wouldn’t have drawn in time. Much like Darren had
left his message against her door earlier, someone else had left a message for
the girl. Darren wanted Moni back. Someone even more sinister wanted Mariella.
Chapter 5
Fish
don’t have eyelids, but their eyes can still grow wide, and bug out all red.
That described the look of the several hundred fish that floated lifelessly on
their sides in the Indian River Lagoon. Their mouths and gills were extended
painfully in a final gasp for oxygen rich water. Some of them had shiny red
burns on their scales and fins.
“Total
bummer,” Aaron Hughes said as he surveyed the fish kill from the skiff motoring
by. “At least the birds won’t go hungry.”
Piloting
the craft with his glasses on, Professor Herbert Swartzman didn’t dignify him
with a response. After he lost the sea turtle with the purple tumor, his
professor had been on his case like sand between the cracks at a nudist beach.
He asked half the students in the institute to join him and the Water
Management District researcher on this mission, but only Aaron had the cahones
for it once word of the lagoon serial killer spread.
“This
is the second fish kill this month, and it’s twice as bad as the last one up in
Cape Canaveral,” said Laura Heingartner, a freckle-faced blond who surveyed the
water quality in the lagoon for the Water Management District. As they sailed
between Melbourne and Cocoa, the air control tower of Patrick Air Force Base on
the beachside was visible on the far side of Merritt Island, which sat smack in
the middle of the lagoon.
“It’s
weird because the fish kills are so rare in the lagoon,” said Heingartner, who
came suited for action in a wetsuit. She must have been ten years younger than
the 50-something Swartzman, who came in khaki shorts and a polo shirt. Aaron
figured that 50 must be the cut-off point for getting muddy finger nails for
scientists. “I can usually tie it to an algae breakout or a sewage leak. I
haven’t found any of that yet. But the lagoon’s pH is reading out far from
normal.”
With
pockets of low pH making the water more acidic, she warned that shell fish,
clams and seagrass could suffer damage. Since sea turtles love chomping down on
seagrass and that green treat could potentially cause their illness, Swartzman
decided they’d accompany Heingartner on her seagrass survey dive.
Before
they could strap on their snorkels, Aaron found some peculiar scenery above
water. They approached a Coast Guard vessel with its tow line hooked around a
capsized skiff. Its propellers were all bent and bloody. As Swartzman steered
his boat wide of it, the white-suited officers cranked the line and flipped the
skiff upright. The vessel had been cleaned out. Even the metal seats, which
looked like they had been bolted down, were gone.
“No
way!” Aaron exclaimed. “Is that the…”
“Yes,
yes. That’s the boat of the murder victim they found yesterday morning,”
Swartzman said. “They would have removed it earlier, but the afternoon
thunderstorm prevented them.”
“And
you know that because?” he asked.
“The
lead detective called me about it. He couldn’t figure out what animal had bit
the man before he died. I could.” Swartzman sounded so full of himself that his
head nearly floated off. “Not that I blame him. You don’t see many manatee
bites.”
“A
manatee? That’s a good one,” Heingartner said with a chuckle.
“Dude,
manatees don’t bite,” Aaron said. “You could ride one like a surfboard and he’d
be like ‘Uh, whatever, amigo.’”
“The
detective didn’t believe it either, so I’m going down there tomorrow with a set
of manatee jaws to show him,” Swartzman said. “I’ll take a look at that boat
later and see if the victim struck a manatee.”
“Let
me get this straight: the guy mows over a manatee so the riled up sea cow
flipped his boat, took a bite outta him and then cut off his head?”
left his message against her door earlier, someone else had left a message for
the girl. Darren wanted Moni back. Someone even more sinister wanted Mariella.
Chapter 5
Fish
don’t have eyelids, but their eyes can still grow wide, and bug out all red.
That described the look of the several hundred fish that floated lifelessly on
their sides in the Indian River Lagoon. Their mouths and gills were extended
painfully in a final gasp for oxygen rich water. Some of them had shiny red
burns on their scales and fins.
“Total
bummer,” Aaron Hughes said as he surveyed the fish kill from the skiff motoring
by. “At least the birds won’t go hungry.”
Piloting
the craft with his glasses on, Professor Herbert Swartzman didn’t dignify him
with a response. After he lost the sea turtle with the purple tumor, his
professor had been on his case like sand between the cracks at a nudist beach.
He asked half the students in the institute to join him and the Water
Management District researcher on this mission, but only Aaron had the cahones
for it once word of the lagoon serial killer spread.
“This
is the second fish kill this month, and it’s twice as bad as the last one up in
Cape Canaveral,” said Laura Heingartner, a freckle-faced blond who surveyed the
water quality in the lagoon for the Water Management District. As they sailed
between Melbourne and Cocoa, the air control tower of Patrick Air Force Base on
the beachside was visible on the far side of Merritt Island, which sat smack in
the middle of the lagoon.
“It’s
weird because the fish kills are so rare in the lagoon,” said Heingartner, who
came suited for action in a wetsuit. She must have been ten years younger than
the 50-something Swartzman, who came in khaki shorts and a polo shirt. Aaron
figured that 50 must be the cut-off point for getting muddy finger nails for
scientists. “I can usually tie it to an algae breakout or a sewage leak. I
haven’t found any of that yet. But the lagoon’s pH is reading out far from
normal.”
With
pockets of low pH making the water more acidic, she warned that shell fish,
clams and seagrass could suffer damage. Since sea turtles love chomping down on
seagrass and that green treat could potentially cause their illness, Swartzman
decided they’d accompany Heingartner on her seagrass survey dive.
Before
they could strap on their snorkels, Aaron found some peculiar scenery above
water. They approached a Coast Guard vessel with its tow line hooked around a
capsized skiff. Its propellers were all bent and bloody. As Swartzman steered
his boat wide of it, the white-suited officers cranked the line and flipped the
skiff upright. The vessel had been cleaned out. Even the metal seats, which
looked like they had been bolted down, were gone.
“No
way!” Aaron exclaimed. “Is that the…”
“Yes,
yes. That’s the boat of the murder victim they found yesterday morning,”
Swartzman said. “They would have removed it earlier, but the afternoon
thunderstorm prevented them.”
“And
you know that because?” he asked.
“The
lead detective called me about it. He couldn’t figure out what animal had bit
the man before he died. I could.” Swartzman sounded so full of himself that his
head nearly floated off. “Not that I blame him. You don’t see many manatee
bites.”
“A
manatee? That’s a good one,” Heingartner said with a chuckle.
“Dude,
manatees don’t bite,” Aaron said. “You could ride one like a surfboard and he’d
be like ‘Uh, whatever, amigo.’”
“The
detective didn’t believe it either, so I’m going down there tomorrow with a set
of manatee jaws to show him,” Swartzman said. “I’ll take a look at that boat
later and see if the victim struck a manatee.”
“Let
me get this straight: the guy mows over a manatee so the riled up sea cow
flipped his boat, took a bite outta him and then cut off his head?”
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