Shadows at Predator Reef (3 page)

“I don't give much credence to age, Chief,” Mr. V said. “I wasn't any older than these young men are now when I designed my first building. I've heard that the Hardy boys are quite well regarded around Bayport for their investigative skills, and I intend to use every resource at our disposal to make sure Captain Hook is returned to us safely.”

“Fine,” the chief conceded, turning to Frank and me. “But you two steer clear of the crime scene until my team is finished. I'm going to have to interview the entire aquarium staff as well as anyone else who had access to the exhibit,
and I don't want to catch you saying as much as a syllable to any of my witnesses until I've talked to them first, got it?”

“Yes, sir!” we both said, barely able to contain our excitement over the free investigative pass Mr. V had just given us. We usually had to sneak around behind the chief's back to solve a mystery.

I think we might have seemed a little too excited about it for the chief's liking.

“You do anything on this case without getting my permission first and I'll slap the cuffs on you myself,” he warned.

A man in a slick business suit tapped Mr. V on the shoulder. A tall young woman in an equally nice suit stood by his side.

“Excuse me, Bradley. The press is ready to take your statement whenever you are,” the man said in a New England accent that was even thicker than Mr. V's.

“Thank you, Ron. I'll be there momentarily,” Mr. V said, and turned to the chief. “Chief Olaf, this is my firm's PR director, Ron Burris, and my assistant, Laura. I've already instructed them to make all of the firm's resources available to assist with the investigation. Now, Ron, if you would, please draft an international press release offering a one-million-dollar reward for information leading directly to Captain Hook's safe return and forward it to Laura for my approval.”

Ron Burris's face twisted up like he had just been slapped silly. “But sir, that's crazy, you can't just—”

“That will be all, Ron,” Mr. V cut him off dismissively. “Please tell the press I'm ready.”

Mr. V left his PR director in stunned silence and marched over to the news cameras with Laura following close behind. Frank and I watched as Mr. V announced the impressive reward and made an impassioned plea for help finding Captain Hook. It wasn't until he addressed the “kidnappers” directly that we realized just how bad the situation was.

“If someone out there took our beloved turtle, please, I beg you, bring her back before it's too late. Captain Hook requires special medication to be administered daily. Without it . . .” Mr. V's voice started to shake.

He took a minute to collect himself, then looked directly into the camera, his gaze intensifying.

“Whoever you are, you have served that turtle with a death warrant.”

M
R. V'S WORDS ECHOED IN MY
head. Captain Hook was in grave danger. I knew the vets kept a close eye on her, but I hadn't realized how serious her condition truly was. We had to find her, and fast.

There was one major problem. Usually when I'm on a case I have a hunch about where to begin. Not this time.

Mr. V walked out of the aquarium with his head down and made his way to the Rolls-Royce parked right in front. A tall tuxedoed chauffeur who reminded me of Alfred from the Batman comics opened the back door for Mr. V and Laura. They drove off with the news cameras still rolling, leaving Ron behind to handle the reporters.

With Mr. V gone, most of the cameramen turned their
attention to a group of protesters from the Bayport Animal Liberation Force (aka BALF) waving signs in front of the aquarium and chanting, “Free the fish! Free the fish!”

One girl had a sign with a drawing of a turtle behind bars wearing a prison jumpsuit. When she spotted me in my Bayport Aquarium staff shirt, she screamed in my direction.

“How would you like it if someone locked you in a cage and exploited you for commercial gain, huh?!”

I should have ignored her, but I couldn't just stand by and listen to her and her BALF friends bad-mouth the aquarium without all the facts. I thought maybe if they knew more about how the aquarium really operates, they might be more open-minded about things, so I went over to talk to her.

“Excuse me, but I think you have it all wrong,” I said. “Bayport Aquarium does more to raise awareness for endangered species protection than just about anyone. The aquarium takes great care of its animals. They saved Captain Hook's life! They aren't exploiting her. She's a symbol of hope for the whole local conservation movement.”

