Prologue:
It was nearly six a.m. The darkness was yielding to the gray light of dawn. Cool, moist air wafted in a half-open window near the bed. In a sleepy fog, Paul Rakowski listened to the sounds of the morning. A car drove by on the street outside. Its distinctive mechanical drone faded as it moved off into the thinning mist. As it did, he noticed how quiet it was. He stretched his arm out across the bed, feeling for his wife. The bed beside him was empty. She often awoke well before he did, and the first thing she did was to make a pot of coffee, its aroma filling the house.
He smelled nothing.
He lay in the twilight listening for sounds of activity; a plate clattering; water running; a pantry door closing.
He heard nothing.
Perhaps she was outside, he thought, but the open window beside his bed contradicted this theory, too. What was she doing? In the silence that followed, he thought he heard the sound of breathing. He rolled over and opened his eyes to see his dog, Lady, panting heavily, looking distressed. He threw the sheet off irritably, swung his feet to the floor and pushed himself to a sitting position on the edge of the bed.
He rubbed a hand through his short-cropped hair as his attention fell on his dog, a small, smart Collie. She was a mess. Breathing heavily, opening and closing her mouth nervously, her coat was smeared with something dark; like mud, or paint, or chocolate syrup: Each idea more ridiculous than the last.
With an air of resignation he said, “Come here, Lady.” The dog remained where she was. He snapped his fingers and waved her over. “Come on Lady. Come on over here.”
The dog sat down.
Paul rubbed his face with one hand, covering his eyes. This was totally out of character for her. God knows she had no reason to fear him. He just wanted a closer look at her. He stretched an arm out in her direction. “Come on Lady. Come on girl. Come on over here.”
Lady didn’t budge.
Where was his wife? He stood up and made his way toward the kitchen. Lady backed away, then turned and scurried ahead of him, her tail between her legs. Had she dug all the flowers up from the garden? That was unlikely. It sure looked like mud in the dim light, though. What else could it be?
He entered the dining room and looked around. The back door was open. He could see the entire kitchen over the pass-through counter, the light was on, but there was no sign of his wife, and no coffee brewing. He looked out the back door and then down at lady. He’d have to take her outside, hose her down as best as possible, dry her off, take a shower, shave and be at the store by 7:45. He might have to skip the shower. One thing was certain. Marge wasn’t going to do it. Where on earth could she be? He stepped to the back door and outside. A quick glance around told him she was not in the back yard. He turned and looked back into the darkened house. Lady had remained inside, still fearful.
He took another cursory glance at the yard, snorted in disgust and stalked back into the house. He was glad that Lady scurried out of his way as he stormed into the kitchen. He would start the coffee, grab Lady by the collar and…
He stopped short. His wife was lying face-up in a crumpled heap on the kitchen floor. Paul recoiled in horror and shock. A dark pool of blood had spread out around her neck and shoulders. Lady’s blood-smeared paw prints were everywhere. He slowly knelt beside his wife’s lifeless body, and held his arms out in front of him, as if there was a shield around her body. Her eyes were open and he knew she was already dead, but he desperately wanted to embrace her one more time: to sweep her up off the floor and hold her closely just once more, for all time. He had the presence of mind to realize it was a crime scene, though. It was clear that someone had murdered her. He wondered if it was rational to worry about disturbing evidence. Short wracking sobs escaped from his throat. The murder weapon was right there on the floor next to her, one of their own carving knives. Who in the world would want to do such a thing? He felt a terrible sadness as he sat on the kitchen floor. He patted her on the chest as tears welled up in his blue eyes. He patted her tenderly on the chest, then kissed her on the forehead and closed her staring eyes with his hand.
He sat back on his haunches and stared at her for a minute, and then looked around. Lady was standing at the kitchen entrance, covered with blood! He reached out to his dog. Her compassion for Paul over-rode her fear and guilt. She walked slowly forward. When she was within reach, Paul grasped her gently by her fur and gazed at his dog searchingly. “Who could have done this Lady? Who could have done this?”
