The Kill Season

by Robin Mahle

  “Okay folks, let’s get you all on this plane.” Cain parked next to the private plane and met Varela on the runway. “Did you take care of the pilot and the tower?”

  “I did. Despite what you believe, Agent Cain, I am not the enemy. The choices I made were not made without regret.”

  “Look, Varela, I don’t give a shit what your reasons were for letting one of your own be killed and allowing two of mine to be shot at. That said, if you want to stay on my good side and at the end of the day, that’ll be the best place for you, then help these folks get out of here, without incident.”

  Varela nodded and approached the plane. He signaled for the door to be opened while the stairs were moved into place.

  “It’s time,” Cain led the reluctant team toward the plane. “I know how you all must feel, but Scarborough’s made the right call. There’s a better chance at finding this killer by splitting up.”

  “You’ll excuse my candor, sir,” Walsh began. “But this isn’t your team. I am not onboard with the decision to see us divided. That’s not how we operate.”

  “Things are changing around here, man.” Quinn pushed in front of him and started up the stairs. “Nothing’s going to be the same now. Not with Scarborough at the helm.” He boarded the plane.

  “What the hell is going on with him?” Walsh helped Duncan onto the steps.

  “I don’t know, but it’s not looking good for us right now. I’m with you. This isn’t how we should be handling this situation. Reid is Quinn’s subordinate. Scarborough’s overstepped his bounds this time. And I don’t think Quinn will let him off the hook for it.” She stepped onto the plane and sat down near the middle, one row behind Quinn.

  Walsh was the last one on and sat in the front row. “That’s all of us.”

  A flight attendant nodded and secured the door.

  Walsh peered through the window at Cain who stepped back to his car. “Good luck.”

  Inside the yellow police tape that crisscrossed the surrounding trees, Scarborough stood over the body of the reporter who had written the article. “She knew something.” He peered at Fisher and Reid who stood nearby. “She knew something and was killed for it.”

  “He has formidable friends.” Fisher nodded. “We aren’t dealing with some kid taking a year off school to travel and decides to take out his aggressions on the locals. This person has a network and money to operate it. This killer is calculating and meticulous.”

  “And without remorse.” Kate squatted for a closer look. “The brutality. Decapitation usually signals something deeper, religious even. Maybe we’re dealing with a killer who has a God complex.” She pulled back up again. “Then again, not all of them were beheaded.”

  “He might’ve run out of time on the others,” Fisher replied.

  “Maybe, but I’m not so sure. He’s spending time with them. Seducing them first, gaining their trust. I don’t know. It’s too random to include it in his M.O. And with this one, who knows? He might’ve wanted to send a message. Maybe she betrayed him after writing the article. She could’ve tried to get help. I just can’t say with any certainty.”

  “Her editor must know what her schedule was. He has to know who she was with last. I think we need to have a word with him in person.” Scarborough stepped away from the body. “In the meantime, someone needs to pick her up. We can’t keep the local cops away from this for long.”

  “I’ll contact the officer who contacted Cain. Tell him he can have his people come back,” Fisher said.

  “Cain must have faith this cop. We were already burned by Varela,” Kate said.

  “He probably has as much faith in him as money can buy.” Fisher stepped away to make the call.

  “Let me reach out to Cain before we leave.” Scarborough retrieved his cell and waited for the line to answer. “Are they in the air?”

  “Yes. They just took off. I’m heading back with Varela to the safe house. Where are you folks?”

  “At the crime scene. Fisher’s calling the officer to come collect the body. We’ve pulled what we can from it with a kit. I don’t expect the city’s coroner will let us touch her after they take her into custody. Unless you can pull rank.”

  “That’s not going to happen. I’m afraid I can’t circumvent the system on this one. It’ll only feed into the narrative of the article.”

  “But that article isn’t due to be published, wasn’t that the agreement?”

  Cain laughed. “The only agreement that means anything here is one backed up by green paper. The editor will keep his mouth shut if we pay him well enough. And I’m working on that as we speak. That said, get what you can from the victim. It’s going to have to be enough. We’ll figure a way to get it out with the other samples.”

  Scarborough ended the call and returned to the team. “Cain’s on his way back to the safehouse.”

  Kate pulled off her latex gloves. “What about the others?”

  “They’re in the air, headed back to home.”

  “Good. I hope that’s where we’ll be by this time tomorrow. I don’t want to stay here any longer than necessary.”

  “It’s what, almost 9am now?” Fisher peered at his phone. “I’d like to get up to see this editor. The sooner we find out what she was doing, the sooner we can get some answers.”

  “You and Reid can go. I’ll stay here and wait for the officer and the coroner. I can’t stomach the idea of leaving her here alone.”

  “I don’t want to leave you out here,” Fisher replied.

  “You don’t have a choice. I’ll be fine. Go. You two get something we can use. Otherwise, we’ll have stayed behind for nothing.”

  As the morning sun pushed higher in the sky, the clouds vanished, and it was shaping up to be another sunny day in the city of Rio de Janeiro where it was supposed to be parties and playtime. Not murder and beheadings.

