Caribbean Moon

by Rick Murcer

  Small, dark patches of shoe polish gathered below each eye. Jenkins’s freshly shaved head and face glowed as steady streams of light reflected against congregating perspiration. No demon born from Hell ever looked more frightening.

  But there was no arrogant smile pursing his lips. No expression inhabited his black, unforgiving eyes. He was all business. It was as it should be. The time had finally arrived. And he was ready. Everyone was born to a purpose and what came next was the very reason he had come into existence.

  It’s not often one is allowed the opportunity to do what he was going to do next.

  He would no longer have to shroud his intent with disguise and deceit. He had remained hidden for all of these months and now it was near the appointed time to inform the world what Eli Jenkins was about.

  They would discover that God wasn’t found in an ancient 5,000-year-old book, but in raw, unrestrained power. His kind of power.

  The license to give and take life made gods, not notions of love, sacrifice, and kindness. He, Eli Jenkins, had seen the effect of his actions in the faces of his victims when they left this world. That was real power.

  The black diving watch on his wrist said it was 10:59. Right on schedule.

  Pulling the backpack over to his side, he checked and rechecked its contents. Once satisfied, he zipped it and placed it on the floor next to the bed.

  The opened balcony door allowed the night’s humidity to enter. The sultry air hugged him like a needy lover. The smell of the ocean was strong as he listened to the breaking waves keep steady time against the cruise ship’s hull.

  This was all for him, this stage, this audience. He wouldn’t disappoint.

  After ten minutes, he pulled the door shut, turned down the music, plugged in special earphones, and flipped off the room’s lights.

  Eli Jenkins stood staring out the window, as still as a rock. Just a few hours to go and the prize would be his. No one could stop him or what was predestined.

  He felt like a child on his or her special birthday.

  As he closed his eyes and relaxed his body, he heard it. At some indefinable time between the world of the unconscious and the conscious, the voice spoke.

  For one brief, uneasy, maybe even sickening moment, he heard Robert Peppercorn’s plea for freedom, for deliverance.

  With a sharp flex of his will, Peppercorn disappeared, vanishing into thin air like a wisp of smoke in a violent hurricane.

  Jenkins had worked too hard to allow that wormy, feeble-willed punk back in control. Hell would freeze over first. He smiled again. He knew a little about Hell.

  CHAPTER-68

  After hanging up the phone, Manny pulled on shorts and a red tee shirt. He shuffled to the room’s loveseat and tried to stuff his wide feet into his sandals. They wouldn’t go. Trying again, he bent the toenail on his big toe back far enough to get his attention. He scowled and looked down, finally realizing that Louise’s pink-flowered flip-flops weren’t going to stretch nearly enough for his EEEE wide, ten and one-half feet. A tired grin broadened his unshaven face. They wouldn’t go very well with the rest of his outfit anyway.

  He continued to rub the sleep out of his eyes while he located his watch and wallet. Corner had let him know that more information had come in from Miami and his presence was requested to go over the fine print. He also said they would be staying in their original rooms, but with more security. Manny was grateful, but wasn’t sure it was a problem anymore. Josh had agreed, but had taken the liberty of doubling up the security in the infirmary. No more trouble for the Gavin’s family. They’d been scorched enough.

  The Crosbys. He was trying to be a good cop, to get the personal out of the way and focus on the investigation. But how could he, really? He knew that the unspeakable pain of the past few hours could never leave.

  But exhaustion has no allegiance or emotion and proved an ally, at least for a couple hours, so he had slept some. Some was better than none.

  A few moments later, his sandals firmly in place, he stepped through the cabin door, making sure it locked, nodded at the two security guards, and headed to Josh Corner’s room. Grogginess was now a memory, and the thought of possible new leads hastened his step.

  Corner was waiting for him, espresso in hand. Manny gratefully accepted the coffee and sat down on the loveseat. A thick file of faxed documents sat on the round table and glared ominously at him. He returned the glare. It wasn’t the first time that the evidence displayed reluctance, and even disdain, at the prospect of speaking to him. In the end, nevertheless, the words and photos would carry on a conversation with him. They always did.

  “Well, at least you look awake. No super model, but awake.”

  “Almost, and bite me,” Manny said, returning the agent’s grin.

  “Those your kids?”

  Corner glanced at the faded picture of two grinning toddlers pressed in the middle of his tee and smiled an unguarded, affectionate grin.

  “Charlie and Jake. Four and three. Best time in the whole world.” Corner’s smile was replaced with a shake of his head. “I don’t see them enough. You know how this career thing is.”

  “That’s the truth. And I know the feeling.”

  It was good that Josh Corner was a family man. Loved ones put the checkmate on all of the other pieces that could steal your sanity, your soul.

  Manny poured more coffee and saw there were only two cups to go with the small pot of espresso. “When are the rest coming? It’s going to be a little tight in here. Maybe we should go to the conference room.”

