It was easy enough to find Andrew’s employment information online. I’d read his profile on CareerLink.
I told Brenda to contact me as soon as the DNA results came back.
We said goodbye to Jay and Brenda, left the ME’s office, and headed across town to break the news to Mrs. Holt. She lived at 854 Spinnaker Lane in Conch Cove.
It was a nice neighborhood with quaint homes, manicured yards, and expensive cars. It wasn't Stingray Bay or the Platinum Dunes, but it was nice.
Jack parked at the curb. We hopped out and pushed through the white picket fence and strolled the red brick walkway up to the veranda. The mint green home with white trim looked cozy. Guarded by two tall palms, an American flag hung from a column out front.
I knocked on the door, but there was no answer.
I knocked again and still nothing.
I dialed Isabella and asked her to track Mrs. Holt's phone. With a few taps of the keys, she told me the widow was in Los Angeles.
I called the sheriff and let him know. He would call the LA County Sheriff's Department, and they would do an in-person notification if they could track her down.
We walked back to the car, hopped in, and decided to head over to Aqus.
13
"Andrew’s dead?" Mark Weaver said with surprise when we broke the news to him.
We sat across the desk from him in his office. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a nice view of the ocean. As CEO of the company, he had the best office in the building. It wasn't as lavish as some of the tech companies we had visited in the past, but it was nice, understated elegance. A large flatscreen display hung on the wall, along with pictures of Mark at sea on research vessels. A man of action.
A mini fridge chilled soda and bottled water, and a lounge area with couches, chairs, and a coffee table offered a casual meeting space. In his mid-50s, Mark had light brown hair that was slicked back, giving him a pronounced widow's peak. His boxy face framed narrow blue eyes, and he kept a trimmed mustache and goatee. He was fit, but a little puffy.
Mark shook his head and frowned in dismay. "It's hard to believe. What exactly happened?"
I told him.
"A shark?"
"It appears that way.”
He took a moment to process. After a deep breath, he said, "The last time I talked to Andrew, he was going out to recover a tag that had popped off one of the sharks. Happens all the time. Those tags aren’t cheap either. Perhaps he fell overboard trying to recover the device.” He shook his head in dismay. “It's unusual for a shark to attack unprovoked, but accidents do happen.”
“When was that?”
“Friday afternoon.”
"You know specifically where he was going?”
"He didn't say, but I can get the data and get back to you.”
"I’d appreciate that,” I said. “Did he take his own boat or one that belongs to the institute?”
“You know, I can’t be sure, but he probably took his own. Andrew was pretty particular about things. He liked everything just so.”
“Do you happen to know the name of his boat and where he kept it?”
“He usually kept the Calypso in the marina here. Free. Why not? You’re more than welcome to look.”
“Thank you. What exactly do you do here at Aqus?”
Mark smiled. "We have created the largest database of marine life in existence. With proprietary software and advanced algorithms, we track and collect data on the movements of avariety of aquatic life, sharks included. We study trends and see how different factors are affecting the habitat and how the marine life responds. The oceans are the key to life on the planet. We must be responsible stewards.”
"So you just gather observational data.”