  “This looks like the building.” Kate peered through the windshield as Fisher drove. “The editor knows we’re coming, right?”

  “He knows. Cain said it was all arranged and the money is to be wired as soon as we give him the okay.”

  “Things certainly work differently down here.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Fisher pulled into the parking lot and cut the engine. “Before we go inside, I want to say something.” He appeared to consider his words carefully. “You and I haven’t had a chance to work together much and I’m glad to get the opportunity to get to know you better. You’ve been through a lot in the short time since you joined the team. And I just want to say I’m glad you’re here.”

  “Thank you.” Kate didn’t really know what else to say. They were in an awkward situation. The team was split. There were tensions between her and her boss. This whole thing was turning into a calamity and nothing made sense anymore.

  “Is there anything you want to say to me?” Fisher pressed on.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Reid, I can see something’s going on with you and Quinn and it’s starting to spill over. I don’t know what it is, but he’s pretty up in arms about it. Especially Scarborough’s decision to keep you here when he’s the senior profiler.”

  “Yeah. I kind of figured that would be a sore spot. He already thinks Scarborough favors me.”

  “Doesn’t he?”

  “What am I supposed to do? I’m here to do a job and I want to find this killer. Look, I’ll be honest, there are things about Quinn that I’ve only recently discovered. Things that shed a whole new light on him. And I don’t know if we’ll survive this. I mean, if the team will survive what’s going on with Quinn and me.”

  “Yeah, I figured.” Fisher exhaled. “I know Quinn pretty well and I think I can guess what’s going on. The thing is, you can’t let it distract you. Not here. Not now. I need you here 100 percent and so does Scarborough. We’re operating at half capacity as it is. Whatever’s going on is going to have to be put on the back burner. Can you do that?”

  “Absolutely. My concern is getting the
three of us out of here safely and putting the killer behind bars. Whatever it takes to make that happen is what I’m willing to do.”

  “Good.” Fisher pulled the keys from the ignition. “Then let’s go inside and see what this editor has to say.” He stepped out of the car and waited for Kate to join him. With sunglasses on his eyes and a toothpick between his lips, he led the way into the building. “Time to brush up on our Portuguese.”

  Kate grinned and followed inside.

  “Good morning.” Fisher appeared slightly rattled while he used his phone to try and translate for him. “Um, Bom dia.”

  “I speak English. Good morning,” the receptionist replied. “How can I help you?”

  “We’re here to see your editor, Mr. Santiago.” He showed his badge. “Agent Fisher, FBI.”

  “One moment.” She dialed Santiago’s line.

  Fisher turned to Kate. “I’ll get us started, if that’s okay with you.”

  “Sure.”

  “He’ll be right up to see you,” The receptionist said.

  Fisher nodded before patting Kate on the shoulder. “Now we wait.”

  15

  Mason Wylder stepped out of his steamy shower and wrapped a towel around his waist. He walked atop cold, polished concrete floors in the hall of his modern high-rise apartment in Manhattan and made his way to the kitchen. The coffee was brewed and a tray of croissants lay on the Italian Statuario marble counter. He poured a cup and grabbed the flakey breakfast bread and walked toward his sliding glass door that led to the balcony. Gazing at a much different view from here, he missed the white sandy beaches of Rio and now only noticed people scurrying below and a sea of yellow cabs flooding the streets.

  His cell phone rested on the coffee table and began to vibrate, capturing his attention. The time was approaching noon and he’d finally begun to feel like himself again. Back home, and mostly sober. “What’s up, bro?” He chomped down on his food.

  “I’m coming over. We need to talk,” Scott replied.

  “What about?”

  “I think you know. I won’t say more on the phone. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

  “Whatever you say.” Wylder ended the call. “I thought you might be pissed. Shit. Now I have to get dressed.”

  He returned to his bedroom and pulled on a dress shirt and slim-fitting grey dress pants. Wylder was known for his style and anytime he stepped out onto the streets of New York, he had to be dressed to the nines. He was hounded by paparazzi in public and he had no idea if Scott would make him leave the apartment, so he had to be prepared. The man was too paranoid. Always thinking trouble followed him. But trouble was back in Rio and Wylder was done with that for now. No one would give a shit about the girls. No one would care he went behind Scott’s back and took care of the reporter because he knew Scott hadn’t. Hell, if anyone should be pissed, it should be him. His most trusted friend lied and that lie could have cost him dearly.

  A knock sounded on the door. “It’s Scott.”

  Mason sauntered to the door and pulled it open. “Hey, man. What’s up?”

  Scott pushed his way inside. “I know what you fucking did. Do you have any idea the trouble you just created for yourself?”

  “Calm down, dude. I took care of it because you didn’t.”

  “How? How did you get to her?”

  “How do you think? She was at her house for fuck’s sake. And I did what I always do. She couldn’t be allowed to talk to anyone. You of all people should’ve known that.”

  “I did know that and I made a deal with her. She was a popular reporter who also made TV appearances. Do you believe her murder won’t be investigated?”