  Josh rubbed the back of his neck. “No one else is coming; at least for now. I want you to look at this stuff and see what you see.”

  Doubt billowed in Manny’s eyes. “I’m not the forensic expert here. I think we need Tucker and Alex to help us analyze this information. Not to mention, Richardson will blow a gasket if he’s not involved in this.”

  It was Corner’s turn to fill his cup. He studied the black liquid and tested the vanilla delight. “I’ll handle the others. I want to get your impressions. Your thoughts. I want to see how you interpret fresh info without anyone else’s input. Just like yesterday when I gave you the incomplete files. You saw things. I want you to look closer. I bet you do your best work when you’re alone, away from others and their opinions.”

  Manny paused and then slowly nodded his head. That was no surprise, at least to him. Things just seemed clearer when he was running solo. He did do his best work alone. The voices of the dead were easier to hear when it was quiet. They spoke, and he made sense of their petitions, their pleas. He didn’t know where Corner was going with this, but he was right.“If that’s what you want. I’ll do it. How much time do I have?”

  “I’m going to call a meeting at 6:30 a.m., sharp. You have until then. How much time you spend looking at the lab reports and pictures is up to you.”

  He rolled his eyes and ran his hand through his hair. “You’re a jerk. You know I won’t get any more sleep tonight.”

  Corner flashed his bright teeth and shoved a piece of cake in front of Manny, tossing him a fork.

  “We won’t have the blood DNA and fingerprint results until late morning, after we get into Aruba. That information is being sent via courier from my office. But you have all of the pictures and updated reports from Liz’s file, including new photos, and the murders in San Juan, St. Johns, and Dominica. Plus, you have the semi-completed files involving Lynn Casnovsky and the attack on Detective Perez. It was as good as the San Juan Police could do on such short notice.”

  Corner hesitated and picked up another, much thinner folder carrying the FBI seal. Manny watched him turn it around in his hands nervously.

  “What?”

  “Max put together the preliminary pictures and report from Mike’s and Lexy’s room. They’re in this one. Like I said before, it’s not pretty.”

  The two cops locked eyes and Corner asked him the most simple of questions. But it chilled him to the core.

&nb
sp; “Are you ready for it?”

  The same, anguishing, gut-clenching feeling from the early evening came snarling back. Barbed wire seemed to have wrapped itself around Manny’s insides.

  Hell no, he wasn’t ready for it.

  How could anyone be ready for the horrible images that lay hidden in that unholy file? But what choice did he have?

  Damned if you do and damned if you don’t. He hated the phrase, but it applied here. He took the file from Corner’s hand.

  “By the way, we still haven’t heard back from Dr. Argyle about Peppercorn. His secretary is supposed to get back with us in the morning. He must have his cell phone turned off because we have been trying to call him, too.”

  Manny nodded, stood up, and tucked the thick files under his arm.

  “Aren’t you going to eat your cake?” asked Corner.

  “Knock yourself out. I’ll see you at six.”

  He left the agent’s room and headed back to his.

  He greeted the guards and stepped into his cabin. He didn’t know what was going on in Corner’s mind, but decided he didn’t care. He liked getting the files first. It was going to be a long night, but it was the least he could do.

  Bending low, he kissed his still sleeping wife, then sat down to catch a killer.

  This kind of work made him more…alive.

  Cautious enthusiasm bordered his thoughts. They were getting close. Things were ready to pop. He could feel it. They had a witness and this information, plus they were in a closed environment on the ship. The noose had to be tightening for the madman.

  He reflected later on just how accurate his intuition had been. In just a few, short hours all Hell was going to break loose aboard the Ocean Duchess.

  CHAPTER-69

  Louise’s slow, metrical breathing was the only sound drifting through the cabin while Manny turned each page of the thick files with methodical purpose. He tried to coax the cryptic stories, hidden in each case, to a measured, resolute rhythm. Like a conductor reaching the part of the concerto where tempo was everything. The inflection identified what the composer wanted to unveil. But the music’s effect on the audience was almost always a mystery. Even to the skilled leader of the band. The same was true with an evidence file. It would sing, but could he hear the melody? Could anyone?

  For Manny, the challenge was to put an emotion and a cadence with each picture, each report. He wanted to feel how the killer felt, how the perp thought of himself; as Mozart or Led Zeppelin. Did he hate or did he, in his own perverted way, love? Did he see himself as an angel of God? One of Evil’s dominions? One thing was sure; the madman enjoyed the fear element of his ritual. He wondered what made this killer tremble. What caused him to shudder, to piss his pants in fear? Maybe nothing, maybe everything. But if he had to bet, he suspected no fear cruised this man’s core. And compassion was only a word in the dictionary.

  There really wasn’t anything new in the information provided for the first four victims. Everything looked virtually the same. Orderly. Precise. Each body found with the black rose in place. Each throat wrecked and upper bodies torn to shreds. It all meant something. But what? He wanted them to speak, to reveal their stories of living--and dying. He needed to hear clearly when the concert began.

