Suspicious

  “What is it?” Lars asked.

  “Got a glove and an evidence bag?”

  “Yeah.”

  Lars came over to him, slipping his hand into a glove. Jesse pointed to the grass. Lars reached for what appeared to be a branch.

  “That?” he inquired. “Jesse, it’s just a tree limb.”

  “No, it isn’t.”

  “Then, what the hell…?”

  “It’s a gator arm,” Jesse said. “From one damn big gator.”

  “A gator arm? What the hell do I want with a gator arm?”

  “I don’t know, but where’s the rest of the body?”

  “It looks like it was sliced off.”

  “I think the rest of the body was moved, and then this arm tore off.”

  “But…” Lars began.

  “But why? And just where the hell is the rest of the body?”

  Lars shook his head. “Maybe…”

  “Maybe a dead gator and the murder have nothing to do with each other,” Jesse said. “And maybe they do.”

  “Well, they shouldn’t have anything to do with each other,” Lars said. “Hell. I can’t believe that someone out alligator-poaching would murder two people in cold blood just because he was seen. I mean, it’s not as if we execute people for killing gators out of season without a license.”

  “No, it’s not,” Jesse agreed. He looked at Lars and shrugged. “But what else is there? Like Jimmy said, there are bullets, there’s a time of death…but where the hell is a motive? You’re not going to get prints, no fluids for DNA…that’s all you’ve got—an alligator arm.”

  “I’ve got nothing,” Lars said hollowly.

  “Maybe. Maybe not. Send the gator limb to Dr. Thiessen. See what you can get, if anything.”

  “Of course we’ll get it to the vet,” Lars said impatiently. “Because you’re right. I haven’t got anything else. And I’m damned sorry that I may have to tell a young woman who loved her parents that I can’t begin to explain why they’re dead, except that maybe her mother saw an alligator poacher in the backyard!”

  “Lars, you tell me. What else is there?” Jesse said. “This kind of killing looks like an execution, as if it were connected to drugs. But it wasn’t. I’d bet my life on that. I’m telling you, Lars, I knew these people. They were bone clean.”

  “They must have seen something, then. They must have known something, but…you’re sure? I mean, sometimes we think we know people, but they’re living double lives.”

  “No. I knew them, Lars.”

  “All right. Maybe the daughter can help us.”

  “I doubt it. But I’ll go with you. I’ll talk to her with you. But, Lars, after today…you’ll keep me informed on this one all the way, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “No matter what goes on in Homicide?”

  “Yes!”

  “Swear it?”

  Lars looked at him, arching a brow. “We’re already blood brothers,” he reminded him with a rueful grimace.

  Jesse stared at him, shaking his head. Yeah. Forever ago, when they had been young and going to college.

  Strangely, or so it seemed now, their college mascot had been an alligator.

  They had both pledged the same fraternity. It had been during that period that they’d been out drinking together and Lars had gotten into the blood brother thing, having seen one too many John Wayne movies, Jesse decided.

  “Yeah, blood brothers,” Jesse returned, surprised that he could almost smile, even if that smile was grim.

  “Jesse, the only thing—”

  “I won’t go off half cocked to shoot to kill if I find out who did it. I’m a cop. I’ll bring them in.”

  Lars watched him for a moment. Jesse locked his jaw, staring back at his friend. Maybe Lars had the right to doubt him. When Connie had died…

  Fate had kept him from killing the man who had murdered her. But there had been no question in his mind that, given the chance, he might well have committed murder himself in turn, so great had been his rage.

  “I’m telling you, I’ll be a by-the-book lawman.” He shook his head, sobering. “They didn’t deserve this, Lars.”

  “I swear, I will keep you up on what’s happening. I’ll have to—the killer or killers probably came from the swamp and maybe ran back that way. We’ll have lots of our guys in your territory.”

  “I’ll brief my men, as well.”

  “Get a warning out to them right away.”

  “Will do.”

  “You want to take this piece of gator over to Doc Thiessen?” Lars asked him. “You’re more familiar with the damn things than I am.” He didn’t add, Jesse noticed, that he was probably also far more convinced than Lars was that the alligator remains might have something to do with the case.