“Turtle torturer!” the girl yelled. It was like she didn't even hear me.

“Forget them, kid,” Ron Burris said, pulling me aside. “Types like that, they won't see any opinion but their own.”

Ron was right. Sure, I understand some of the arguments against keeping wild animals in captivity, but in the case of a top-notch aquarium like Bayport's, the pros
clearly outweighed the cons. BALF wasn't going to see that, though. They believed that it was wrong to put animals in captivity for any reason, regardless of the potential benefits to the animal or environmental causes.

“I only have a minute, but I wanted to see if you have any theories yet about the turtle situation,” Ron said, talking quickly as we moved away from the protesters. “You think those crazies could have had something to do with it?”

“It's too early to speculate,” I said, making a mental note to add BALF to my list. “We're just starting to gather information.”

Ron handed me his card. “You give me a call as soon as you get any leads. Mr. Valledor is going to want regular reports.”

“No problem, we—”

Ron's phone chimed before I could finish my answer.

“Excuse me.” Ron held up a finger as he checked the caller ID. “I'm sorry, I have to take this. You boys keep up the good work.”

A second later he was headed in the opposite direction with the phone up to his ear.

“This is Ron. . . . That's right, we want to do the entire office in oak and leather, very executive and classy. . . . Yes, you can quote me on that. . . . No, that's Burris, B-U-R-R-I-S,” I overheard him say as he walked away. With his accent, the way he said “R-R” sounded more like “Ah-Ah.”

I thought it was a little rude of him to be worrying about
another client's office decor at a time like this, but I figured Mr. V's people still had a business to run even during a crisis.

Joe came over to join me.

“Figures Eric the Ecoterrorist would be here.”

Joe nodded in the direction of the dreadlocked guy at the front of the BALF protest holding the biggest sign and shouting the loudest.

The kid in question was a Bayport High student named Eric Frohman, whom everyone called Eric the Ecoterrorist. He had a reputation for taking activism to the extreme, protesting anything and everything to do with animals or the environment that might be considered the least bit controversial.

“You heard about the chimpanzee incident, right?” I asked my brother. “When he was arrested for trying to climb into the monkey house at the zoo to free the animals.”

“Yeah,” Joe said, laughing. “When the security guard caught up to him, he had his dreadlocks tangled in the fence and was trying to get unstuck while the chimps pelted him with their poo.”

The story had been a big hit at Bayport High, and Eric wasn't likely to live it down anytime soon.

“Because he was a minor and didn't have a record, the judge told him the humiliation factor was punishment enough and let him go with probation,” I said to Joe. “But it sure hasn't stopped him from protesting.”

“And we know he's willing to break the law for his cause,” Joe added. “He did it once. . . .”

“He might do it again,” I finished the thought. “We're going to have to take a closer look at where Eric the Ecoterrorist was when Captain Hook disappeared and see if he or his crew knew anyone who could have helped him get into the aquarium.”

I pulled out the case file notebook I carry with me and jotted down “Eric the Ecoterrorist” under the heading “Suspects.”

When I looked up, I saw another familiar Bayport High face in the crowd.

“Hey, it's the Collector,” Joe said, spotting him as well.

Murph “the Collector” Murphy got his nickname because that's what he does—he collects things. Lots of things. From comic books to vintage Japanese toy robots to dinosaur fossils, if it can be collected, there's a good chance he either collects it or knows a ton about it.

“If you're the president of the Bayport Nerds Association, then Murph Murphy is its chairman,” Joe joked.

“You're just jealous because we're more enlightened than you,” I said. “Simply because we like to be knowledgeable about a lot of different subjects doesn't automatically make us nerds.”

“Sure it does, bro,” Joe said. “But you have to admit, Murph really does have you beat when it comes to knowing obscure facts about random stuff.”

Murph also had me beat in the wardrobe department. He was what you might call a nerd fashionista, combining classic geek style with a trendy
GQ
fashion sense.

