In his right hand, McIntyre was holding a gun. The group ahead of her could see where it was going because McIntyre was holding a flashlight in his left hand, guiding their way into the swamp, and the beam of his flashlight briefly illuminated the bough of a cypress tree dripping with a fragile curtain of blue Spanish moss. The problem was that it was so damn dark that she didn’t know if the video would show anything.
But what she could do was be a witness and, with a little luck, film the crime that was about to be committed. And it was too late to call 911 by the time the cops got there it would all be over with, and McIntyre and McGruder would be gone.
She didn’t have a gun she couldn’t yell, Stop or I’ll shoot. She knew what was going to happen-she was positive-but there was no way she could stop it from happening. She was holding her iPhone in her right hand, about head high, videoing the people ahead of her. Following them into the swamp was the only way to prove to her boss that she was right. She knew she shouldn’t be doing what she was doing. McIntyre and McGruder were walking behind the Bermans and prodding the married couple to keep them moving.Īndie had followed the four of them from Miami-they all went together in McIntyre’s Cadillac-and when McIntyre parked on the Everglades Parkway and they headed into the swamp, she decided to go after them. There wasn’t anything sleek about them at all, but that didn’t make them any less dangerous. They were over six feet tall, over fifty, and overweight. McIntyre and McGruder were big, beefy white guys. The Bermans were in their forties, small, dark, and sleek they made Andie think of two-legged ferrets. There was Lenny Berman and his wife, Estelle, and two men named McIntyre and McGruder. She was following them, praying they wouldn’t spot her. It’s called “Alligator Alley”-and it’s called this because the damn alligators thrive on both sides of the highway.Ībout fifty yards in front of Andie were four people walking together, heading into the swamp. She knew this because she’d parked her car on the Everglades Parkway, the highway that runs east-west across southern Florida. She was also terrified of snakes and alligators, and there was no doubt that there were alligators all around her. There was only a pale half-moon providing any light, and she could barely see where she was walking. The Everglades-at midnight-was the last place twenty-three-year-old Andie Moore wanted to be.
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