  “I’m sure it will, but they won’t find shit and you know it.” He moved back into the living room. “I don’t get what’s the big deal? She was a loose end you were supposed to handle. I pay you a shit ton of money to handle and you didn’t. I did your job for you and this is the thanks I get?”

  Scott shook his head. “You know the feds are still down there. The plan was to have that article published so the civil cops would go after them. You just prevented that.”

  “You worry too much, my man.” He patted Scott on the back. “This’ll blow over. Things down there don’t get solved, and this won’t either. Now, it’s time to get back into the swing of things. I guess I have to chill out for a while and that’s cool. I think I can manage that.”

  “Yeah. Right. Okay.” Scott still appeared incensed.

  “Hey, should we get a party going for tonight?”

  “Really? You just got back, and after…”

  “After what? Dude, it’s done. Now, are you going to set it up, or should I?

  “I’ll get it handled,” Scott started toward the door.

  “Don’t’ worry so much. You’ll get wrinkles.”

  Mason Wylder sat on his couch and flipped through the channels. It was late afternoon and too early to get ready for the party his assistant was oh so eager to arrange. He was getting antsy and hated sitting around doing nothing. Sure, the flight had been long, but jet lag never affected him and his energy level rarely sank.

  He needed to get out of the apartment. That’s what it was. Maybe grab a few things for the party tonight? Just a few of his close friends, only about thirty or so people. Just to celebrate his return. It would help satiate his desire to be back in Rio. He had spent the past three summers there during his show’s hiatus, and it had all become so easy for him. Getting away with things no one should. It was easy when cops had their hands out, looking for bribes to keep their mouths shut. And if there was one thing Wylder had a lot of, it was money. But now he had left much too early. He felt cheated and contemplated returning without Scott, but then something inside him told him not to do it. Even he had some sense sometimes.

  He walked out of his apartment building and onto the streets of Uptown, feeling euphoric. The sun was shining and the weather was warm. It almost felt like Rio, except there weren’t any women in bikinis roaming around the streets of Manhattan, well, maybe just a few.

  Wylder made his way into a café and waited in line. People around him began to whisper. They had figured out who he was. When he made it to the front of the line, the barista smiled.

  “You’re Mason Wylder.”

  “Guilty as charged. Can I get a half-caf latte, please?”

  “Of course.” She began his order but stopped. “You know, I love your show.”

  “Thanks.”

  Another woman approached and tripped over a chair before stumbling into him. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Wylder.”

  “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.”

  “Wow. You’re even more handsome than you are on the show,” she said.

  “Thank you. That’s sweet.”

  “Can I get your autograph?”

  In that moment, the barista returned with his coffee. “Here you go, Mr. Wylder.”

  He grabbed the drink. “Thanks.” And on turning back to the young woman who ran into him, he began. “Sure. Why don’t we get out of their way here and go outside?” He started toward the door and held it open for her. “Let’s walk around the corner before everyone starts to come up to me. It can get hectic at times.” Wylder led the way. “What would you like me to sign?”

  She looked around for anything to use. “Um, my shirt?”

  He eyed her for a moment and felt the familiar twinge in his stomach. He swallowed hard while maintaining a pleasant smile. Inside, he was churning. He had learned when to draw the line for the past few years and this was something new. Why it was happening, he didn’t quite know. But when it happened, it was overpowering. Only he wasn’t in Rio anymore. He would threaten everything if he made a move here. “You know, maybe we should grab a bite to eat? You hungry?”

  The girl smiled. “Yeah. Definitely.” She followed him to his car.

  “Hop in.” Wylder slid into the driver’s seat of his Porsche. When she was inside, he started the engine and gauged his surr
oundings. No one watched him. He’d slipped away just in time before the crowds built. “I didn’t get your name.”

  “Jenny. Jenny Larson. I can’t believe I’m in a car with Mason Wylder.” She reached for her cell phone. “Can I live-stream this?”

  He swatted away her phone. “No.”

  “Hey.” She leaned into the footwell to search for it. “I can’t see it.”

  Mason watched her while she was bent over. He quickly searched for something he could use while his pulse quickened and his mouth turned to cotton. A quick check of his location. This was still Manhattan and even side streets were busy, but he could find a secluded spot, and he had to work fast.

  “Finally,” she said. “Here it is.”

  She begun to pull back up. It was now or never. He couldn’t stop the impulse driving his decisions. It was too strong. He reached into the back seat and recalled the umbrella he always left inside. That would do it. Wylder he swung hard with the umbrella in hand and struck the back of her head at the base of her neck. She collapsed in place. Slumped over her knees, her phone fell to the floor again.

  “Yeah!” Wylder shouted before breaking into laughter. “Damn that felt good. But don’t you worry, Jenny. There’ll be lots more fun for you later. Just need to figure out where the hell we can go.”

  He hadn’t thought it through and now he had no choice but to follow the impulse inside him. There had only been one other time he’d committed a similar act here and that was when he was just starting on the show. Before he was as famous as he was now. He’d gotten away with it then. Perhaps he had returned from Rio too soon. The thirst still raged inside him, and Wylder was arrogant. He’d gotten away with a great many horrific things. He could get away with this too.