Caribbean Fire

by Rick Murcer

  His heart froze as his eyes darted toward the windshield. He wasn’t going to find this woman, the last chapter in his triumphant story.

  The word on the glass, written in the dust, was simple.

  “Gone.”

  CHAPTER-39

  “ What are you thinking?” asked Sophie.

  Manny had pulled Sophie and Belle from the interview room and collected Josh, Chloe, and Munoz from their vantage point in the two-way mirror cubbyhole. It was tight quarters, and Manny swore he could hear the racing thoughts of each of them as they huddled in the hallway near the fire escape stairwell.

  “When we were going through the evidence yesterday to prepare the profile, we saw the misplaced block showing the Mayan god of war—the stone in a place where it wasn’t supposed to be.”

  “I don’t remember that,” said Josh, grinning.

  “Of course not, smartass, you were chilling at home. And you need a breath mint,” said Sophie.

  “Onions. Sorry. Go on, Manny. I read the report.”

  “Yes. Go on. I’d like to know where this is going,” said Chloe.

  “We talked about how out of place it seemed to be. Plus the weapon used could have been ancient. I expect that to be confirmed by Alex and Dean. God knows what else may have been used or worn in this killer’s fantasies,” said Manny.

  “All right, what does that have to do with anything?” asked Sophie.

  “When you put those artifacts on the table, Sophie, it occurred to me that I didn’t know how they were acquired. Who finds them? Who digs them up? Who catalogues them? We didn’t truly talk about who would have access to relics like that.”

  After a few moments, Belle broke the silence.

  “The person who actually located and catalogued the artifact would be the one who might have the most access, right? If that’s true, we simply need to find out who that was?”

  Manny shook his head. “I don’t think it’s that simple. Excavation at these sites is usually done in teams. A couple of professors, a few grad students, and enthusiastic civilians who help with the grunt work, if I understand this process correctly.”

  “Now you’ve got me confused, again,” said Sophie, hands on her hips. “How does the fact that there are, like, a billion people working these sites help narrow down our search parameters? We Asians are pretty damn smart, but I don’t get it.”

  “I think I agree with Sophie,” said Josh.

  “I can see that,” said Manny. “But if we can find out where that block came from, we can find out who was in charge of that dig site. We can then go directly to the woman or man in charge of working that dig.”

  “And since the professors are the ones who are typically in charge of presenting the findings to museums or whatever, he or she will be able to tell us about the dig and who was working it,” said Belle, an air of excitement in her voice.

  “That’s my thought,” said Manny, glancing around the circle of cops. “Any takers that a man in charge of that area is someone on our original profile list?”

  CHAPTER-40

  Jen Williams hurried into the house and watched as Sampson greeted her in his own special custom. He trotted around the corner and came directly toward her, but once he got to within a foot of her, he stopped, sitting on his haunches, offering her a quizzical look. She dropped to one knee and hugged the bear of a dog, despite her mandated mad dash, tears running from her cheeks into his thick, black fur. He raised a paw and placed it gently on her thigh. She felt the tears start again.

  “I don’t know what to do, Sam,” she whispered.

  Ennis Preston had forced Haley Rose to drive directly to her house before taking them to another location. He didn’t say where; he simply told Jen, at gunpoint, when they reached the driveway, to be quick. She was to get the items he had listed on the dirty, yellow scratchpad and return within three minutes. If she did not, he’d shoot Ian.

  It wouldn’t take her long to get what was on the list, she knew that. She simply wondered if she should. Was this madman going to kill them anyway? Should she call the police? Could they get here in time? Would he truly do what he said? She thought about the last question as she rose away from Sampson and headed for the back end of the house.

  “Yes. I think he would,” she said out loud. She realized she couldn’t risk any possible situation when it came to Ian and Haley Rose. Watching her sweet mother die on that living room floor two years ago was more death than she’d ever want to see again. Especially if those deaths were a result of something she’d done, or not done.

  Steadying herself, Jen glanced at the list in her hand and flashed into Ian’s room. She grabbed ten diapers, pajamas, and two outfits, including his new Detroit Tiger’s hoodie, to go into the diaper bag in the car.

  Charging into the kitchen, she tore open the freezer and grabbed all the packages of breast milk Chloe had pumped before leaving for Cozumel. It would be enough for a couple of days, if this nightmare lasted that long. And if it didn’t? What if he—?

  She shook off the next set of thoughts that threatened to cause a breakdown conjured by real fear.

  Her dad had always told her in high stress situations like taking final exams, which she hated, not to pile more junk on top of the situation by letting her imagination go crazy. Stick to whatever made getting through those situations easier. Study, take the test, and call it good. Worrying about the results only detracted from what she could control.

  I’ve never taken a test like this one.

  Running to the other side of the house, she stopped in Haley Rose’s room, grabbed a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt off her dresser, then ran into her room and did the same thing. Ennis Preston had specifically requested they wear jeans and a sweatshirt. She thought she knew why. They’d look more like a family dressed in the same style.