Lady responded honestly in her own fashion, and began to gently lick Pauls’ face. She had witnessed the killing and could have provided Paul with the answer, if only she could talk. She had been lying in the kitchen doorway, in a way that forced Marge to constantly step over her, when something large and hairy entered through the back door. Lady instinctively backed toward the hallway that led to the bedrooms, but didn’t utter a sound. As the creature entered, Marge didn’t move or cry out, as if confused or not really afraid. It had glided into the house with amazing speed, snatched a knife off the counter, grabbed her by her shirtfront and sliced her throat repeatedly before letting her slump to the floor.
Lady watched the whole thing in silence. She sat across the hallway entrance, prepared to raise the alarm and fight the thing to the death if it tried to enter the hallway. Lady suspected it was here for the woman, and she was right. Once the woman was dispatched, the creature dropped the knife on the floor and departed as stealthily as it had come. It never even glanced Lady’s way.
Through it all she had remained silent, and with good reason. If she had barked, Paul would have woken up. He would have tried to come to his wife’s rescue, and been killed too. No, it was better this way. Lady would just have to live with her guilt.
Chapter 1
Our story begins five days ago.
The sign on his open office door said, ‘Florida Dept. of Fish and Wildlife.’ His secretary glided in, wordlessly plopped a file on his desk, and then whisked herself out the door. His eyes followed her ass as he put the receiver back into its’ cradle. As soon as he did, it rang again, clanging loudly. He picked it up. “Frank Cruz, Fish and Wildlife. How can I help you?”
“Mr. Cruz? This is Deputy Fain with the Orange County Sheriffs Department. We need your opinion on a strange animal control problem.”
Cruz clucked. “Why don’t you call Animal Control then?”
“Well,” Fain drawled, “these animals ain’t pets, they’re farm animals, mostly.”
“Mostly? Well why not have the farmers round them up, it’s their responsibility.”
There was a pause on the line. “That’s the thing, they’re not all farm animals. Some of them are wild.”
“I’m not sure I follow you Deputy. Is this a bunch of circus animals?”
There was another pause. “No, no we have procedures for that. This is—much more complicated. To tell you the truth, we didn’t know who else to call.”
Two hours later, Frank Cruz was sitting in the front seat of a four-seat helicopter on the tarmac, ready for takeoff. Deputy Fain was shouting something at him from the back seat. “Like I said, I’d rather have you see it for yourself.”
“I don’t know why you can’t just explain it to me!”
“Just wait until you see it. Then we’ll talk. It’s pretty weird.”
The pilot was wearing a pair of amber aviator glasses and a blue cap with radio headphones clipped over his ears that scrunched the hat down in the middle. Above the bill were the words Navy Seal. Frank thought, ‘Why is he flying a helicopter if he’s a Navy Seal? Shouldn’t he be swimming or something?’ He said, “Did I mention that I don’t like to fly?”
The pilot, ‘Captain Seal,’ leaned over toward Frank and said, “You all right?”
Without any hesitation, Frank said, “No!”
The pilot nodded at Frank, gave him a big toothy grin, a thumbs up sign, and then did whatever it takes to make helicopters fly.
As they rose, the pilot turned the chopper toward the Northwest, leveled off at 500 feet and scooted along at about 100 miles an hour. After an uneventful, if nerve-wracking, fifteen-minute flight, the pilot brought the chopper to a hover above a small farm. The property was dotted with a trailer, some sheds, a barn, a couple of passenger vehicles and a large tanker truck of some kind. Sitting not far from the buildings on the fenced in property, was a large pond. Gathered around and near the pond was an accumulation of animals the likes of which Frank Cruz had never seen before. They surrounded the pond on all sides, and some animals had waded into the shallows near the bank. He turned to the pilot and asked if he could take them lower.
