Swartzman told him about how the bodies were found with thinned out, iron-depleted blood. A thiobacillus infection could have sucked the iron right out of the blood and caused those internal acid burns, the professor surmised. The big hole in that theory, he acknowledged, was that thiobacillus doesn’t infect people or marine mammals. It’s not invasive bacteria-not until now, perhaps. This thiobacillus must have mutated, since the computer didn’t recognize the exact species, the professor said.
“There’s not enough sulfur or iron in the lagoon for these bacteria to thrive,” Swartzman said.
“That’s why it’s latched onto hosts-survival instinct,” Aaron said with a snarl. He imagined the microscopic organisms as mini tigers hunting for giant prey and pouncing inside their bloodstreams. “We should track down that sea turtle with all the tumors. That’s the only living infection we’ve seen.”
“Assuming he is infected, catching him won’t be easy.” Swartzman switched his phone to GPS tracking mode. He showed Aaron the timeline of its movements. In just two days, the sea turtle had coasted up to the Volusia County line, down to Sebastian and up again. That’s hundreds of miles. The professor shot Aaron a suspicious look.
“Dude, I didn’t give it a speed ball. I swear!” Aaron said.
“I know. I know.” Swartzman chuckled. “But someone helped this turtle travel in spurts as fast as 40 miles per hour.”
“So unless someone stuck a propeller up its green ass…”
“Somebody gave it a lift. But they didn’t remove it from the lagoon.”
Aaron scratched his head. “Well, if it wasn’t one of our researchers and it wasn’t someone with the state, who else does that leave? Know anybody who’s obsessed with the lagoon?” His professor responded to the obvious hint with a blank look. “Hello? It leaves the Lagoon Watcher.”
“No, no, no.” Swartzman waved his hand dismissively and turned his back on his student. He started toweling off a workstation-a task he usually left for the undergrads. “Harry would have told me if he picked up the turtle with the purple tumor.”
“Oh yeah? Judging by how he didn’t blink when we showed him the freak show, I’m guessing he’s seen plenty of them before. And he didn’t tell you squat, did he?”
Swartzman froze in the middle of his menial labor. He stared at the filthy paper towel in his hand with the chemical residue dripping from it. He chucked it into the sink as if he just realized he had been cradling a snake. The last time Aaron had seen his professor so discombobulated was when the Lagoon Watcher had brought up something that happened between him and NASA.
“Hey doc, I know the Watcher’s your bro and all…”
“He’s an independent researcher-that’s all,” Swartzman said as he scooped up his bag and flung it over his shoulder. “I’ll talk to him about this, but don’t forget that many other scientists have an interest in the lagoon and they don’t all report to me.”
“Right. I’m not saying that…”
“Exactly, you’re not saying anything,” Swartzman snapped.
Aaron bowed his head in silence. He had totally squandered that good vibe. Wipeout.
“Get some sleep,” the professor said. “Tomorrow will be a rough day-and not just for us.”
Chapter 9
Staring at her cell phone in anticipation of the call preoccupied Moni so much that she could hardly get any work done at her desk. She chewed on the end of her pen. She couldn’t read more than a paragraph of the crime scene report before her thoughts drifted. Mrs. Mint had promised she would call her if anything happened with Mariella at school.
The teacher had called her once, during lunch break, and told her Mariella seemed fine. The girl hadn’t even asked the teacher for her foster parent. Moni wondered whether the girl was handling their first prolonged separation better than she was. Mariella still hadn’t said a word, but she drew several pictures. Mrs. Mint said one was a gator, but it looked more cartoonish than threatening.
Moni doubted the teacher had told her everything. The Buckley twins wouldn’t let one knock on the head stop them from berating the class misfit. But they were the least of Moni’s fears.
Every fiber in Moni’s body told her she shouldn’t leave Mariella alone at school. She thought of the raven that had been splayed across the back windshield of her car in a fake death — like someone’s gruesome mockery of Jesus pulled from the cross and rising from the grave. Mariella had a demon on her heels and her guardian angel was stuck 25 minutes away.
When her cell phone rang, Moni banged her knee on the underside of her desk as she jumped and answered it. No one responded. She checked the number. It hadn’t been a call. The phone had reminded her of the first task force meeting over the Indian River Lagoon killer.
She stuffed a folder full of haphazard notes, so at least it looked like she had done something useful, and shuffled down the hall to the conference room. She had sat in on sexual predator task force meetings, but never for homicide. Moni had finally broken down the door of Sneed’s good ol’ boys club.
Too bad Sneed wasn’t seated in his leather chair at the head of the conference table when Moni entered with swagger, her hips and braids swinging. She notice that her grand entrance had caught the eye of a blond cutie with a lab coat fashioned around a surfing t-shirt. He reminded her of a puppy that hadn’t yet tasted red meat, just those little cardboard nuggets. When he looked her up and down with eyes as blue as the waters of Aruba, Moni saw him longing for a taste of some soul food sista’. Instead of licking his chops, he blushed.
If her ex Darren had a polar opposite, this might be it, Moni thought.
“Mm, hey there,” Moni said across the table at the gawking young man. His eyes went wide. “You look like you’re here on a field trip.”
His golden curls flopped over his ears as he laughed. “It’s something like that. But this one wasn’t in the lesson plan.”
Moni raised an eyebrow. He was a college student, an upper classman at least. Since she went straight into police training from high school, she never got the chance to go to college. It left her with regret-regret that she had stuck with Darren and didn’t sample a college guy.
“I’m Detective Monique Williams, but you can call me Moni.” She flashed a flirty smile.
“I’m Professor Herbert Swartzman, and this is my grad student Aaron Hughes,” said the middle-aged man beside the young stud. He gave Moni a gerbil-like grin in return for the fawning smile she had meant for Aaron. The professor had all the charisma and charm of a pair of bowling shoes. Apparently, he regarded himself more like fine Italian leather footwear. “I’m here from the Atlantic Marine Research Institute to steer this case in the right direction.”
“Oh, because us dumb-ass cops can’t solve this riddle, huh?” Moni asked facetiously.
Aaron nodded. “We got tired of solving crimes like manatee seagrass snatching and dolphin flipper abuse, so we’re taking a step up in class, if you know what I mean.”
“I’m sure those marine mammals are tougher than they look,” Moni said as she folded her arms. “I heard those manatees have one mean bite.”
She started laughing, but cut it out when she saw that Aaron and his professor didn’t join in. They actually believed that whopper about the rabid manatee.
“This crazy shit in the lagoon might sound like something dreamt up by a couple of tripped out dudes,” Aaron said. “But, believe me, it’s damn real.”
Professor Swartzman grumbled deep in his throat and fixed the tie that peeked out from his lab coat. Moni guessed that he didn’t appreciate anyone dubbing him a “tripped out dude.”
“What my ever-so-modest student was trying to say is that we’ll unveil something that will completely alter the DNA of this case,” Swartzman said.
“You better,” Detective Sneed huffed as he moseyed his cast-iron gut into the room and set it down in one of the two leather chairs. Nina Skillings trailed him like one of those pilot fish shadowing a great white shark. “I didn’t invite you up here to hear about your science fair project.”
“I assure you, sir, that…” the professor started.
