by Rick Murcer
CARIBBEAN MOON
RICK MURCER
Copyright 2011 By Rick Murcer.
www.rickmurcer.com
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For my wife Carrie, who believed in me.
For JC, who loves me and keeps me on the path.
To CM, the best editor no one’s ever heard of.
To Randy, my brother, for being my brother.
CHAPTER-1
“I’ll need to see your ID, sir.”
“What?” Manny Williams stared at the pretty Latino barmaid. He must have looked like a deer in headlights because she started to grin, rescued her composure, and asked again.
“I’m thirty-eight years old, I don’t…”
“Having trouble gettin’ served, Williams?”
He looked to his left. Sophie Lee, his diminutive partner stood a few feet away wearing one of her famous gotcha grins.
“I should have known…and don’t you have something else to do?”
“Why no, no I don’t.” She stepped nearer. “You should have known what?”
“That you put the poor girl up to this. Does she know even in Puerto Rico, you can be arrested for messing with a cop?”
The barmaid’s face raced from smiles to the south side of unsure.
“Don’t listen to him. He has anger issues, plus he’s a workaholic.” She lowered her voice to a whisper, sympathy oozing. “And, well, one word,” Sophie drew closer. “The little blue pill thing.”
The young woman’s eyes grew large, “Really? But he seems so--I mean--well look at him.”
“Blue pill thing?” said Manny.
“I know. He’s all blue-eyed and hot. Sad, isn’t it? You just can’t tell these days.”
“Ladies, I’m right here.”
“Think of his poor wife.”
“He’s married with that--problem?”
“Yep. It’s like having the candy but you can’t get the wrapper off. Did I say off?”
“Seriously, I haven’t left.”
“He’s in denial, but he’s starting to realize he has to talk about it, find out what’s up…err…isn’t,” continued Sophie.
“You’re right, it is sad. His wife must be miserable.”
“Okay, I’m getting out the cuffs.”
“Wow. Does he like that kind of stuff?” asked the barmaid, with a glint in her eyes.
“I think that’s why he wanted to be a cop, you know?”
Manny reached into the pocket of his black tux and quickly slapped one cuff on Sophie’s wrist, the other to the brass rod running underneath the bar.
She stared at one hand then the other in disbelief. Her look was worth a million dollars. Manny couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen her anywhere near speechless.
He turned to the barmaid. “I’ll take that pina colada now.”
“Yes sir. On the house.”
Manny didn’t think he’d ever seen anyone mix a drink faster.
“You brought cuffs to a wedding reception?” marveled Sophie
“Hey. I’m always prepared. And look at that, they came in handy.” He grabbed his drink and started to walk away.
“Manny! You can’t leave me like this.”
“I can. But say the magic word and you’re free.”
Sophie let out a breath, her pretty face revealing her Chinese-American heritage. “No.”
“Okay. I’ll come get you in the morning, if I remember.”
“Wait. Wait. Alright. Please, let me out of these.”
He tossed her the key. “Good girl.” He walked through the double doors of the reception room, his grin growing wider. “I still got it.”
Continuing through the lobby, taking his drink with him, (the inviting aroma of coconut was strong, even if the drink wasn’t), he was intent on harvesting his share of the fresh Caribbean air. He pulled open the crested glass door, strolled to the stucco patio, and leaned over the wall of the posh hotel on San Juan’s Condado Strip. It was humid, and the damnable tux was still in place. Dots of perspiration appeared above his lip and began to multiply. But it was okay. It was Mike and Lexy’s wedding and he’d survive. Getting married in San Juan, followed by an elaborate reception, was the wedding that dreams were made of. Not to mention the seven-day cruise that started the next day. He hoped his fourteen-year-old daughter, Jennifer, would opt for something much less exotic when she tied the knot.
The full moon’s pale reflection rippled across the waves as they tangoed toward shore and ultimately into the hotel’s barrier rock wall. He’d seen a thousand full moons, but none matched this Caribbean version. Magnificent and serene. He felt some of his perpetual tension flow away.
Sitting his drink on the ledge of the wall, he pulled out his wallet and touched his Lansing Police Department ID.
Manfred Robert Williams, Sergeant Detective, Lansing Police Department.
After eleven years, it still gave him a kick to see his title in print; almost as much as seeing his real name. His sometimes-eccentric father had pulled the name Manfred from where the sun-don’t-shine because he wanted his only son to be different.
Mission accomplished.
Strong fingers loosened the black bow tie, and he released a pent-up breath. It felt good to get away, but there were cases to solve. The thing is there would always be too many cases, too many sickos, and not enough hours. Walking hand in hand with that was the fact that he had no real sense when enough was enough. It all added up to a workaholic’s perfect storm. Sophie hit that on the head.
Complicating things even more were the results of Louise’s, his wife’s, last mammogram. There was something there, an anomaly that the doctor couldn’t quite figure out. Louise had told him it was nothing, that they would review the test results with the doc when they got home. It didn’t sound like “nothing.”