“He's really rocking the aqua-hipster look today,” Joe observed as Murph walked along the pier, sporting an ocean-blue blazer and matching bow tie dotted with tiny sharks.

“We've been seeing a lot of our man Murph since we started hanging out at the aquarium, huh?” Joe asked.

“He's a member,” I told my brother. “He considers himself one of Bayport's foremost amateur aquarists, and from what I've seen, I'd have to agree with him.”

“Is that a fancy way of saying he's a fish fanatic?” Joe asked.

“Pretty much. The guy really knows his fish. He had me over to his house to check out his new saltwater tank—it's one of the coolest I've ever seen outside of an actual aquarium.”

“Looks like you guys just found your next case,” Murph observed after catching my eye and heading over. “This is the biggest aquarium heist I've ever heard of. The online aquarist message boards must be crazy right now.”

“You mean you've heard of other aquarium heists before? Like that's an actual thing?” Joe asked.

“Sure,” Murph said. “There's a huge underground market for rare fish. Usually divers illegally smuggle them from reefs to sell for top dollar to private collectors, but every once in a while you hear about fish disappearing from aquariums, too. Typically the smaller fish go missing because they're less noticeable and easier to transport. A five-hundred-pound endangered turtle has to be a record!”

“Have you ever heard about fish heists around Bayport?” I asked.

“Nah,” Murph started to reply before pausing for a second. “Well, come to think of it, maybe.”

All four Hardy eyebrows shot up. Murph had our attention.

“There has been a lot of online chatter lately about someone local selling rare tropical fish, like some of the ones in the Predator Reef exhibit: clown triggerfish, yellow long-nose butterfly fish, and emperor angelfish. There's even speculation that someone could be smuggling them from inside the aquarium. It's all just rumors, though; a lot of the stuff you hear online turns out to be bogus.”

“Wouldn't the aquarium notice if someone was stealing their fish?” Joe asked.

“Maybe not,” I jumped in before Murph could answer. “The aquarium imported thousands of specimens for the exhibit. And a certain number of fish die here just like they would in the wild, so the staff probably wouldn't be suspicious if a couple went missing. It's still a far cry from stealing a giant sea turtle, though.”

“So how much would a collector pay for a giant sea turtle on the black market if someone did manage to steal it?” Joe followed up.

“A
lot
,” Murph said. “Rare wildlife collectors are just as competitive as other kinds of collectors who pay crazy amounts for stuff. Some do really love animals and mean well, but they just take it to the extreme. The worst are the ones who see their aquariums as status symbols.”

From the disgust on Murph's face, it was obvious what he thought about them.

“Those collectors don't actually care about the art of collecting something. They just want to show off their wealth. From what you hear, it's the same guys who shell out millions for stolen masterwork paintings and exotic blood diamonds who have the biggest collections of endangered wildlife. And the rarer the animal, the more they're willing to spend.”

“So a famous endangered sea turtle like Captain Hook might be a nice addition for a big-time collector,” Joe speculated.

Murph shook his head, a grim look on his face. “It gets worse, guys. It's not just collectors who could be after her. Turtle parts go for big bucks on the TCM market.”

“TCM?” Joe asked.

“Traditional Chinese medicine,” Murph clarified.

I took a deep breath. I knew where Murph was going with this, and I didn't like it.

“Some Eastern cultures use different animal parts in ancient homeopathic cures and superstition rituals,” I explained. “It's a huge conservation problem. A lot of the global poaching that goes on is fueled by the demand for traditional medicines. It's one of the big reasons sea turtles are so endangered in the first place.”

“Poaching?” Joe asked. “You mean like people killing animals illegally?”

“Yup,” Murph said. “There's a black market for everything
from rhino horns to tiger claws to turtle shells. Just the shell of a sea turtle as big as Captain Hook could sell for hundreds of thousands. And a lot of the organs are used for different cures and as exotic delicacies.”

I really didn't want to think about what that might mean for Captain Hook.