“So, yeah, sure, if you knew your way around out there in those canals, which I understand Levine did, and if she’s keeping good records, a running total of what nests have eggs and when they were laid, I assume she could’ve made a good guess where to go on any given night. It’s not foolproof, but it’s neither of the things you said. It’s not happening all over the place and it’s not one in a million.”
“You ever meet Levine?”
“Heard about her, never met her.”
“What’d you hear?”
“Knew her business. Not just crocs either. She was our own Jacques Cousteau, quite the environmental campaigner. Plus she gave the power company a shitload of good PR. Did a lot of TV; whenever they needed an expert on crocs or gators, Leslie got the call. Very media-friendly face.”
“Unlike yours.”
“I’ve always been happy in the shadows.” Greening froze the video with Prince holding the arm up to the camera. “Who’s the steroid freak?”
“Cameron Prince, Prince Key.”
“Oh, so that’s the kid.”
“You know him?”
“Met his granddad once. Back in the day, he was Miami upper crust.”
Both were silent, looking at the frozen image of Cameron Prince.
“And that severed arm? What do you make of it?”
“It’s bullshit.”
“Because there’s no tool marks? No blood?”
“Well, there’s that. Hell, I’m no medical guy, so I can’t say absolutely. To me it doesn’t look real, but, hey, the picture quality is crap. Reason it’s bullshit is because no croc is going after somebody like that. It just flat isn’t going to happen. Even a mother with her hatchlings, she’s protective, yeah, on alert. She might snarl or do a quick face-off. But even then, you could step right on the old girl and ten times out of ten, all she’ll do is bolt. They’re shy as shit, want to be left alone. Now if that was an alligator, hell no, then you’re talking serious damage to the human body.”
Frank said, “In the movies there’s always giant crocs sunning along the riverbank, they see some babe out in the middle of the river paddling her canoe, and all of them go sliding into the water and head after her. So that’s just Hollywood garbage?”
“Those movies, it’s usually the river Nile, someplace like that, darkest Africa. That would be Crocodylus niloticus, now there’s your man-eater, the Nile croc. But the Crocodylus acutus, that’s the American croc, its habitat is south Biscayne Bay, that’s what we’re looking at here. It’s laid-back. Bashful.”
“What else is out there in the cooling canals? They got sharks?”
“No sharks. Water’s gotten too salty for them. But there’s still some big-ass barracudas and gators back there. Shit, the gators and the crocs get into it sometimes. Got some World War Three territorial battles going on.”
“So a body falls into the water, maybe a gator could’ve scarfed it up?”
“Could happen. Be pretty unlikely. Gators aren’t going to be hanging around croc nesting sites. They’d give mother crocs a wide berth.”
“So, bottom line, these crocs, the Americans, they’re not man-eaters.”
“Until this so-called attack happened, there’d never been a reported lethal encounter between croc and human in Florida. Not one, ever. Which means there’s never been a reported case in all of America, since this is the only place in the damn country these beauties exist, mostly at Turkey Point, a few dozen roaming around Key Largo. Now you go down to Belize, that’s a different story, there’ve been a few attacks by American crocs, but all of those were being fed regularly by humans in nature preserves or zoos or whatever, and the crocs lost their fear. That’s when the fuckers get dangerous. Losing your fear of humans, that can be a serious issue.”
Johnny rose from his pillow, popped the disc, and handed it to Sheffield. “That what you wanted to know?”
Frank stretched his back and groaned. His night with Nicole had strained some muscles. “Never lose your fear of humans. Words to live by.”
“Always glad to help. You stay safe, pal.”
TWENTY-TWO
BACK AT HIS OFFICE, SHEFFIELD gave Marta a fifth person for background checks. Leslie Levine. The dead biologist. Gone but not eaten.
He looked through the notes Marta had left on his desk, found the lead detective on the Marcus Bendell homicide, and called Detective Pedro Alonzo. After the prelims, Alonzo said, “Looks accidental. Guy was trying to rig up a line to bypass his meter, save himself a buck, he bumps the jumper cables against his ladder.”