The pilot shook his head, but pulled a pair of binoculars out of a glove box and passed them over. Then he rotated the chopper around so that his passenger could get a better view. Frank wasn’t sure what was happening here, but he saw an impossible number and variety of animals brushing shoulders, jostling against one another and drinking from the pond. There were bears down there, and deer and cows and pigs. This was a group of animals of every local variety, congregating at the same watering hole; many of which, under normal circumstances, would literally, not be caught dead in the company of the others. Unusual, he thought, but not unheard of, is it? He turned and looked questioningly at Deputy Fain. “Is that it?”
The deputy twitched in surprise, and then smacked the pilot on the upper arm. “Take us up, Scotty.”
The pilot nodded and increased the throttle, lifting them straight up: six, seven, eight hundred feet and still rising. The chopper had a glass-bubble cockpit and the view was spectacular. It was a cloudless day, a clear blue sky and low humidity allowed for excellent visibility; and the topography was flat as a flounder in every direction. The deputy leaned forward between the front seats and pointed out the windshield as they continued to ascend beyond 1200 feet. “There!” He said as he pointed. “And there, and there, and there! Over there!” With each exclamation, his arm swept to a different compass point, and in every direction he pointed, Frank could see groups of animals heading toward the location directly below them. His lips mouthed a silent oath as he raised the binoculars and scanned the horizon. It appeared as though animals from as far as the eye could see, were either descending on, or departing from the little homestead below them. “Alright. Take us down, I mean back.” He turned to the deputy. “What the hell do you think is going on?”
The deputy shrugged dramatically in the drone of the choppers engines. “We have no idea. We were wondering if you knew.” His lips seemed to say.
Frank leaned towards the space between the front seats and cupped his hands. “Something in the pond water?”
The deputy shook his head. “Don’t know.”
The engine whine subsided somewhat as the pilot let the chopper sink a little in the sky.
“Did you have the water tested?”
“Nope. Can’t.” The deputy responded.
“Why not?”
“Too many animals. Can’t get near the place.”
“Did you contact the owner?”
The deputy shook his head.
“Why not? Who is he?”
“Just some guy with a septic pumping business.”
Cruz handed the binoculars back to the pilot. “Did you contact him?”
The deputy shook his head. “He doesn’t answer his phone.”
He smelled nothing.
He lay in the twilight listening for sounds of activity; a plate clattering; water running; a pantry door closing.
He heard nothing.
Perhaps she was outside, he thought, but the open window beside his bed contradicted this theory, too. What was she doing? In the silence that followed, he thought he heard the sound of breathing. He rolled over and opened his eyes to see his dog, Lady, panting heavily, looking distressed. He threw the sheet off irritably, swung his feet to the floor and pushed himself to a sitting position on the edge of the bed.
He rubbed a hand through his short-cropped hair as his attention fell on his dog, a small, smart Collie. She was a mess. Breathing heavily, opening and closing her mouth nervously, her coat was smeared with something dark; like mud, or paint, or chocolate syrup: Each idea more ridiculous than the last.
With an air of resignation he said, “Come here, Lady.” The dog remained where she was. He snapped his fingers and waved her over. “Come on Lady. Come on over here.”
The dog sat down.
Paul rubbed his face with one hand, covering his eyes. This was totally out of character for her. God knows she had no reason to fear him. He just wanted a closer look at her. He stretched an arm out in her direction. “Come on Lady. Come on girl. Come on over here.”
Lady didn’t budge.
Where was his wife? He stood up and made his way toward the kitchen. Lady backed away, then turned and scurried ahead of him, her tail between her legs. Had she dug all the flowers up from the garden? That was unlikely. It sure looked like mud in the dim light, though. What else could it be?
