Predator Paradise

Seabrook drove the Jon Boat off the flats into the channel that led down to Alice Town and the harbor. The outboard chugged steadily, and the sea rushed past the aluminum gunwales.

Heavy clouds swept across the sky and the moon, making the night very dark. The tide flowed swiftly in, deepening the channel and lagoon by the minute. You could almost hear the lagoon sigh with relief as the North Sound inhaled fresh, cool ocean into its puke-warm, oxygen-deprived shallows.

As he approached his dock he saw a strange lump on it. Maybe a bag of trash? Also, a cigarette boat he’d never seen before had been tied crookedly to the front side. Like it had been parked in a rush. A high-performance speedboat—the kind used for running drugs to Miami at speeds of up to eighty miles per hour. Roughly thirty feet long, with a black hull and orange highlights. Just like the ones featured in the opening credits of the TV show Miami Vice.

What the hell? He felt himself getting angry but also was touched by a peculiar sense of dread. The speedboat was tied off in his normal spot.

Only four people ever used this dock and he knew their vessels by sight: Aja and himself; their landlord Reverend Bastareaud (who kept a small skiff); and occasionally Dr. Nixon when he brought equipment from Miami in an Aquasport boat.

On this evening just two regular vessels were docked: the Whaler Aja and he used, and Bastareaud’s skiff.

He sat up straighter and steered the Jon Boat closer.

His eyes went back to the lump on the dock.

It was a man lying facedown.

The feeling of dread grew stronger.

I hope you’re just drunk, Seabrook thought. Maybe the guy had had too much Bacardi at the Compleat Angler bar and driven his boat here in a raging stupor. He wouldn’t be the first drunk captain on the island this week.

Seabrook angled the Jon Boat to another slip and killed the engine. The aluminum skiff bumped gently off the wood pilings while he grabbed hold and tied her to the dock.

The old wood creaked as he stepped on the planks. Even though he was a large man, he moved with quickness. He walked close to the motionless body.

“Hey buddy? You awake?”

No response. He resisted the urge to nudge him with his foot.

Seabrook spoke louder. “Hey buddy? You awake?”

Still no response. This was real trouble. He looked around to see if anything else was out of place. He thought he heard a person move and draw a breath. Maybe someone hiding in the tall grass by the shed, or under the dock.

He checked and saw nothing. He stood absolutely still, listening intently, assessing the situation.

Water lapped at the little beach, and dry palm fronds clattered in the night breeze. The tide continued rising, a gentle stirring around the pilings, and creating a barely audible ocean whisper.

Seabrook turned on his flashlight and pointed it at the man for a better look. His heart quickened—there was blood around him; the guy looked dead. Black hair, brown skin, dirty blue T-shirt, and jeans. Late twenties. The corpse lay with one arm dangling in the water. The tidal current tugged gently on the dead man’s arm.

Seabrook saw that the hand was missing. The forearm ended in raw meat.

There were teeth marks almost up to the elbow. A shark feeding on carrion. He’d once seen a bull shark cruising in the channel right off the dock. He glanced at the water to see if the scavenger was still around.

Nothing at the surface. It was too dark to see down into the water.

Looking back at the dead man, it seemed evident that the shark hadn’t killed him. The dock around his torso was stained with blood, as if he had a serious wound on his underside. The man probably had been stabbed or shot, then died on the dock and dropped his hand into the water. Seabrook didn’t want to turn him over and confirm the cause of death, or touch him in any way. He also didn’t want to see the corpse’s face. He didn’t want that memory in his brain.

Who had killed him? Was the murderer still around?

For a moment Seabrook felt paralyzed. Nothing like this had ever happened before, and he didn’t know what to do.

Then he saw the bloody footprints going up the dock to the house.

A second man.

Aja! His fiancée and colleague was in the house by herself.

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