  Why did he want them to appear to be a family? She shivered and kept going.

  Glancing at the watch on her wrist, the one Preston had forced her to wear before she came into the house, she saw she had fifty-five seconds to get the last items on the list and get back outside.

  She frowned, her stomach leaping up her throat another inch. Why did he want those things? How did he even know that Ian had one? And why didn’t he ask for Haley Rose’s?

  Moving to Manny and Chloe’s room, she opened Manny’s top dresser drawer where he kept family documents. She supposed it made sense because Chloe was from Ireland, but she’d never thought about it.

  Preston had.

  She found hers quickly and then continued to dig through the stack of papers, desperately hoping that Ian had one.

  Nothing.

  Misery brushed her cheek as she burrowed around the drawer again.

  Still nothing for Ian.

  Perspiration began to form on her forehead. She was running out of time, and she knew in her heart of hearts, Preston was going to do what he said.

  Peering into the drawer, she saw it. It was pinned against the front of the drawer by the large screw holding the handle in place. She thought she might pee herself with relief.

  Closing the dresser drawer, she glanced at the one below it. The one that held the two guns she’d placed on the table one night before. Time stood still as Jen wondered . . . could she get away with putting one in her jacket? She touched the handle, pulled it gently, and then stopped. If she made one mistake, one slow reaction . . .

  The image of his crazy eyes danced across her mind. There would be a better way, she prayed.

  Maybe there was.

  Opening the sliding glass door on her way through the living room so that Sampson could get out, she sprinted out of the family room and through the kitchen, glancing at the watch.

  Thirteen seconds.

  Bending low, she whispered to Sampson and then headed out the door.

  The SUV’s engine was still running as she raced around to the passenger seat and pulled on the door.

  It wouldn’t open.

  She looked at Preston and felt
her heart freeze. He was shaking his head, moving his finger back and forth, shaming her like some severe schoolmarm.

  His crooked-toothed grin took what was left of her emotion.

  He then raised his weapon and pointed it at Ian.

  CHAPTER-41

  “Have you seen this relic before, Professor Emmerson?” asked Manny.

  The slightly built, older gentlemen peered at the images Manny had laid out on the table. After a few seconds, he slid closer to the edge of his chair and went from peering at the photos to studying them. He then reached a thin finger out to the third photo on his right and traced the lines of the stone.

  “Oh. So interesting to see it in this setting,” he said softly.

  “So you’ve seen it before?”

  “I suppose I have. Or one like it, I should say.”

  Professor Blake Emmerson glanced to the other side of the table where Manny sat, his narrow eyes blinking quickly—perhaps a type of benign blepharospasm twitch or a nervous tic triggering the rapid eyelid movement. He seemed to be reading Manny’s mind or had recognized the look Manny was unable to hide.

  “I have a myoclonic jerk brought on by stress and lack of sleep. Both hazards of my profession. It effects my eyelids mostly, but there are times when I can’t speak well. This meeting has added to the stress segment, Agent.”

  “I suppose it would and I thank you for your explanation. I assure you that this is only an information session. No stress required.”

  Emmerson smiled with no humor, his eyes blinking faster. “Easy for you to say, yet I have little choice but to accept your words as truth.”

  Manny placed his hands on the desk, palms down. “If we truly thought you were a suspect at this juncture, you’d be wearing a different set of clothes and your dinner menu would be decidedly different.”

  “I hadn’t thought that way. At any rate, why are you asking about this piece?”

  “We believe it was recently placed in that area of the San Gervasio ruins and not part of the original structure.”

  “Well, that’s obvious. A god of war would certainly not be carved into the mecca of fertility offerings involving the Mayan women. So, your assumption is correct,” said the professor.

  “Why would someone do that?” asked Manny.

  “I don’t know.”

  Emmerson turned his gaze back to the pictures, fingering all three of them in turn. He seemed totally mesmerized by the carving.

  Let’s find out why.

  “Where would that stone have come from, sir?”

  More blinking. “I believe the proper term is where could this have come from,” he answered quietly, not looking in Manny’s direction.

  The professor shifted ever so slightly, pulled his hand away from the table, and looked at Manny as if it were the first time he noticed his presence. The spell was apparently broken.

  Another why.

  Emmerson asked, “You’re speaking with me alone? Don’t you people usually do this in teams or something?”

  “Sometimes, when we think the interview might be more intense, so to speak. Is this an issue for you?”

  “No. I guess I watch too much television. Besides, you have a two-way mirror room over in that direction, correct?”

  “We do . . . to make sure I don’t miss anything.” Manny leaned over the table. “Professor, could you answer my question? We have some time-sensitive issues here.”

  He sighed. “Yes, of course. The best that I can. Two dig sites were started on the Yucatan Peninsula about three years ago. We, several of my colleagues along with Mexico’s government, believed that both sites were relatively unscathed by human interaction because they were both in deeply secluded areas.”

  “Is that important?”

