by Tom Lowe
Grant said, “We don’t know … could be some truth in all of it. If his thought process was to create confusion, though, he might be a little surprised to learn that, due to technology, detective agencies are far more cooperative and informed than they used to be. Perhaps, in the next few days, we’ll know something and make an arrest.”
Dave sipped from the paper cup of coffee. “I agree with your agency assessment. I think that’s true of all criminal justice agencies today.
Nick pointed to the Starbucks logo on the cup and said, “It’s weird how you can see mermaids almost everywhere you look nowadays. Even the Starbucks girl is a mermaid. I’m watching TV yesterday, and I see previews of the latest Little Mermaid movie. I was in the Tiki Bar and saw a family of tourists at one table. The little girl had a mermaid doll. A woman in the marina office was wearing a mermaid T-shirt. There’s a sailboat on H dock named Lil’ Mermaid. When I was buying some rope in the ship’s store, I looked on the wall … right next to an antique nautical wheel was the figurehead of a mermaid, and she was looking down, right at me. Her blue eyes following me all the way to the check-out cash register. Gave me a strange, damn feeling.”
Grant nodded. “I wish we could hunt down the perp as easy as it is to spot mermaid collectables and keepsakes.” His phone buzzed. Grant looked at the caller ID and said, “I need to take this.” He answered the call, stepping away to talk out of earshot.
Dave waited a moment and said, “Detective Grant is not in an enviable position. The mermaid murders have gone viral in social and traditional media. The coverage of the latest murder is off the charts. Grant is, no doubt, under a lot of pressure, which is probably the reason he took the time to consult with you two.”
I said, “I think my former colleague, Detective Ron Hamilton, may have subtlety suggested it, especially since he knew that I also knew Grant. But who knows? I just hope the few suggestions that Wynona and I offered might be of assistance. It’s a crap shoot, though.”
Wynona said, “The FBI will offer its resources if any of the police agencies working the case make the request. Detective Grant and the others in the task force, in my opinion, are looking for a perp with deep, sexually perverted fantasies that probably began near puberty. But, these are perverse in a grander way. They’re organized, signature killings, the same MO in each with the same posing of the victims … seeking the same shock value from the person or persons who stumble upon the bodies. The perp enjoys the salacious news coverage and the angst felt by police. The killer probably has a high intelligence level. If he’s not caught, he will continue as long as his obsessive fantasy drives him to kill. He’s simply incapable of remorse.”
Grant walked back down the dock toward us as we stood next to Dragonfly. He slipped his phone in his pocket and said, “The lab found the same diatoms in the water removed from the lungs of the third victim. And they found skin cells under two of her fingernails, enough for us to get a DNA sample. It looks like we’ll be heading over to the movie set to get voluntary DNA samples. Many will comply to show their innocence; and for those who don’t, it should help us narrow our pool to take a closer look. We’ll go there unannounced, not tipping off a potential suspect or suspects. If we’re damn lucky, this perp won’t have time to wiggle through the net we’re about to cast over the fantasy world of Atlantis.
SIXTY-ONE
It was beyond Savannah’s wildest dreams. She and more than seventy extras, all wearing mermaid and mermen costumes, were sequestered in a beachfront cove. The shoreline was shaped like a giant horseshoe, with a gleaming white sand beach and tall palms swaying in the breeze. The shadows of the movie production boats could be seen on the floor of the ocean ten to twelve feet below the vessels.
Savannah and the actors playing the parts of mermaids and mermen, wearing the costumes, were in the water and holding on to a long string of inflatable rafts tethered together in a semi-circle that looped more than 150 feet on top of the crystal-clear water.
Savannah’s new friend, Eric Young, wore his merman costume, holding on to one of the inflatables. Eric looked at the large production yacht, two hundred feet away, crew members moving about, and the art director, Jonathan Lloyd, lifting a pair of binoculars to his eyes. He appeared to be looking to where Savannah was about to begin her scene.
