often not obvious, but there’s a trail. I do concur with you, Nick, my money would be on the same perpetrator.” Dave turned to Wynona and me. “However, I’m retired and Nick you are a fisherman, a man with unique talents to catch fish, not criminals.”

  “But you gotta remember, I’m the only person here who’s seen a real mermaid.” He glanced over at Max and winked. “Right Hot Dawg? You tell ‘em.”

  Max, now sitting in Wynona’s lap, looked at Nick and seemed to nod.

  Dave chuckled. “I’m just a simple intelligence analyst, retired from the CIA, but we do have two detectives or former detectives in our midst.” He smiled at Wynona. “So, Sean and Wynona, we know you are armchair detectives, but considering what we’ve just seen, what’s your take?”

  Nick pointed to the TV screen. “It says breaking news across the bottom of the screen. Another news reporter is standing in front of the police department.”

  Dave reached for the remote control and turned up the sound. A reporter, a man with wispy brown hair, open sportscoat, stood next to lettering on a glass door that read: Miami-Dade Police Department. He nodded and looked into the camera. “The Dade County medical examiner is releasing some information from the initial results of an autopsy done on the body of a young woman found in a mermaid costume on a rock jetty near the Cape Florida Lighthouse. The medical examiner, Doctor Patricia White, says the cause of death appears to have been by drowning. White says the final results of the forensic toxicology report won’t be available for at least a week, but she did conclude that the young woman died from a freshwater, not a saltwater drowning. The woman’s identity is being withheld pending notification of relatives. Similar to the death of another girl found in a mermaid tail south of Daytona Beach, it now has been determined that both bodies had freshwater in their lungs. Dade County detectives say that tells them that the latest victim found on the rock jetty near Key Biscayne was killed away from where the body was found. Did the same person commit both murders? That’s what investigators want to find out. Live from the medical examiner’s office, Ronald Levin, News Channel Seven.”

  Nick shook his head. “The news reporters don’t seem to be sayin’ anything about the movie, Atlantis. They’re supposed to be casting and hiring lots of girls for roles as mermaids. Gimme a break.”

  “Could be a link,” Dave said, turning to Wynona and me, scratching his trimmed beard and taking a deep breath. “Well, I’d surmise that will put your perspectives in a little more defined order. After I fix a cold beverage, I’d like to hear your take on these two sad and bizarre cases.”

  FORTY-ONE

  Detective Dan Grant took two aspirins, chased by a swallow of Dr Pepper at his desk when he viewed the pictures in the email. He looked at the handprint in the center of the beach sand. Around the print were small openings in the sand where the baby turtles had come to the surface. Grant zoomed in on the handprint, closely studying it. “Looks like much of the ring finger appears to be missing,” he mumbled before examining the images of the boot prints. His desk phone buzzed.

  “Detective Grant,” said the receptionist. “Detective Hamilton from Miami-Dade PD is on line six.”

  “Thanks, Cindy.”

  Grant pressed the phone button and said, “Well, I hope you have the news I’ve been waiting to hear. Can you trace the mermaid tail you guys found on your vic to the set of the movie, Atlantis?”

  Hamilton, standing in an evidence room with his partner, Detective Ramirez, watched a CSI tech finish her inspection of the mermaid tail that was positioned on a table. The tech was using a microscope, magnifying glass, and chemicals in her forensic testing. “Almost done,’ she said, pulling a strand of dark hair behind one ear.

  Hamilton took a step backwards, glanced across the room at the large, round clock on the wall with a sweeping red second hand. “Not at the moment, we can’t prove it came directly from the movie set, but we can prove that it’s almost identical in style to the one your guys found on Michelle Martin. We’ll visit the set and find out if it’s one of their props. In speaking with Kristen Morgan’s parents, they told us their daughter had auditioned for a role in Atlantis. They don’t know whether or not she got the part. I’m assuming the costume came from the movie set. It could have been stolen from there.”

  Grant shook his head. “Maybe. The common ground for the two homicides appears to be coming from the set of Atlantis. When you come up here, we can go over there together. It’s an interagency investigation now. Do the victim’s parents know whether their daughter was given a mermaid tail to practice for landing a part in the movie?”