  “Yes. It means the area’s artifacts would be relatively intact, telling a better story of the history of the Mayan people and culture.”

  Manny pushed him. “Why is that a big deal?”

  The professor’s eyes burned and, for the moment, stopped blinking. “Agent, have you not heard of the phrase that a nation who doesn’t know its history is bound to repeat it? The Mexican people can learn a great deal from this culture, perhaps leading to a better state of affairs for the current regime.”

  “You believe that?”

  “Of course. This present world is far more interested in gain than living a good life. We’ve learned nothing from previous civilizations that ran down the path of destruction guided by greed and selfishness.”

  Manny watched as his eye glanced at the table while one corner of his mouth turned hard, thin. His disgust was obvious.

  “I think you’re right. But why would you say that?”

  Emmerson caught himself as he opened his mouth to speak. Then he offered a small, tight smile. “I suppose that’s a conversation for a different setting.”

  Manny nodded. “Please continue about the dig sites.”

  “Yes. Yes. At any rate, I was selected to oversee both digs. I chose my staff, and we began work.”

  “Staff?”

  “Yes. I had four grad students, six undergraduates who weren’t allowed to touch anything and were assigned to grunt work, and two curators who observed the process and also helped to catalogue the finds. Both are PhDs and work locally with two of our museums.”

  “I’ll need contact information for everyone who worked on the sites please.”

  “Certainly. I’ll have my assistant get that for you. At least what I have.”

  “What does that mean exactly?”

  “It means that students move around and do irresponsible things, like drop out of school and such.”

  There it was again, that look of almost contempt when talking about his staff.

  “Okay, back to the digs. After you gathered your staff . . . then what, Professor?”

  “Then, Agent, we spent twelve-hour days, some longer, unearthing what time had hidden from us.”

  “Sounds like tedious but rewarding work.”

  “Correct on both fronts.”

  “So you’re telling me this stone came from one of those digs?”

  His eyes narrowed as he looked at the photos again, then back to Manny. “I’m not sure. I’ll have to look at our inventory list.”

  Rising, Manny stepped around the table and sat on the corner, hands folded. The good professor wasn’t telling him everything.

  “Professor Emmerson, there is another life at stake here. This killer has kidnapped another victim and unless we unwind this bastard's motives and identify him, more blood will spill. We’ve contacted you and five others with similar backgrounds because you have knowledge of the Mayan culture that reflects this man’s reality.”

  “I understand your situation but—”

  Manny slammed the table with his open hand, causing the unsuspecting professor to jump, eyes darting in Manny’s direction.

  “Do you know why I do this job, professor? It’s because I can read people like an open book. You’re not telling me what the hell I need to know. That makes me pissy.”

  He moved inches from Emmerson’s face.

  “So I’ll ask again. Did this stone come from one of your digs?”

  “I . . . I don’t know. We uncovered a similar stone five months ago. It’s in our facility at the college, but it’s not the same one. These pictures shouldn’t exist.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Emmerson grabbed the bottle of water from the table, steadied his hands, turned the cap, and took a long draw.

  “The Mayans sometimes created identical objects to offer in certain types of celebrations and worship. They believed two were better. Not uncommon in other cultures as well. Like two crosses in a church, for instance. When we found the stone located at the university, we soon realized that this stone must have had a match. That would have been a real find.”

  “Why?”

  “The one we possess is the second created stone and not as well conceived as the original. Not to mention, the
first one would traditionally have been placed near an area where the priests would have stored more valuable relics.”

  “Like knives or daggers inlaid with precious stones?”

  The professor shot him a look. “And much more. How did you know that?”

  “I read a lot. Go on.”

  “Even though it should have been in the same approximate area, we never located the first stone of the pair.”

  “You’re telling me this is the second stone?” said Manny picking up one of the pictures.

  “Yes. But it shouldn’t be in anyone’s possession unless . . .”

  “Unless one of your staff found it and removed it without your knowledge?”

  “Yes. I’m afraid that’s correct,” said the professor, bowing his head.

  “Why would one of your people take this one?”

  Manny stood straight up and knew what the professor was going to say before he said it. No wonder the reoccurring look of disgust showed when he talked of his staff.

  “Money, Agent Williams. Money.”

  CHAPTER-42

  Ramon Alvarez leaned against his cab and inhaled a deep draw from his cigarette. A moment later, he released the breath along with the spiraling wisp of smoke. It had been one of those days. What did the Americans call it? A pisser?

  He had four fares that went right with good tips, three customers who didn’t bother to tip him even though he’d managed to bring up the fact that he had three young children at home, and one woman who had no money after he’d taken her completely across town.

  He released another trail of smoke.

  He’d covered her fare, even though it cost him half of his tip money. His mother had taught him to respect his elders and he knew some older folks, even in this day and age, still had trouble finding enough to eat and pay their bills. In a way, it had been his fault. He’d promised himself not to pick up older folks anymore because they stiffed him more than one would imagine.

  “Another lesson my friend,” he said to himself.