Jerry Michael Williams had headed to the Lake for a spot of December duck hunting. Mike, as everybody called him, didn't come home again. The conclusion to draw was clear. The thirty-one-year-old had slipped, fallen into the chilly waters and drowned before falling prey to one or more of those large alligators that waited, barely visible, in the waters. The year 2000 was coming to a close, and the real estate appraiser would not be home for the New Year. It was December 16th, the sixth anniversary of his marriage to wife Denise, and the two had an eighteen-month-old daughter, Anslee, who would be forced to spend Christmas – and every day after – without her daddy.
But investigators could see a clear and likely answer to the conundrum of what had happened to Mike. His boat had been quickly found. It was moored – or more likely it had drifted – into a small cove towards the western edge of the lake. It had been little used that day. The tank remained full of gasoline although the engine was not running.
A forty-four-day search ensued. It revealed nothing.
What happened to him?