The Forgotten. Heather Graham
you.”
Lara started to put on her suit and water shirt, but they were still damp, so it was a struggle to get back into them. She realized she must have taken longer than she realized when she heard footsteps and Rick called to her from outside the bathroom door and told her to hurry up. One final tug and she joined him.
“Cocoa did really take to you,” he said as they started walking. “Maybe you’re just both good-looking girls of the same age. I mean, in dolphin years, she’s in her mid-twenties, too,” Rick said.
“Maybe she’s blonde at heart, huh?” Lara asked.
Rick grinned and led the way back down to the water.
Agent Cody was still in the water, but his scuba equipment was on the dock, which meant—she assumed, since all she really saw was his bare chest—that he was wearing a pair of swim trunks and nothing else. He was muscled like steel, but she’d expected no less. His partner was standing on the dock in swim shorts, as were the police divers. Grady was there, too.
Cocoa wasn’t alone in the lagoon. Several of the “girls”—as the young females were called—were there with her.
As soon as Lara arrived on the dock, she heard Cocoa let out one of her little chattering sounds in greeting. Lara flushed; she did seem to have a bond with the animal.
“I’m not sure how I can help,” she told Grady. “If the pros have come up empty and the girls haven’t found anything for you or Rick...” She paused, aware that Diego was looking at her understandingly, while Cody was just staring at her with unreadable dark eyes.
“I had a German shepherd once, great dog,” Grady told her. “He was nice to other people, but he’d only play fetch with me. Only me, no one else—not even if the best dog trainer in the world was around. Dolphins are very bright animals, and Cocoa’s attached herself to you.” He pointed toward her where she was floating beside the dock, eyes intently focused on Lara. “Hop on into the water, greet her, give her back a stroke, then ask her to fetch for you.”
Lara sat on the dock and slid into the water. She felt the dark eyes of Agent Cody on her all the while. Once in the water, she talked to Cocoa. The dolphin swam by Lara, allowing her to stroke her long, sleek back. Then she raced out to the center of the lagoon and did a fantastic leap before coming straight back to Lara.
“Do I need some fish?” Lara asked, looking up at Grady.
He shrugged. Rick, standing on the dock, reached into one of the coolers and pulled out a fish.
Lara swam over to him, reached for the fish and turned. Cocoa was already there, her mouth open in anticipation. Lara tossed the fish to her.
“Try now,” Agent Cody told Lara.
She nodded, stroking the dolphin.
“Cocoa, fetch, please,” Lara said, treading water and giving the dolphin the hand signal.
Cocoa disappeared under the water. Everyone fell silent. Not even the police divers, who had broken off to chat, spoke.
Nor did any of the other staff—trainers, educators, even the café crew—who had crowded around to watch the proceedings. Lara noted that coworkers seemed to be clustering together. Dr. Nelson Amory, head of research, stood with Cathy Barkley, his assistant, and Myles Dawson, their U of Miami intern. Frank Pilaf and the café staff stood together, while the other trainers, Sue Crane and Justin Villiers, were watching from beneath the bountiful leaves of a sea grape tree.
Cocoa returned, bringing Lara a long stalk of sea grass.
Lara thanked her and stroked her back.
“Tell her that’s not it,” Agent Cody said.
Lara ignored him; she wasn’t about to tell the dolphin that she’d failed or disappointed in any way.
“Cocoa, thank you. And now, please, fetch again, will you?” she asked.
Cocoa went down again. This time, she returned with a pair of sunglasses that had obviously been entangled in sea grass for a very long time.
“These are great,” she told Cocoa. “Thank you.”
Cocoa chattered and went back down. She was obviously enjoying the game.
Agent Cody was just staring at Lara, waiting. Uncomfortable under that probing gaze, she turned around to face Grady and Rick.
“I’m not sure what you thought I could do,” she said by way of apology.
“You never know,” Grady said.
But then Lara felt a bump as Cocoa pushed her from behind. She heard a massive, collective gasp—almost as if all those gathered around the lagoon were actors creating a scene on cue—as she turned around.
Cocoa had something for Lara. It was balanced precariously on her nose.
And Lara had to choke back a scream, had to steel herself to remain still...
This time it was a human foot.
“It’s kind of like Mike, the headless chicken,” Diego said gravely.
They’d showered at the Sea Life Center and were now on their way to the medical examiner’s office to see Dr. Phil Kinny, the ME, who had possession of the foot.
Brett glanced questioningly at Diego, then went back to driving as he waited for his partner and friend to elaborate.
Diego nodded at him somberly. “I swear this is no lie, Brett. You can look it up. There was a chicken by the name of Mike. Had his head chopped off, but they missed something at the brain stem. He lived for eighteen months.”
“That’s some kind of hoax,” Brett said.
“No, it happened in 1945. I know because I thought it was a hoax, too, so I checked it out. The guy who owned Mike made money touring him around. They also brought him to the University of Utah so that researchers there could document what had happened.”
“His head was chopped off and he lived?” Brett asked skeptically.
“The ax missed the carotid artery or something like that, and a blood clot kept him from bleeding out. The head was gone except for one ear. Mike even tried to peck and eat grain. It’s a bizarre story. Supposedly he made the farmer like forty-five hundred dollars a month, which would be close to fifty thousand now. They fed him with an eyedropper, gave him milk and stuff. I don’t remember exactly. I think he finally choked to death, but the point is, he lived for eighteen months without a head.”
“So you’re telling me that Miguel Gomez might have had his head chopped off and then been programmed to kill his wife?” Brett asked.
“No. I’m just saying there’s something weird going on.”
“I agree. But Miguel couldn’t have killed Maria. I don’t think that I ever saw a man and woman married so long who were still so deeply in love,” Brett said. He paused for thought. Actually, he saw the same love and respect in his own parents. They’d married practically as children and were still married—and bugging him for grandchildren. Luckily his sister had provided them with a boy and a girl, and they lived in Jacksonville, near his folks in St. Augustine.
“Miguel loved Maria. So what? Doesn’t mean he couldn’t have become a zombie, until someone did him in for real, then chopped him up and threw him in Biscayne Bay. All we need is another zombie story around here,” Diego said.
Brett agreed. In 2012, a young man had gone crazy, stripped naked and attacked a stranger on MacArthur Causeway, claiming the older man had stolen his Bible. He’d chewed off half the face of the victim, who had miraculously survived, before being shot by police. Brett knew a few of the officers who had been among the first responders. They’d told him that the attacker had been so revved that he hadn’t fallen immediately,