Savannah counted six large motion picture cameras on the decks of six boats, camera operators wearing steadying devices to help minimize the movement during the pitch and roll of the incoming swells. She thought about one of the underwater cameras that the film crew, in their SCUBA gear, had mounted on the bottom of the sea in the white sand. The director wanted her to swim directly over it but not to look at the camera. Her final mark was to be a thick, yellow anchor rope. She was supposed to come to the surface a few feet before reaching it.
A helicopter with a camera operator almost hanging out a side door, circled in the distance. Two underwater camera teams were positioned near a large swim platform at the stern of one wide-bodied boat. Stunt men and women moved about on a pontoon boat, talking with a second unit director, preparing for some of the action scenes they were going to shoot.
Director Miles Venuti stood on the stern of a pontoon boat, a megaphone in his hand. A portable video monitor was near him, along with three technicians, Doctor Howard Ward, and a dark-haired script supervisor, iPad in her hand. Venuti explained the scene, what he and the crew were trying to accomplish.
The director pointed to Savannah. “Okay, your mark will be about twenty feet behind the blue and white boat. We have two underwater camera crews to capture your initial descent beneath the surface. After I say action, I want you to look back toward the beach. Your eyes will be fearful, searching the shoreline. After about five seconds, you will submerge and swim in that direction.” He pointed toward another boat, the white one with a blue canvas awning, that had a camera operator and three people in it. “When you come to the surface, I want you to pause briefly, look back over your shoulder, now more frightened, and then swim on top of the water for a few seconds before submerging. Understand?”
Savannah smiled. “Yes.”
“After we get those takes, we’ll get some closeups and then shoot the scene where you meet your mother, goddess Basilea, and you two will deliver your lines.” Venuti used his megaphone, looking out across the extras holding onto the inflatables, bobbing in the gentle swells. “All right everyone, all of you will be in this in the background shots. Please remember to follow the directions we gave you. Let’s remove the inflatables to keep them out of the shot.” He nodded to the assistant director.
They waited a half-minute as two production assistants on a pair of jet skis pulled the inflatable rafts out of the shot, locating them behind one of the yachts. “Quiet on the set!” shouted the assistant director. “Roll cameras.” He looked at the director.
Venuti watched all of the extras in the costumes treading water. He looked toward Savannah and shouted, “Places … stand by … and action.”
Savannah took a deep breath, looked back toward the shore, her eyes suddenly fearful. She turned and submerged, ignoring the two underwater cameras and the operators in SCUBA gear. She swam like a dolphin toward a yellow anchor rope that was her mark. Her eyes burned in the clear saltwater. She used her tail, the motion and strength coming from her stomach muscles and legs, remembering the many times she’d surfed near dolphins. She came to the surface for a few seconds, swimming, then submerging again. As she swam, she didn’t think of the actress playing her mother, Basilea. Instead, she thought of her own mother. Hearing her words as she taught Savannah how to swim as a very young girl. Never be afraid of the sea, Savannah. You were born from water. Let Mother Ocean hold you close, and you will feel your soul set free. The power of the universe lives in the ocean, and it lives in you. Let it caress your heart just as the shore feels the constant kisses of the sea.
Savannah swam with the style and power of a dolphin, the underwater camera operators capturing her fluid and nea
r sensuous movements, the mermaid tail appearing as a natural extension of her body in the water. She swam more than one hundred feet toward the yellow anchor rope.
From above Director Venuti watched her underwater. He looked at the video feed on the screen, then standing by the boat’s dive stern, his eyes riveted, almost spellbound. “She’s the best I’ve ever seen. What an exquisite young creature.”
The consultant, Howard Ward, nodded. “She takes direction well. And her physical stamina is superb.”
“It’s more than that. We’re doing a movie about gods, goddesses, and the price they pay when mixing with mortals. The girl swimming here in the sea has become a mermaid. It’s as if she could be the daughter of Poseidon. She’s that good.”
They watched Savannah finish her swim and come to the surface, staring in the direction Venuti had given her. With water streaming down her face, Savannah looked to the north and said, “I never want to leave Atlantis. It is the only home I have ever known. Where’s father?”