She had insisted they not cancel this trip for a plethora of reasons, and she was right with most of them. Besides, his need to chill out had become as obvious as an elephant in the kitchen.
He sipped the drink and tried to enjoy the scene in front of him, but his thoughts wandered again, this time to the job, what else, and his latest case. So much for relaxing.
“Good God, I’ve got the attention span of a two-year-old,” he growled. But the grisly homicide involving the murdered wife of a prominent psychologist was attached to his hip, refusing to let go. The details of the murder stormed his senses. He tried to shove them away, but they hung in there like a door-to-door environmental activist. Who knows? Maybe he didn’t want to stop it. He winced. There’s a question for the department shrink.
Sylvia Martin’s lifeless eyes, posed in a glassy, haunting stare, was the unforgettable picture the killer wanted no one to ignore. Only the brutality of the attack matched its senselessness. In addition to that, the suspect had sex with her, postmortem, according to the CSU report. Not just sex, either. He had laid waste to the corpse with such force that much of her upper torso had become a purple and black teething bar. Alex Downs, the department’s head Crime Scene Investigator, could only remember one case with that kind of brutality. A psycho named Robert Peppercorn had attacked four young women eleven years prior and had raped, beaten, and bitten them, repeatedly, falling just short of killing the victims.
After he had acted out his malefic fantasies, Peppercorn congenially handed each of his victims a long-stemmed, red r
ose and thanked them for a good time. Sylvia Martin’s killer had left a black rose draped across her ravaged torso. Manny suspected it was no coincidence. The LPD wanted to talk to Peppercorn pronto. But he had been deemed cured by his psychological team and, after his release last year, had moved on. In fact, no one had heard from him during that stretch, not even his mother.
He rubbed his eyes with thumb and forefinger. Men like Peppercorn were motivated and controlled by impulses, disorganized, but the killer in the Martin case was a cold, calculating psychopath. Alex and his CSU saw obvious similarities to Peppercorn’s “work” but said forensic dentistry was just not that reliable and there were no perfect bite marks, just fragments to make a partial mold from. He said it was like the killer varied his marks on purpose. That was a detail Manny didn’t think Peppercorn capable of manipulating. He just wasn’t that bright. Still, if they could locate him, Peppercorn would be a good place to start.
His thoughts ran deeper as he passed a hand through his hair, an old nervous habit from adolescence.
Was the whole world going crazy? What kind of animal does that to another human? It made Jack the Ripper seem like Captain Kangaroo.
It was more than a random act; he felt it in his bones. The investigation could use him, his intuition.
Let it go, man. The department can handle things for a week. You’re on vacation. Louise needs you, concentrate on her for a change.
Again, he switched focus to the coconut delight in his hand while he tried to bum rush the overwhelming nuances of the job.
Sometimes they loomed like unholy apparitions and hung on with a life of their own. He pushed again, and they scampered to some recluse corner of his head. No more work. Not here. Not now.
That’s when the ear-splitting scream interrupted paradise.
CHAPTER-2
Eli Jenkins heard the shriek echo from somewhere beyond the pool, but didn’t care. Hell, it might provide a small, well-timed diversion. He stayed focused on the newlyweds sauntering toward the shadowy northwest corner of the hotel’s courtyard, their arms around each other’s waists.
They giggled and bumped playfully as they moved near the wall, past the steamy, chlorine-filled Jacuzzi. Alone and in love.
Except they weren’t alone.
Mike and Lexy Crosby were so absorbed with each other, and with the night, that it would have been impossible to notice the towering figure standing in the opaque shadows. Unless the couple had been looking for him. Really looking. Which they weren’t.
Jenkins stood mere yards from their eventual destination, hands clenched in powerful fists. He could do it now. He could tear them apart and no one would see.
With three long strides, he moved through the shadows and locked in on the newlyweds. He would destroy the groom, Mike Crosby, and then help himself to the fine young fruits that Crosby’s new wife flaunted like a Las Vegas whore. Then he’d steal her soul, and, if time allowed, he would make sure it happened with a slow excruciating process appropriately reserved for those of her sort. Anyone who hooked up with Crosby’s ilk deserved that kind of communion with the Grim Reaper. He would make her dance an agonizing waltz with fear, turning her mind to Play-Doh. She would beg him to kill her. They all would.
His heart rate quickened as his anticipation strutted like a wild Arabian stallion. He wanted to see her face as she checked out, as her damnable life-light faded like a dying star. Then, at just the right moment, he would catch her soul and keep it for his own. She would be part of him forever, like the others in Michigan. Just like that. They were with him, even now. The more the merrier.
Delicious thoughts accelerated as he migrated closer to the unmindful lovers. He could barely contain himself. There was no rush like the hunt, the stalk. Nothing compared to the thrill of the chase as unsuspecting prey, shadowed by a merciless predator, lived in ignorance regarding their advancing fate. It was how it should be.
His muscles rippled like a tiger’s in the thick underbrush of outer India. He moved even closer, heart thumping in his ears.
Twenty feet. He could feel their insignificant lives being crushed and snatched from them by his greedy hands. His insides felt like he had just traveled the steepest slope of the fastest roller coaster.
