Mount Misery

by Angelo Peluso

  “First, I needed to spend time with Karen to make sure we get the DNA results we want. Second, we hit construction traffic. What else is new on Long Island? And third, snakeheads? What moron broke that dumb ass story?” Katie said, amazed by the stupidity.

  “Seems some hot shot New York City media mogul who has a house in Bridgehampton got wind of the incidents in the Sound and made waves with local police. He wanted to know if what was happening in the Sound presented a threat to the waters around the Hamptons. Guess he was afraid some of his summer guests might get their asses bitten off swimming in the surf. Well, the local gendarmes hadn’t a clue what was going on so the mogul took matters into his own hands and went directly to the top rung on the political ladder.”

  “Okay, so he pulled some strings for answers, but where do the snakeheads fit in?” Katie said.

  “The media guy assigned one of his investigative reporters to the case and she somehow concluded, after talking with local commercial fishermen, that the most probable culprits in these cases are some oversized snakeheads. Plus she saw a show on one of the cable channels about snakeheads and is convinced they’ve migrated up here to Long Island. She’s also convinced they have an appetite for small dogs and small children. So she briefed her boss and he was all over it like flies at an outhouse.”

  “Snakeheads are an invasive freshwater species! There is no way they could survive the ecosystem of the Sound, let alone the higher salinity of the Atlantic Ocean. Those commercial fishermen were pulling her leg just for entertainment.”

  “I know that, Katie, but we’d better get in to see Ted before he puts out an APB on you or worse yet, a hit. The guy is pissed big time. Never seen him this much on edge.”

  Ted Gunther was beyond being pissed; he was on the verge of panic. Not only were his superiors on his back about the unsolved deaths and disappearances in the Sound, but now they were all over him about the snakehead stupidity and the resulting media frenzy it had generated. They expected him to diffuse the situation, put a lid on it, and then make it go away. One of the directors in Albany told him in no uncertain terms that . . . if thing gets out of control you’ll be feeding food pellets to trout at the Cold Spring hatchery for the rest of your career. Ted Gunther was about to vent his pent up anger on the next two employees to walk into his office.

  “Glad you could join us, Dr. DiNardo. I hope all is well with you? Would you be so kind as to tell me what is going on with your investigation? I mean, do we have a damn clue as to what sort of marine aberration is killing people? You do remember that body parts are showing up on beaches, dogs are disappearing, and the county is a little lighter by a few residents. Oh, and lest I forget, your buddy here told me more about your little encounter on the beach the other night. From what I hear your boyfriend, Rick, is lucky he’s not now a castrato singing with the Vienna Boys Choir.”

  Katie gave Nick a piercing look. Had her eyes been lasers, Nick would have been fried.

  “We have leads and we have new evidence, and thank you for putting in the call to the folks at the lab. My friend Karen is . . .”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know all about that. I made the call as much to save my ass I did to save yours. Albany is swarming over this investigation. Even the governor is involved. He’s planning a family vacation to Montauk and wants to know if it’s safe for his kids to go in the water. His assistants are calling every hour on the hour to get updates. We have a press conference in two hours, my phone hasn’t stopped ringing, and I have a killer headache. What are we going to say?”

  “We can say we are close to understanding what is behind these unusual events and that we’ll know better shortly what’s going on.”

  “We are well beyond the understanding phase, Katie. We need to be recommending a course of action to the public now, especially with the holiday weekend coming up. Do you have any idea how much this county depends on tourism dollars? Last-minute cancellations could cost the local economy tens of millions. And on top of the lousy season the merchants have had this year because of the recession, this could be the straw that breaks the backs of many businesses and the county’s tax revenue stream. This could all turn very ugly very fast.”

  Nick interjected. “Not to mention the risk of being eaten by some predatory marine creatures that are most likely fish. Preventing that seems to be priority one right now.”

  “Brilliant, Nick. Wish I had thought of that. Katie, the time clock is running out. Tell me what you got.”