He entered the dining room and looked around. The back door was open. He could see the entire kitchen over the pass-through counter, the light was on, but there was no sign of his wife, and no coffee brewing. He looked out the back door and then down at lady. He’d have to take her outside, hose her down as best as possible, dry her off, take a shower, shave and be at the store by 7:45. He might have to skip the shower. One thing was certain. Marge wasn’t going to do it. Where on earth could she be? He stepped to the back door and outside. A quick glance around told him she was not in the back yard. He turned and looked back into the darkened house. Lady had remained inside, still fearful.
He took another cursory glance at the yard, snorted in disgust and stalked back into the house. He was glad that Lady scurried out of his way as he stormed into the kitchen. He would start the coffee, grab Lady by the collar and…
He stopped short. His wife was lying face-up in a crumpled heap on the kitchen floor. Paul recoiled in horror and shock. A dark pool of blood had spread out around her neck and shoulders. Lady’s blood-smeared paw prints were everywhere. He slowly knelt beside his wife’s lifeless body, and held his arms out in front of him, as if there was a shield around her body. Her eyes were open and he knew she was already dead, but he desperately wanted to embrace her one more time: to sweep her up off the floor and hold her closely just once more, for all time. He had the presence of mind to realize it was a crime scene, though. It was clear that someone had murdered her. He wondered if it was rational to worry about disturbing evidence. Short wracking sobs escaped from his throat. The murder weapon was right there on the floor next to her, one of their own carving knives. Who in the world would want to do such a thing? He felt a terrible sadness as he sat on the kitchen floor. He patted her on the chest as tears welled up in his blue eyes. He patted her tenderly on the chest, then kissed her on the forehead and closed her staring eyes with his hand.
He sat back on his haunches and stared at her for a minute, and then looked around. Lady was standing at the kitchen entrance, covered with blood! He reached out to his dog. Her compassion for Paul over-rode her fear and guilt. She walked slowly forward. When she was within reach, Paul grasped her gently by her fur and gazed at his dog searchingly. “Who could have done this Lady? Who could have done this?”
Lady responded honestly in her own fashion, and began to gently lick Pauls’ face. She had witnessed the killing and could have provided Paul with the answer, if only she could talk. She had been lying in the kitchen doorway, in a way that forced Marge to constantly step over her, when something large and hairy entered through the back door. Lady instinctively backed toward the hallway that led to the bedrooms, but didn’t utter a sound. As the creature entered, Marge didn’t move or cry out, as if confused or not really afraid. It had glided into the house with amazing speed, snatched a knife off the counter, grabbed her by her shirtfront and sliced her throat repeatedly before letting her slump to the floor.
Lady watched the whole thing in silence. She sat across the hallway entrance, prepared to raise the alarm and fight the thing to the death if it tried to enter the hallway. Lady suspected it was here for the woman, and she was right. Once the woman was dispatched, the creature dropped the knife on the floor and departed as stealthily as it had come. It never even glanced Lady’s way.
Through it all she had remained silent, and with good reason. If she had barked, Paul would have woken up. He would have tried to come to his wife’s rescue, and been killed too. No, it was better this way. Lady would just have to live with her guilt.
Chapter 1
Our story begins five days ago.
The sign on his open office door said, ‘Florida Dept. of Fish and Wildlife.’ His secretary glided in, wordlessly plopped a file on his desk, and then whisked herself out the door. His eyes followed her ass as he put the receiver back into its’ cradle. As soon as he did, it rang again, clanging loudly. He picked it up. “Frank Cruz, Fish and Wildlife. How can I help you?”
“Mr. Cruz? This is Deputy Fain with the Orange County Sheriffs Department. We need your opinion on a strange animal control problem.”
Cruz clucked. “Why don’t you call Animal Control then?”
“Well,” Fain drawled, “these animals ain’t pets, they’re farm animals, mostly.”
“Mostly? Well why not have the farmers round them up, it’s their responsibility.”
There was a pause on the line. “That’s the thing, they’re not all farm animals. Some of them are wild.”
“I’m not sure I follow you Deputy. Is this a bunch of circus animals?”
There was another pause. “No, no we have procedures for that. This is—much more complicated. To tell you the truth, we didn’t know who else to call.”