The man-mountain was now completely out of the shadows.
One stride left.
Slowing, his dark eyes tracked the small beads of sweat that slid lazily down Lexy’s neck toward her partially exposed cleavage. His nostrils flared with her scent.
This forthcoming jamboree would be a delight that couldn’t possibly be appreciated by anyone else. He was now the judge, jury, and, of course, the executioner; the very best part.
Jenkins’s anticipation abruptly turned to a limitless rage. It coursed through him as an endless resource, like black in outer space. The rage had been his constant companion, his life partner. Their mutual intimacy gave them purpose, like a symbiotic parasite and its helpless host. And now, they were both ready.
He returned his focus on the clueless bride and groom, taking the last, long stride that would ensure his immortality. This was it. All he had to do was reach out and they were his, eternally.
Until death do us part.
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CHAPTER-3
The scream erupted again, to his left. Manny’s insides leapt somewhere past his throat, as he whirled to locate the source of the raucous shriek, reaching for a weapon he’d left locked in the safe of his Lansing home.
He searched frantically through the dim glow of the courtyard. It took a minute, but it soon dawned on him that it hadn’t been a scream of horror, or even alarm, but a piercing laugh coming from a boisterous, vacation-clad group of young women. The ladies were greatly enjoying the cash bar and sounded like they, for the evening at least, had put life’s problems out of mind, although a little too loud for him. Or maybe he was just wound too tight.
Imagine that.
One of the women stopped, and turned to Manny. “Sorry if we startled you.” She moved closer. “I think I could make it up to you if you wanted to come to my room.”
“What a wonderful offer, but my wife wouldn’t approve.”
She grinned. “Lucky woman.”
The young ladies continued to stampede past and he realized they could probably teach him a thing or two. Living in the here-and-now wasn’t a bad thing.
He ran his hand through his hair, concentrating on bringing his heart rate down to 150 MPH.
The word is relax, Detective Williams.
Leaning against the railing, he looked past the two pools adorning the verdant courtyard and noticed the stars of the night talking and laughing through the shadowy confines of the trees. This splendor was such a contrast to the gruesome, Hell-spawned scenes he had become far too intimate with.
The bride and the groom stood in the shadow of the rock wall fifty yards away. She was still wearing the white, rhinestone-studded wedding dress that danced against the light whenever she moved. He guessed she wanted to wear it as long as she could.
Lexy had chosen wisely. Mike was a good man, strong, with a sense of purpose.
Manny had been a twenty-three-year-old rookie when he partnered up with Mike’s dad, Gavin Crosby. Mike had been just twelve. Good kid then and a fine young man and excellent cop now, just like his dad.
Gavin had been a great mentor, a clever detective, and, eventually, a perfect choice as Lansing’s Police Chief. He had always been firm but fair, and Manny loved him like a big brother. To see Gavin’s son marry a wonderful young woman like Lexy Castro was truly a pleasure. He felt like a proud uncle.
The small stone bridge that led across the waterway to San Juan’s venerable old fort, San Cristobal, caught his eye, hovering above and beyond the bay. He followed the lit skyline to the cruise ship wharf where they would board the Ocean Duchess in the morning. Her lighted frame and distinctive exhaust stack towered above the pier district of San Juan, creating a truly striking sight, especially at night.
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“Manny Williams. What are you doing out here alone? You could be accosted or something worse.”
He looked to the sky and smiled. That voice was unmistakable. Liz Casnovsky, Lansing’s accomplished DA, took a couple of awkward steps toward him and settled at his right. She was dressed in a silver, sequin-littered designer gown that must have cost a fortune. Her black Prada heels and matching handbag topped off a great look.
She hooked her lean arm through his and gave him a peck on the cheek. Her breath was tinged with Kahlua, and her eyes held a slightly glazed quality.
“Well, if that happened, I guess I’d know who to hire to put the bad people away.”
“Damn straight, you would. Besides, no one gets to accost you but me, got it?”
“Got it,” he mused. “Where’s Lynn? Did you ditch your devoted husband already?”
“Devoted my ass! Whatever,” she slurred. “Do you know that he actually had the audacity to say I’ve had enough to drink and that I should go to bed before I hurt myself?”Liz straightened as to shuck away the words spoken by her husband, swaying a little too far to the left.
He steadied his good friend.
The tall woman peered into his face, “I have, haven’t I?”
“I would say any more Black Russians would intensify the morning’s headache.”
“That’s what I like about you detective, you never lie to me. Kind, too. Not like other men.”
“Shhh. You’ll ruin that whole tough-guy rep I’ve worked hard to set up.”
They gazed silently in the direction of the moving ocean and he patted her arm. Manny knew that Lynn and Liz had had a problem or two, but it seemed they wanted to iron things out. He hoped they stuck with it because sometimes the castle in the sky can slip away like a dream at dawn.
Liz turned her head. “Do you think I’m pretty?”
“You’re gorgeous. If I weren’t happily married, wild horses couldn’t keep me away.”