Venuti watched the video monitor for another few seconds and said, “Cut! Excellent! After you rest for a few minutes, we’ll do another take. And then we’ll bring in Basilea to do your lines with her.” The director slipped his sunglasses back on, motioned to the assistant director and then started speaking with the script supervisor.
The assistant director lifted the megaphone. “Okay … good stuff, everybody. We’ll reposition the inflatables and give everyone a short rest before we do another take.”
Eric Young, treading water in his merman costume, watched the production assistants bring the inflatables back to the extras all floating in the water. While the film crew was repositioning the cameras, above water and underwater, he swam fifty feet closer to where Savannah sat on the back of the boat’s swim platform. He looked up, sun in his face. “You totally nailed it. Maybe you should be training for the swim competition in the next Olympics.”
Savannah laughed. “As a mermaid? That’s funny. But, I think I’ll stick to surfing and finishing college. Then, if I’m really lucky, maybe I’ll intern at someplace like Scripps Institute of Oceanography. I’d love to get a job there. Woods Hole Institute would work, too.”
“As a mermaid?” he said jokingly. “I like a girl who has brains mixed with her beauty and swims like a fish, mermaid Savannah.”
Savannah used the tip of her tail to splash water toward Eric. He laughed, griping the wooden swim platform. “You really know how to use that fin.”
“I’ve had lots of practice.” She glanced up at the semi-circle of boats, camera operators and crew getting back into position. The director was in discussion with the consultant. “Maybe Doctor Ward will put in a good word for me at Scripps or Woods Hole. I’m sure he’s well known in those institutions.”
Eric grinned. “I bet, after this movie, you’ll be in demand and act in the next Aquaman movie. There are a lot of worse ways to make money.” He looked more than one hundred feet to his left, to the production yacht. A dozen people, mostly producers, and two of the main actors, were watching the second take of the scene. Eric said, “I don’t know if that art director dude, Johnathan Lloyd, just likes looking at you with binoculars or if he’s more into watching how his mermaid costumes are doing in the water.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because he’s been staring at you through a pair of binoculars since you started and ended the scene, and he’s still looking at you. It’s like he wants to make sure the mermaid tail he created doesn’t friggin fall off.”
Savanna thought of the man on the beach with the binoculars. She looked up in the direction that Eric gestured. She saw Jonathan Lloyd move the black binoculars from his eyes. She recognized the tall, handsome actor standing next to him. She didn’t know why, but at that moment, Savannah was glad she didn’t have a scene with that actor.
And tomorrow she could go home.
• • •
Two hours later, the cast and crew ate a catered lunch on deck of the yacht designated for the actors, where the craft services company had set up a buffet-style serving line. Savannah and Eric Young took their places in a line leading up to the serving areas. They were awestruck in the presence of A-list actors standing near them. Eric whispered, “It’s cool that we aren’t eating in someplace separate from the stars. Everybody, from extras to big stars, are all eating and hanging out together.”
Savannah smiled, watching a famous actress that she admired chatting with one of the servers, the actress getting chicken, rice, and salad on her plate. “If I didn’t love marine science so much, it would be fun to be in the movie business.”
One of the assistant directors, Mark Myers, and the movie consultant, Doctor Howard Ward, took their place in line right behind Eric and Savannah. Myers looked at Savannah and said, “You slayed it out there this morning. Great job.”
She smiled. “Thank you. I appreciate you working so hard with me and the others, going over our lines, facial expressions, and all the stuff to make acting not so scary.”
“Rehearsal is nothing more than practice. You get better with practice. Have you considered a career in the biz?”
“Well, not really—”
“You should.” Myer smiled, touching her shoulder. “If you come out to LA, we’ll do lunch. I’ll set you up to meet some agents and talent managers. You’re a natural.”
“I’m having a fun time, but what I really want to do is what Doctor Ward does, oceanography and marine science.”
Ward smiled and nodded. “Excellent choice. The world needs more people like you. Are you in college now?”