  They started back toward the house. Jesse found himself pausing by Maria’s body. The forensic photographers were still at work. He looked into her eyes. In Metro Homicide, he’d seen a lot. A bullet was a fairly quick, clean way to die. He’d seen mutilations that had turned even his strong stomach.

  But this…

  He’d seen her face alight and beautiful when she’d smiled.

  “Jesse, quit looking at her,” Lars said.

  “Yeah. Well, I’ll inform the office, then get out there looking for Billy Ray Hare.”

  “Billy Ray? You don’t think—”

  “That Billy Ray killed these two? Not on your life. Billy Ray may be a drunk, and he may not be a prime husband, but he keeps to himself and wouldn’t step outside the area he’s accustomed to. And he’d also be too damned drunk to make it this far by that time of night. I’ve got work to do, and so do you. I’ll meet you at two so we can get to the airport. Where?”

  “The restaurant at the turnpike entrance.”

  “I’ll be there,” Jesse said.

  When he left, his first stop was the vet’s. Dr. Thorne Thiessen was a rare man, pleased to live deep in the Everglades, and fascinated more by birds and reptiles than the more cuddly creatures customarily kept as pets. He was such an expert with snakes that people traveled down from Palm Beach County, a good hour or so away, to bring him their pythons and boas, king snakes, rat snakes and more.

  He was in his early fifties, both blond and bronzed, almost as weathered as some of the creatures he tended with such keen interest. He was just finishing with a little boy and his turtle when Jesse arrived, bearing the alligator limb.

  He looked at Jesse with surprise. “People usually call on me with living creatures, you know.”

  “Yeah, but Metro-Dade and I both think you can help on this one. You are the reptile expert. You can make some preliminary findings, then pass some samples upstate. Hopefully, someone will figure something out.”

  Thiessen had been smiling; now he frowned. “What have you got?”

  “What do you think?”

  “I think it’s a piece of an alligator.”

  “Great.”

  “No, no, I can do tissue and blood samples, do a profile…and get samples upstate, just like you suggested, but why?”

  Jesse explained. Thiessen stared at him for long moments. “And you found this at the scene?”

  “Yes.”

  “Jesse…”

  Jesse sighed. “They weren’t into drugs.”

  “Still, they might have witnessed an exchange in the Everglades, or, hell, God forbid, another murder.”

  “They might have. But this is what we’ve got for now.”

  Thiessen shrugged. “Big sucker,” he said.

  “Yep,” Jesse agreed.

  “I’ll do what I can,” Thiessen promised.

  Jesse thanked him. In the waiting room, he looked for Jim Hidalgo, who worked for the vet, but then he remembered that Jim worked nights.

  The man at the desk was a big guy, John Smith. He was so big, in fact, that he was almost apelike. Jesse didn’t remember when he hadn’t been with the vet.

  Good man to have on, Jesse thought. Big enough to c
ope with any animal out there.

  At least, almost any animal out there.

  He grunted to Jesse in a combination of hello and goodbye.

  Come to think of it, a grunt was the only conversation Jesse had ever shared with the man.

  He waved and went out.

  “Look into the eyes of death! Stare into the burning pits of monster hell. See what it would have been like to face the hunger and rage of a carnivore older than the mighty Tyrannosaurus rex! Ah, but, believe it or not, once upon a Triassic age, this was an even more ferocious and terrifying creature, in fact, one that made minced meat of the mighty dinosaurs themselves.” Michael Preston paused for effect as he talked to the small, wriggling creature he held in his right hand.

  The week-old hatchling let out a strange little squeaking sound, its jaws opening, then snapping shut. The eyes were yellow with central stripes of black. It was small, almost cute in a weird sort of way, but the mouth shut with a pressure that was chilling, despite its size.

  The hatchling began squealing and wriggling again.