Two hours later, Frank Cruz was sitting in the front seat of a four-seat helicopter on the tarmac, ready for takeoff. Deputy Fain was shouting something at him from the back seat. “Like I said, I’d rather have you see it for yourself.”
“I don’t know why you can’t just explain it to me!”
“Just wait until you see it. Then we’ll talk. It’s pretty weird.”
The pilot was wearing a pair of amber aviator glasses and a blue cap with radio headphones clipped over his ears that scrunched the hat down in the middle. Above the bill were the words Navy Seal. Frank thought, ‘Why is he flying a helicopter if he’s a Navy Seal? Shouldn’t he be swimming or something?’ He said, “Did I mention that I don’t like to fly?”
The pilot, ‘Captain Seal,’ leaned over toward Frank and said, “You all right?”
Without any hesitation, Frank said, “No!”
The pilot nodded at Frank, gave him a big toothy grin, a thumbs up sign, and then did whatever it takes to make helicopters fly.
As they rose, the pilot turned the chopper toward the Northwest, leveled off at 500 feet and scooted along at about 100 miles an hour. After an uneventful, if nerve-wracking, fifteen-minute flight, the pilot brought the chopper to a hover above a small farm. The property was dotted with a trailer, some sheds, a barn, a couple of passenger vehicles and a large tanker truck of some kind. Sitting not far from the buildings on the fenced in property, was a large pond. Gathered around and near the pond was an accumulation of animals the likes of which Frank Cruz had never seen before. They surrounded the pond on all sides, and some animals had waded into the shallows near the bank. He turned to the pilot and asked if he could take them lower.
The pilot shook his head, but pulled a pair of binoculars out of a glove box and passed them over. Then he rotated the chopper around so that his passenger could get a better view. Frank wasn’t sure what was happening here, but he saw an impossible number and variety of animals brushing shoulders, jostling against one another and drinking from the pond. There were bears down there, and deer and cows and pigs. This was a group of animals of every local variety, congregating at the same watering hole; many of which, under normal circumstances, would literally, not be caught dead in the company of the others. Unusual, he thought, but not unheard of, is it? He turned and looked questioningly at Deputy Fain. “Is that it?”
The deputy twitched in surprise, and then smacked the pilot on the upper arm. “Take us up, Scotty.”
The pilot nodded and increased the throttle, lifting them straight up: six, seven, eight hundred feet and still rising. The chopper had a glass-bubble cockpit and the view was spectacular. It was a cloudless day, a clear blue sky and low humidity allowed for excellent visibility; and the topography was flat as a flounder in every direction. The deputy leaned forward between the front seats and pointed out the windshield as they continued to ascend beyond 1200 feet. “There!” He said as he pointed. “And there, and there, and there! Over there!” With each exclamation, his arm swept to a different compass point, and in every direction he pointed, Frank could see groups of animals heading toward the location directly below them. His lips mouthed a silent oath as he raised the binoculars and scanned the horizon. It appeared as though animals from as far as the eye could see, were either descending on, or departing from the little homestead below them. “Alright. Take us down, I mean back.” He turned to the deputy. “What the hell do you think is going on?”
The deputy shrugged dramatically in the drone of the choppers engines. “We have no idea. We were wondering if you knew.” His lips seemed to say.
Frank leaned towards the space between the front seats and cupped his hands. “Something in the pond water?”
The deputy shook his head. “Don’t know.”
The engine whine subsided somewhat as the pilot let the chopper sink a little in the sky.
“Did you have the water tested?”
“Nope. Can’t.” The deputy responded.
“Why not?”
“Too many animals. Can’t get near the place.”
“Did you contact the owner?”
The deputy shook his head.
“Why not? Who is he?”
“Just some guy with a septic pumping business.”
Cruz handed the binoculars back to the pilot. “Did you contact him?”
The deputy shook his head. “He doesn’t answer his phone.”