  “Facts of the matter, Ted, are that other than the tooth DNA we are having analyzed at the lab, Nick and I are still uncertain what form of marine species perpetrated these attacks. Our evidence to date still strongly suggests some form of large fish-like animal but we have been unable to definitively prove that yet. From what I saw of the creature that attacked Rick, it definitely looked fish-like.”

  “Despite a lack of concrete evidence to finalize your conclusion, should we advise closing the beaches?” Gunther asked.

  “When Karen finishes her DNA mapping, we should have our answers. But that is still two days from now. I can’t go on record that some monster fish are the killers until then. But we need to say something. These things are a real risk to the public. The snakehead crap we can easily debunk.”

  “Yes, we need warnings, at minimum,” Nick shot back.

  Katie continued. “Let’s look again at the facts we do know. Most of these incidents occurred late night or early morning. The dog attacks took place at dusk. The last attack we know of was the one involving Rick and that happened after midnight. The one common thread weaving through all events is that they occurred during the outgoing tide. If these fish are indeed some species mutation, they show a marked preference for dropping water and the accompanying currents and rips that form in the Sound during that tidal phase. The fast outgoing flow, especially around the full moon phases, moves bait around in a way that predators find favorable.”

  “So what are you saying here, Katie? Post a big tide chart on each of the beaches and warn bathers to run for their lives as the tide ebbs? I could just see that on Local 21 news.”

  “Something like that,” Katie said. “Unless, of course we just close down the beaches.”

  “Where you going with this, Katie?” Nick said.

  “Look. Since the newspapers broke the story, the entire Island is aware of the incidents. We could . . .”

  “Correction, Katie. Make that the entire world,” Ted said. This story is being followed now more closely than shark attacks. Why? Because so far this year, right here on Long Island, we have had more deaths and disappearances from whatever this creature is than all combined shark attacks in the entire United States. The spotlight is smack dab on us and it won’t be long before every marine biologist on this planet is being quoted with an opinion. We need to manage the information flow before it becomes a multi-media three-ring circus with the three of us as sacrificial clowns.”

  Katie’s retort was pointed. “This is much more than managing PR spin. I think we have but one choice here, Ted. We could shut down the beaches of the Sound completely until we have a handle on this. Even if Karen’s DNA analysis doesn’t prove my monster fish hypothesis, the immediate threat is still real. Those fish or whatever they are will still be swimming around, capable as ever of taking more lives. Remember, these are schooling creatures and there are most likely lots of them, not like singular and solitary rogue sharks. Knowing what perpetrated these crimes is just part one. The real issue is how do we eradicate the threat?”

  “Katie, no one is going to close the beaches without hard evidence . . . especially this coming weekend. Even with the facts, it would be a battle. I need a Plan B. I need something softer to tell the press in about thirty minutes. After that, we can deal with Albany, the county executives, and local authorities about possible beach closures. That’s not my call. That’s not our call. We are being asked to provide facts. Even the police are looking our way. Their forensic teams came up short on
this case.”

  “Look, Ted, after what I saw the other night on the beach, we have ourselves one big problem anyway we cut it. There are marine creatures out there capable of killing and feeding on humans. That’s the bottom line.”

  “Softer. Give me something softer. I need to throw the press a bone.”

  “You just might be throwing them some bone from another victim.” Katie was frustrated by the lack of hard facts and her partner sensed it.

  “How about this?” Nick said. “We make a statement that there have been a number of tragic incidents in the Long Island Sound and that we are confident this is not the work of snakeheads. Right out of the gate, we lead with an encouraging statement. Diffuse that part of the situation and take the wind out of their sails from the get-go. We add that we have very strong leads that should result in conclusive findings within the next couple of days. In the interim, we suggest that bathers refrain from swimming in the Sound or at least stay out of the water during early morning, dusk, and nighttime hours.”

  “What about the tide issue?” Ted asked.