  “Loudmouth,” Michael said, shrugging. He liked the fact that the American alligator made noise. Noise was good. Noise was warning. “But you are being awfully dramatic here,” he told the hatchling. “Okay, so I’m a little dramatic myself. Because I hate tour groups,” he grumbled.

  Even as he slipped the hatchling back into its tank, the door to his lab opened and Lorena entered.

  “Watch out—the monsters are coming,” she warned.

  Michael arched a brow. “Monsters,” she whispered, emphasizing the warning. Then she turned, a beautiful smile plastered on her face as she allowed room for the tour group to enter. Ten in all, a full tour: two young couples, perhaps on their way to register for college, maybe on honeymoon. They looked like ecology-minded types, surveying the wonder of the Everglades. There was an attractive, elderly woman, probably a widow, seeing the Sunshine State now that old Harvey or whoever had finally bitten the dust. Then there was a harried-looking couple with three boys who looked to be about twelve. The woman had once been pretty. The man had a good smile and looked like a decent father. The boys seemed to be the monsters. They walked right up to his lab table, barged against it, then leaned on it, peering into his tanks and petri dishes.

  “Uh, uh, uh—back now,” Michael said, frowning at Lorena as if she might have forgotten to warn her group that the tour was hands-off. She shrugged innocently and grinned back with a combination of mischief and amusement. No doubt the boys had been a handful since they’d started their tour. Actually, Lorena wasn’t responsible for leading tours. She was a trouper, though. She seemed to like to be in the middle of things; when there were no injuries or sniffles to attend to, her work was probably boring. And it wasn’t as if there were a dozen malls or movie theaters in the area to keep her busy.

  “Back, boys,” he repeated. “Even hatchlings can be dangerous.”

  “Those little things? What can they do?” demanded the biggest boy as he stuck his hand into the tank with the week-old hatchlings.

  Michael grabbed his hand with a no-nonsense grip that seemed to surprise the boy.

  “They can bite,” Michael said firmly.

  “Mark Henson, stand back and behave, now,” the boy’s obviously stressed mother said, stepping forward to set a hand on Mark’s shoulders. “We’re guests here. The doctor has asked you—”

  “He ain’t no doctor—are you?” the boy demanded.

  The woman shot Michael an apologetic look. “I’m so sorry. Mark is my son Ben’s cousin, and I don’t think he gets out very often.”

  “It’s all right,” Michael said. He was lying. Mark was a brat. “Mark seems to be very curious. Yes, Mark, I am a doctor. I have a doctorate in marine science. Salt- and freshwater reptiles are my specialty. I also studied biochemistry, animal behavior and psychology, so trust me, hatchlings can give you a nasty bite. Especially these hatchlings.”

  “Why those hatchlings?” Mark demanded immediately.

  Because we breed them especially to chew up nasty little rugrats like you! he was tempted to say. But Lorena was already answering for him.

  “Because they’re tough little critters, survivors,” Lorena said flatly. “Ladies and gentlemen, Dr. Preston is in charge of our selective-breeding department. He knows a tremendous amount about crocodilians, past and present. He’ll tell you all about his work now—for those interested in hearing,” she finished with just the slightest edge of warning in her voice for the boys. They stared at her as she spoke, surveying her intently. No wonder she was glad to let the group heckle him now. Lorena was an exceptionally attractive woman with lush hair, brilliant eyes, and a build that not even a lab coat could hide.

  The two older boys were at that age when they were just going into adolescence, a state when squeaky sopranos erupted every ten minutes, and sexual fantasies began. And they were obviously having a few of those over Lorena. She made a face at Michael and surprised him by slipping quickly from his lab. Well, she didn’t have to be here, he told himself. It wasn’t her job. But she’d seemed fascinated by everything here ever since she’d arrived.

  Even him.

  Not that he minded.

  Except that…

  She was bright. And really beautiful. So what was she doing out here?

  She was good with people, he would definitely give her that. The complete opposite of the way he felt. He hated having to deal with people.