  “They don’t know that either, which is odd if she was given a mermaid tail to use for practice. You would think that wouldn’t be protocol. But, if she was, you’d think it would be something a college-aged girl would share with her parents.” Hamilton watched the CSI tech complete her forensic exam. “The prosthetic mechanism inside the tail is unique. I’ll ask whoever’s in charge of these movie props if one was given to Kristen Morgan. If it wa
sn’t, looks like the perp somehow took one from the set and hunted down a second girl to kill.”

  Grant put his elbows on his desk, an open file folder with photos in front of him. “This is going to sound a little weird, but is there a missing piece of rubber from the mermaid tail, maybe in the area of the groin?”

  “I know where you’re going with this. Hold on a minute.” Hamilton held the phone to one ear and stepped back to the table to look. He scrutinized the area for a moment, glanced up at his partner and then at the CSI tech. “Did anyone find a missing piece of rubber or polyurethane from the mermaid’s tail, maybe in the groin area?”

  The women exchanged glances, both shaking their heads. Ramirez said, “Out on the rock jetty and here, the tail seems intact.” She eyed the tech. “What’d you find?”

  “Nothing missing that I could see, but I did notice there’s a tear or a small hole near what would be the area of the groin. Could have happened out there on the sharp rocks of the jetty.”

  Hamilton nodded. “Dan, could you hear that?”

  “Yes. Did your ME find any indication of rape or sex?”

  “I’m told there’s no sign of semen, but signs she’d recently had sex. There was some traces of blood. Was it rape? We don’t know. Tests are still pending, of course. One thing the ME did find is something we’d like to compare to your autopsy results.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The water in the lungs. Our crime lab did some tests on that water. It’s freshwater, of course, similar to what the autopsy revealed on your victim.”

  “Have the crime lab do microscopic tests for unique microbes that could be in the water. Microbes that might match what we found in the lungs of Michelle Martin.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Diatoms.”

  “I’ve heard of them. They’re in all kinds of water bodies, right?”

  “Correct. As forensic science gets better, we’re always looking for evidence invisible to the naked eye. Diatoms are, or could be, our star witnesses in these two cases.”

  Hamilton ran his tongue on the inside of his left cheek. “How do you mean?”

  “They’re basically fancy algae. Diatoms are the only living organisms on the planet with cells made of transparent, opaline silica. It’s like a fingerprint unique to a specific body of water. If we run tests on the water found in the lungs of your victim, Kristen Morgan, and compare them with these results of the water found in the lungs of Michelle Martin … and they match … bingo. We know both girls drowned in the same body of water.”

  Hamilton looked at the mermaid tail. “Not to be pessimistic, but it sounds like we’ll be swimming against the current. It won’t be easy to find the same body of water in Florida, a state that’s filled with lakes and rivers.”

  “Yes, but if a suspect, like former boyfriend Craig Blake, is near that water or has been around it, that narrows the gap considerably.”

  FORTY-TWO

  After Dave returned from the galley with his drink, I glanced over at Wynona. She stared across the marina, almost searching, her thoughts distant. Dave took his seat back on the couch and sipped a gin over ice. He licked his lips, glancing down at the Smithsonian, Foreign Policy, and National Geographic magazines. “I do my best thinking when walking to and from Gibraltar’s head. I was thinking about the TV news reports, the mermaid stories now have gone international.”

  Nick motioned to his phone on the bar. “I checked some of the national news outlets online, the mermaid murders are as viral as viral can get. Millions of people are lookin’ at the news pictures and speculating. I feel bad for the families of the victims.”

  Dave nodded. “The Brits, especially the ones planning holiday vacations to Florida, are, no doubt having lively discussions about mermaids found dead on the beaches of Florida. I say that because I was stationed there for five years, and my daughter and her family live there today. Tabloids stay in business because of human curiosity that’s bordered on the absurd. But the British tabloids go at it daily and are much more licentious, if you can imagine that.” He sipped his drink. Speaking of stories … does anyone know the storyline for the movie, Atlantis? What the hell is it about?”

  Wynona said, “I read that it’s about how greed can corrupt what was believed to have been a utopian country—or, in the case of Atlantis, a large continent. The story has something to do with inter-marrying of the gods and humans on Atlantis, the result was children who lacked moral responsibility. As they grew up, sibling rivalry ensued. Two sons of Poseidon were vying for control … one son representing all things good with the purist society of Atlantis … the other son representing greed in his desire to conquer other lands, including Athens, Greece. In the end, Zeus is so angered he causes a massive earthquake to sink Atlantis. The good son and his love, a woman who was a former mermaid, escape the destruction of Atlantis.”

