“Just the usual stuff. Nothing they couldn’t find on the internet.”
“You didn’t tell them it’s all a big fake?”
Gage scowled. “You know I don’t believe that.”
Logan slid down off the desk. “No, you don’t, do you? All right, Gay, I’ll tell the fellows to let the ace reporter in the yellow Volkswagen pass unmolested.”
I’ll just bet you will, Gage thought as he watched the deputy walk away. He considered calling Slater to warn her about the meddling deputy, but decided he didn’t need to be involved any more deeply than he already was.
“I’ve done my part,” he mumbled, “and good luck to you.”
Chapter 4
Slater had left her car behind and walked from her hotel to the newspaper office, so she rode along with Bones as they headed to their next appointment. He was pleased to find they shared similar taste in music, though she did request the Black Eyed Peas, which he told her in no uncertain terms was not on his phone. “They can’t decide if they are rock or rap, and they suck at both,” he explained.
“Just when I was starting to respect your opinion,” Slater said, shaking her head.
“So, who is this guy we’re paying a visit to?” He asked, struggling to keep his eyes trained on the road and not on Slater’s legs.
“Nigel Gambles. He’s the cryptozoologist who made the plaster castings of the alleged skunk ape tracks. He lives in a cabin near the entrance to the Myakka River State Park. My crew will meet us there.”
Slater’s crew turned out to be a two-person team: a short, skinny young woman named Carly, and a round-faced, thickset man named Dave. The two hurried over when Bones and Slater got out of the truck.
“I’m the cameraman,” Dave said, unnecessarily holding up his camera, “and Carly is the sound engineer.”
“I’m Bones. I don’t think I have a title.”
“Of course you do. You’re the resident expert.” Carly grinned and gave him a tiny wink which he returned. She was cute — not Slater-level, but not bad.
“I’m not paying any of you to flirt,” Slater said. “Let’s go. Mister Gambles is expecting us.”
Gambles’ cabin stood at the end of a long, winding dirt driveway lined by live oaks and draped by low-hanging Spanish moss. The deep shade did little to dull the Florida heat, but any respite was welcome to Bones, who had ditched his trademark leather jacket but kept his jeans. Shorts weren’t his thing unless he was going to the gym or for a run.
Gambles was a trim man with close-cropped hair and friendly eyes. He spoke with a slight accent, but Bones wasn’t familiar enough with the various regional forms to say from where in Britain the man hailed. London, perhaps? Gambles invited them in and immediately set to talking about his most recent discovery, but Slater gently interrupted him.
“We really want to hear everything you have to say, but let’s get it recorded so you don’t have to cover anything twice, okay?”
Gambles agreed, and when Dave and Carly had everything in place, he took up a position in front of a bookcase laden with titles relating to cryptozoology. Slater sat down in a chair facing him and began an Oprah-style interview.
“Can you tell us about the skunk ape?”
Gambles nodded. “The skunk ape is a legendary primate that is believed to inhabit the Everglades and outlying areas, though sightings have been reported all around Florida and in other states in the Southeast. It’s known for its elusiveness and its distinctive smell.”
He went on to discuss the history of skunk ape sightings in the area, beginning with Native American legends and reports from Spanish explorers, including a harrowing tale of a shipwrecked crew, of whom all but one were killed by the legendary beasts. He then moved along to modern sightings, skirting around the obvious fakes, but providing multiple accounts from ostensibly reliable witnesses, and even sharing a few grainy photographs. Bones had seen and heard it all before, but what Gambles said next surprised him.
“Some people believe that the creature is not an ape, but a primitive human.”
Bones almost spoke up, but remembered the camera was rolling, and kept his silence. Slater, however, followed up.
“Primitive humans? Is there any evidence to support this theory?”
“In truth, there’s not much evidence to support any theory, but I have found what I believe are rudimentary tools and stones that show signs of being worked. What’s more, I discovered them in the general area where I recently came across the tracks.”
Gambles picked up the briefcase sitting beside his chair, opened it, and took out a palm-sized stone. “This looks like a scraping tool.” He held it up for the camera and then handed it to Slater, who examined it with polite interest. “And this one,” he continued, taking out a triangular stone, “appears to be for cutting. See how the edges have been chipped away? It’s not a regular break. Someone or something has worked it.”
The man wasn’t wrong. Even from where he stood, Bones could tell that someone had scraped and chipped the rock to give it a sharp edge. Slater seemed to agree, nodding slowly as she looked it over. “But how do we know these aren’t artifacts from the Native Americans who once lived in this area?”
“Because I have evidence that at least one item was used quite recently.” Gambles took out a smooth, round stone about the size of a tennis ball and a Ziploc bag containing small, gray fragments of some unrecognizable material. “It appears this stone was used to break open freshwater clams.”
Slater frowned. “Why would someone smash them instead of just prying them open? It ruins the meat.”
“Exactly!” Gambles sat up straighter as he spoke, a triumphant smile playing across his face. “You or I would do just that. But what if you did not have a knife or other implement at your disposal? Or what if you didn’t know such things existed? Only a true primitive would use a bludgeoning tool for this sort of work.”
Slater adopted a properly interested expression, paused for a few moments to let viewers appreciate the implications, and then continued with the questions.
“Tell us about the other evidence you’ve recently uncovered.”
This was clearly the moment Gambles had been waiting for. He leaned forward, his words coming faster. “I was taking a stroll down by the river and the tracks were just there. My first thought was that someone was winding me up.”
“Why would you think that?” Slater asked.
“My neighbors know I’m a cryptozoologist. Truth told, they think I’m a bit of a nutter so I thought one of them might be having some fun at my expense. Then I realized that I was well off my usual route. No one would have any reason to believe I’d have gone so deep into the swamp. If someone wanted to play a joke on me, they’d have planted the tracks somewhere I’d be sure to stumble across them.”
“Of course, that doesn’t mean the tracks aren’t fake — only that they probably weren’t intended specifically for you,” Slater pointed out. Bones was impressed that she didn’t merely accept the man’s story at face value. “What makes you believe these tracks are genuine?”
“That’s a fair question.” Gambles once again reached into his briefcase, this time taking out a set of photographs. He passed most of them to Slater, but kept one which he held up for the benefit of the camera. “I immediately took some photographs with my cellphone, just in case someone or something disturbed the tracks before I could return. I then hurried home to retrieve my camera and my footprint kit. These are the high-resolution images I took. You can see they bear some resemblance to ape footprints, but are also reminiscent of very old tracks found in Africa.” He handed the last photograph to Slater.