“Yes. University of South Florida. I graduate next year. Now that my role in Atlantis has wrapped, I hope to land a part-time job as a mermaid at Weeki Wachee. As soon as I graduate, I’ll be looking for an internship with an oceanographic institute.”
“Do you have some places in mind?”
“Oh yes. Scripps or Woods Hole. I’d be in heaven if I got an internship with either one.”
“I know a good number of people at both institutes. Considering your passion and your work ethic that we’ve seen here, I’d be more than happy to make a referral for you.”
Savannah beamed, her smile wide, eyes bright. “That would be awesome! Thank you so much, Doctor Ward.”
He nodded. “You’re welcome to come visit us at the Canaveral Marine Laboratory just north of Cape Canaveral near the Indian River. Be my guest. I think you’ll find what we do there might be something you could see yourself doing in the near future. Here’s my card.”
Savannah took his business card, lowered her eyes to his title as director of the laboratory and, when she looked back at him, it was if she was gazing into the compassionate eyes of a new mentor. “This is incredible. I can’t wait to visit.”
SIXTY-TWO
The following day, Detective Dan Grant had to wait for two main things as he and the interagency task force continued with the investigation into the murders of the three young women. They had to complete a briefing to share information for deciding on a plan, and they had to wait for the return of the film crew from its production schedule at sea. Grant’s investigators were on alert to head out on a moment’s notice to take DNA samples from the Atlantis production crew, this coming under the objection of the studio’s legal team who had tipped off some of the executives. Grant heard that the A-list actors and some of the “higher ups” in the production took exception to providing DNA samples.
Grant, driving his unmarked cruiser, was on the phone with Detective Ron Hamilton in Miami and said, “Once we convince them it’s in their best interest to provide a DNA sample, these highbrow people will be some of the first that we’ll stick cotton swabs into their big mouths.”
Hamilton, at his desk in the Miami-PD Homicide Bureau, said, “If you need me, I can run up there and help you when the film crew gets back in town. Or I can continue working with Pinellas County S.O., comparing notes from the murder scene in their area. As you know, the diatoms
found in the water from that vic’s lungs match the other two. Now we have the reports of the skin samples found under her fingernails. That will close this for us if we can just find the matching DNA. Even the best actors can’t bullshit their way out of the accuracy of DNA results.”
Grant nodded. “Amen. I have plenty of CSI people to help get the DNA samples. I want to look at every hand in the film crew, all of the extras, and the other actors, too. Maybe I’ll spot a man who’s missing part of his finger. That, with the hand and fingerprints from the aquarium glass, along with DNA, will nail convictions for these murders and put the pervert in a cell on Florida’s death row.”
“Now that we know what to look for, let’s hope he’s still there … if the perp is, in fact, part of the production of the movie.”
“I spoke with Sean O’Brien and his girlfriend, Wynona Osceola. O’Brien was, somehow, dead-on when he found that handprint in the sand. He thinks the killer is local, maybe an actor—one of the extras. A person who lives in Florida, someone who has easy and private access to a lake, pond, or even a large aquarium. Could be like the kind you’d find at SeaWorld, the Tampa Aquarium, or someplace like those.”
Hamilton said, “Sean might be right. The movie producers have employed a lot of extras and wanna-be actors from all over the state. With Disney and Universal in Central Florida, there’s no shortage of the acting types just looking to leave the theme parks for the big screen. How’s Wynona doing?”
“She appears to be fine.”
“She was shot up pretty damn bad in a case last year that stemmed from that murder in the Everglades of the guy running for state senate.”
“I remember that murder, but not a lot of the details.”
“Long story short, Wynona and three sheriffs’ deputies were ambushed on an approach to the hitman’s condo here in Miami. The killer had been tipped off. We were working the case, too. Wynona came very close to dying. She lost the baby she was carrying … Sean’s child. As she lay close to death in the intensive care unit, Sean went covert … sort of. He’d figured the shooting was connected to a political lobby group, tied to a reclusive billionaire. To prove it, Sean had to get a confession from the middleman—the one guy who’d hired the hitman. You don’t want to know what Sean did to get the guy to talk.”