  “We steer clear of that,” Katie replied. “It will only confuse the matter for public consumption. In my opinion, tide relevance must converge with time of day. Time and tide appear mutually dependent with regards to the attacks. So at minimum, if we keep people out of the water during critical hours of the day, we eliminate one of two key variables. I believe this will lessen the chances of further attacks. I know you want a Plan B, Ted, but the only real choice we have is to close down the beaches entirely until we figure this out. We can’t risk another injury or death.”

  “Once we go public with restricted beach access at certain times of the day we are doomed to evoke certain panic.” Ted said. “We can write the headline now: Killer Fish Prowl Long Island Sound Beaches, Eat Residents.” Ted thought: just two more years until retirement and this shit has to happen to me. “And once the Hamptons crowd sinks their teeth further into this it will be the end-of-summer cause célèbre. They’ll be making a movie before we even solve the case. But enough said. It’s time to go face the music. I’ll make the statement but you two be prepared to answer questions. And remember: be political. Don’t commit to anything and try to be vague. We want to keep this short and sweet.”

  The press had gathered in the main meeting room in the Fish and Game building on the campus of the State University. It was a packed house. Local and regional press and TV crews were in attendance. As Katie, Nick, and Ted walked to the front of the room Katie spotted Detective Spinello standing along a sidewall. Their eyes met and he winked at her. It was a roguish wink and she instantly knew this press conference was not going to be fun.

  CHAPTER 27

  Jack continued to sing along with another Willie Nelson classic, “On the Road Again.” He was in his own hypnotic musical trance when he glanced back over the transom. Jack came to immediate attention as he watched fish break the surface about three hundred yards off the back of the boat. He popped the iPod earpieces out and turned the device off. Now standing, he readied himself for the oncoming fish. He could tell they were bluefish by the way they behaved, slashing feverishly along the edges of the slick. His still-acute scout sniper eyesight focused intently on the chaotic feeding. Jack grabbed the rod rigged with the casting plug, known as a popper, and waited for the half-acre of bluefish to swim within range. He watched as they cut through the chum slick that had attracted all varieties of small baitfish. The feeding bluefish enjoyed an assorted buffet of floating chum and live prey.

  The school appeared large, perhaps as many as several hundred individual fish, and they looked big. Confirmation of that came with the first hook-up. The fish moved rapidly up the chum slick and within minutes were within range. Jack made his first cast. The white and red popping plug landed in the middle of the melee. It took just one “pop” of the plug to elicit an explosive strike. The plug was thrown far into the air as a ravenous bluefish whacked it, but missed getting hooked. No sooner had the gyrating plug landed back on the water had another fish raced toward it and engulfed the lure, tough, sharp teeth penetrating into hard plastic. There was no way bluefish would let anything escape the killing field.

  Feeling the fish’s bulk, Jack set the hook and was pleased at the substantive weight attached to the end of his line. The bluefish fought hard for its freedom and made several desperate leaps from the water, attempting to rid itself of the fraudulent bait that was hooked to its jaws. It took a few minutes before Jack was able to place a Boga grip onto the jaws of the bluefish. The Boga grip is a device that enables an angler to safely extricate a fish from the water without actually touching the fish. With bluefish, that is a good thing since the gripping device kept fingers away from menacing and dangerous teeth. The tool is also equipped with a built-in weight scale. Hoisting the fish from the water Jack read the weight at fourteen and a half pounds. Not a bad start to the day but he needed to find bigger fish if he was to be competitive in the weekend tournament.

  Jack made another cast and another bluefish of equal size pounced on the plug. As he fought the fish the free-floating line baited with a chunk of menhaden began to free spool off the reel, signaling that something had taken the bait. Jack reached over and engaged the anti-reverse lever on the reel, stopping the spool from spinning. As soon as the line tightened, the rod tip slammed downward as a big bluefish hooked itself. With two big fish on, Jack had his hands full. It got even more challenging as the third rod tip also slammed down on the gunwale. What interested Jack most was that there were fish at every level of the water column. He had checked the electronic fish finder mounted to the center console and it recorded a solid, dense mass of markings that covered the entire screen. Bait and bluefish were thick from the surface to the bottom.