  He gave the boys a sudden, ever-so-slightly malicious smile. “Well, gentlemen, let me introduce you more fully to these hatchlings. Alligators, as you might have heard already, date back to prehistoric times. They didn’t descend from the dinosaurs. They were actually cousins to them. They shared common ancestors known as thecodonts. And way back in the late Cretaceous period, there was a creature called Deinosuchus—a distant relative of these guys—with a head that was six feet in length. Imagine that fellow opening his jaws on you. True crocodilians have been around for about two million years. They’re fantastic survivors. They have no natural enemies—”

  “That’s not true!” Mark announced. “I saw a program on alligators and crocs. An anaconda can eat an alligator, I saw it. You could see the shape of the alligator in the snake. Man, it was cool—”

  “We don’t have anacondas in the Everglades,” Michael said, gritting his teeth hard before he could continue. “Birds, snakes and small mammals eat alligator eggs, and it’s easy for hatchlings to be picked off, but once it’s reached a certain size, an alligator really only has one enemy here. And that’s…?”

  He let the question trail off, arching a brow toward Mark. He looked like a jock. Probably played football or basketball, at the very least. He liked to talk, but he didn’t seem to have the answer to this one.

  “Man,” said one of the boys. He was thinner than his companion, with enormous dark eyes and long hair that fell over his forehead. Nice-looking kid. Shy, maybe, more of a bookish type than Mark. “Man is the only enemy of a grown alligator in the Everglades.”

  “That’s right,” Michael said, an honest smile curving his lips. He could tell that this kid had a real interest in learning. “You’re Ben?” Michael asked.

  The boy nodded. He pulled the third kid up beside him. “This is my other cousin, Josh.”

  “Josh, Ben and Mark.”

  “Do we get to see the alligators eat a deer or something?” Mark asked.

  “Sorry, you don’t get to see them eat any living creatures here, kid. The juveniles and adults out in the pools and pens are fed chicken.”

  “They’re so cool,” Ben said, his brown eyes wide on Michael.

  Michael nodded. “Yep, they’re incredible. Alligators were near extinction here when I was young, but then they became protected. The alligator has made one of the most incredible comebacks in the world, mainly because of farms like this, but also in the wild. They look ugly, and they certainly can be fearsome creatures, but they have their place in the scheme of life, as w
ell, keeping down the populations of other animals, often weeding out the sick and injured because they’re easy prey.”

  “I think they’re horrible creatures,” Ben’s mother said with a shudder.

  “Some people hate spiders—but spiders keep down insect populations. And lots of people hate snakes, but snakes are largely responsible for controlling rodent populations,” Michael said.

  “What’s that mean?” Mark asked.

  “It means we’d be overrun by rats if it weren’t for snakes,” Ben answered, then flushed, staring at Michael.

  “That’s exactly what it means,” Michael said.

  “What do you do here, Dr. Preston?” the third kid, cousin Josh, asked.

  “That’s easy. He’s a baby doctor for the alligators,” Mark insisted.

  “I study the growth patterns of alligators,” Michael said. “We raise alligators here, but this is far from a petting zoo. We farm alligators just like some people farm beef cattle. We bring tourists in—and other scientists, by the way, to learn from the work we do here—but the owners are in this for the same reason other farmers work with animals. For the money. Alligators are valuable for their skins, and, more and more, for their meat.”

  “Tastes like chicken,” Mark said.

  “That’s what some people say,” Michael agreed, bristling inside at the boy’s know-it-all attitude. “They’re a good food source. The meat is nutritious, and little of the animal goes to waste. We’re always working on methods to make the skin more resilient, the meat tastier and even more nutritious. By selective breeding and using of the scientific method, we can create skins that improve upon what nature made nearly perfect to begin with.”

  “Perfect?” Ben’s mother said with a shudder. Her husband slipped an arm around her.

  “They make great boots,” he said cheerfully.

  “Belts, purses and other stuff, too,” Ben supplied.

  “You’ll see more of that as your tour progresses,” Michael said. “I’ll tell you a bit more about what goes on in here, then you can watch them eat, Mark, and at the end, guess what?”

  “We can all buy boots, belts and purses made out of alligator skin?” one of the young women inquired with a pleasant smile.