  Nick finished his beer and said, “Some of the best stories in the world go back to ancient Greece. People, especially the movie studios, keep retelling them with their own spin. I’ll see the movie when it comes out. How about you, Sean?”

  “That would depend on how the murder investigations go.”

  Dave nodded. “Indeed. No one, of course, can hold a movie studio responsible for the theft or loss of a costume, such as a mermaid tail. It’s difficult to vet all staff and crew members, most of whom are freelance. And this is assuming there’s a more defined link between the movie, Atlantis, and the murders. In a quirky way, though, perhaps art or in this case—myth, can reflect real life with the production of a movie.”

  “What do you mean, Dave?” Nick asked.

  “The question is answered, in part, due to the reasons why the myth of Atlantis continues to fascinate us more than two-thousand years after Plato delivered it to the world. The theme plays with human fantasy, and ultimately human weakness—the deadly sins. The myth of the lost continent, a form of paradise lost, boils down to man’s weakest links—the greed that comes from a self-centered lust for power, influence, control and great wealth. The utopia of Atlantis was not enough for some who wanted more. The story, as told by Plato, is really an allegorical account that supports his premise of the flaw in the human condition. Such things as divine versus human nature, the ideal society, and how the Achilles heel of human corruption can destroy it.” Dave sipped his drink.

  I said, “The theme of the movie, Atlantis, borrows from the thesis of Plato’s story in many areas. To take it a step from fantasy to reality, the murders of two young women in mermaid tails, if connected to someone in the production, brings full circle the premise of Plato’s take on the crack in the foundation, or the society of Atlantis two thousand years after he originally told the story.”

  Dave lifted his glass in a toast. “To Plato and his take on the seismic fault-line that still runs through all of us thousands of years after Atlantis allegedly sank to the bottom of the ocean.”

  Nick grinned. “I’m not sure I want to toast to that.”

  FORTY-THREE

  Detective Dan Grant and Detective Jason Lawson studied aerial images projected on the wall of their conference room. The images were of rooftops from upscale homes, usually within gated neighborhoods. Most of the homes had the sparkling blue of swimming pools in their backyards. But Grant and Lawson weren’t looking for swimming pools. They were searching for lakes and ponds. And they were focusing on bodies of water within ten miles of Craig Blake’s home.

  “Look at this one,” said Detective Lawson, walking closer to the white board and pointing toward a large lake. “It’s the closest to the mansion owned by Craig Blake’s parents. Looks like there are a lot of areas around the lake where no homes were built, at least not yet. From Google Earth, it’s easy to see the trees along the remote shorelines.”

  Grant stepped out from behind a laptop computer and projector elevated on a wooden table. He stood next to the image of the lake, studying it. “Yeah, it looks like there’s enough isolated areas a perp coul
d drown victims without being seen by neighbors. We can ride out there, take a look at some of the access areas to the water. We can take vials to get water samples and have them tested.”

  Lawson walked back to the computer, moving the aerial perspective to reveal more homes and more lakes. “I’m counting at least two-dozen lakes and ponds in close proximity to the Blake’s house and neighborhood. At this rate, we could be dipping water samples for a long time. I’ll see if the chief deputy will assign some of his deputies to help. They can bring everything back here, labeled with the name of the lake, date and time the sample was taken. We can send the samples over to the state crime lab and put in an urgent request for testing.”

  Grant studied the other bodies of water. Rivers, ponds and lakes. Some small. Some large. A few with interlaced canals creating a series of lakes all joined. “We have at least nine lakes that are all linked by canals, like a damn daisy chain of water. Will that mean the diatoms, if we find them, could be in any of the interconnected lakes?”

  “Could be like finding a needle in the ol’ haystack. Tough, but we have to make the effort. I’d like to find diatoms that match the water samples removed from the two victims and then find matching diatoms in the mud on the soles of expensive shoes owed by Craig Blake.”

  Grant reached for his phone, making a call to the medical examiner. “Doctor Baird, Dan Grant in homicide.”

  “What can I do for you Detective Grant?”