  Jack fought and luckily landed all three fish, one at a time. What could have turned into folly with three big bluefish on the hook at the same time ended well. As is common with binge-feeding bluefish, each fish regurgitated stomach contents as their bodies would spasm violently in response to being removed from the water. By the time the third bluefish evacuated its last meal, the whole stern section of the boat was littered with a concoction of chum bits, partially digested sand eels and spearing, and half-bitten peanut bunker. Jack was usually diligent about quickly cleaning up this vomit mess but he was distracted by a number of other larger bluefish rocketing straight from the water out toward the outer edge of the slick. Those fish caught his attention because bluefish leaping in that fashion were not representative of typical behavior. It was if they were being chased. As quickly as the fish leapt from the water, the activity had ceased. Jack thought that very odd, but he was hopeful those larger fish would make their way back up the slick and onto his hooks.

  Jack contemplated making a move to a second spot to search for bigger fish but, rather than pull up anchor and set up all over again, he decided to give this chum slick more time to develop. There were no other boats in sight. Jack felt no urgency to conceal his findings from other fishermen. There were good-size fish around and he knew from experience the predictable progression of events. If fish were here at this stage of the tide, he thought, they would move to the second spot just as he had expected, yet, they’d cycle through his location first. He’d been through the drill many times before and knew what was coming. Jack recalled an old axiom of fishing, don’t leave fish to find fish.

  Jack’s predatory antennae were up and sensitized. Although he couldn’t explain it, he often knew of things that would happen before they actually did. Ever since he was a kid, Jack had this prescient ability and it became much more acute as he got older. Sometimes it was fun to sense what would be but at other times it was downright frightening. Like the time he was drawn back home to his first wife. Jack was on his way to Montauk to fish the surf with friends when an overwhelming sense of trepidation overcame him. He feared that all wasn’t right at home. He didn’t know precisely what was wrong but that something was seriously amiss. Although
he was far out on the eastern portion of the Island at Amagansett when the feeling came over him, he turned the old green Ford Bronco around and raced back to Port Roosevelt, He was stopped only once by the county’s finest, but when he explained the situation, the understanding officer ran interference and escorted him the last dozen or so miles from Patchogue. As they both rushed into Jack’s small colonial home, Jack’s wife, Stella, was on the bed, lips blue from lack of oxygen, and just barely breathing. She was an asthmatic. The attending ER physician at St Dominick’s Hospital told Jack his timing was not a moment too soon because his wife was on the verge of losing consciousness and would have surely died soon thereafter from the episode. From that time on, Jack always paid attention to his feelings, as bizarre as they might be. And at the moment, Jack was having one of those revelations: something very big was very near and he could feel its presence.

  The early movement of the tide drew many small baitfish to the manmade feast. Small bluefish and bass keyed on the scent and scraps. It didn’t take long for the hierarchy of nature to play out its timeless food chain scenario. Big fish eat little fish and big fish get eaten by even bigger ones. Jack was on high alert for he knew large predators were close by. He re-rigged two of the outfits with fresh bunker chunks. The strong, laser-sharpened circle hooks were large enough to hold anything he might expect to now catch. For insurance, he rigged the hooks with extra strong wire to prevent the big blues from biting through the leaders. Since most of the fish were in the mid to upper levels of the water column, Jack removed the lead weight from the rig that was fished deep on the bottom. He baited the hook so the bunker chunk floated naturally in the chum slick. Jack positioned one of the baits close to the boat and the other farther out. Each rod was placed back in a rod holder, recessed into the gunwale, one on the port side and one on the starboard side of the boat’s aft section. He kept the plugging rod at the ready in the event another casting opportunity arose. As much as he enjoyed catching big bluefish on bait, he enjoyed catching them with surface plugs even more. With all bases covered, he waited.