  While turning the pages, he thought how hard it was, at times, to equate the pictures and reports, wrapped in official government file folders, with a once living, feeling person. No problem with that tonight, however. Liz, Lex, and the others would always be more than the contents of these miserable files. Much more.

  Manny pressed his finger against his lips and wondered what was inside that he hadn’t seen the day before. There had to be a screw up, no matter how trivial. No one is that good. That perfect. Every one of these bastards, somewhere along the line, makes a mistake.

  After the third time through, he slammed the files on the table in disgust and frustration. He wasn’t seeing it. There was something else here. He knew it. Could feel it. But what? Then again, what did he expect at 4:30 in the morning? Miracles? Walking on water wasn’t in his repertoire.

  He ran his hand through his hair again and tasted from the white mug. It didn’t smell or taste as good as the vanilla espresso that Corner had, but it did the trick.

  Lynn Casnovsky’s file was next. He leaned in to get a better look at each graphic photo. Lynn had bruising on the left side of his face that showed definite signs of knuckle imprints. His jaw had been broken in four places, antemortem. He must have been in serious pain and Manny felt the empathetic tug at his heart.

  There was some bruising on the other side of his face indicating that it had been squeezed or grabbed with tremendous pressure. That fit with the fact that his neck had been snapped like a twig in a storm. There were other postmortem injuries. A few broken bones earned from being thrown over the balcony and bounced off the lifeboat. There were also several places where the body had been stripped of tissue by sea scavengers. Not pretty.

  A rookie detective could recognize what had happened here. The killer had hit Lynn in the jaw, maybe putting him out, then, from behind, stole his life with a violent twist.

  That took raw strength or knowledge. But he didn’t believe this guy had any military training. His best guess fortified what Tucker and Alex both thought, he killed with pure strength. Not someone to go toe-to-toe with.

  The ocean had washed away anything else that Lynn could tell them. No fibers. No blood traces. No hair or epithelium to process. Just a clean, ocean-soaked body.

  Manny tilted away from the table and thought about Sophie’s affair with the dead man. He didn’t think either one of them thought it would end like this.

  Well no shit, Sherlock.

  People wanted to manipulate the whens, the hows, and the whats because it gave them a sense of controlled destiny. If he had figured one thing out in life, it was that no one had command of anything. Control was some cruel illusion that fate hung overhead like just-out-of-reach fruit. Dauntingly close, but impossible to touch. Maybe it was a good thing that God ultimately controlled eternity. At least there would be justice.

  He closed Lynn’s file and gazed at the dark file that hid the secret to Lexy’s last minutes alive. It whispered his name and he heard it, all too clearly. Like Sirens beckoning the sailors of a lost ship.

  He locked his hands behind his head and gazed intently at the curtain-covered terrace door. Small rays of early morning sun eluded the flat edges of the drape.

  Are you sure you’re ready for it?

  If not him, not now, then who would Lexy speak to?

  After a few moments, he began to open the file, and then pulled his hand away. Déjà Vu put up a roadblock that he wasn’t sure he could get through. Opening Lexy’s file reminded him of the first time he had gathered enough courage to review his first partner’s, Kyle Chavez’s, homicide file. He’d put it off for two weeks and when he finally opened the cover, he didn’t eat for two days.

  Memories of his ex-partner’s death had faded mostly, but they were like old scars. The wounds had healed, but things would never look quite the same.

  Kyle still represented recollections of a past Manny was helpless to change, but maybe that’s how it was supposed to be. Maybe men like him weren’t supposed to forget. It’s what drove him.

  The Guardian of the Universe took a deep breath and opened Lexy’s folder.

  CHAPTER-70

  Sophie sat on the edge of the firm bed and laced her blue and white Reebok cross-trainers. She was dressed in jogger’s shorts, a white tank top, and a fanny pack, decorated with the LPD insignia.

  A Carousel cruise line baseball cap held her long hair in place. Randy had gotten the hat for her at one of the lavish shops in the ship’s mall. He could be so sweet.

  She ran slim fingers around the edge to make sure it was on straight, and was struck with an odd thought. She hadn’t gone shopping on the ship. Not one iota. Usually she and shopping were as close as sun and light. That’s what she got for being
Manny’s partner. He owed her for that one, big time. A new, expensive pair of shoes would work.

  A wide yawn came to visit while she stood and stretched her legs and arms. She was tired and the last couple days had taken something out of her. But she always got up before 5:30 and ran three miles. Always. She thought of the old milk commercial.

  It did a body good.

  She glanced over to her husband. Small snoring sounds filtered through the thick pillow that partially covered his face. At least one of them was getting some sleep.

  The 9MM felt heavy as she patted her fanny pack, but she couldn’t leave it behind.

  You never know when you might get to shoot the balls off a serial killer.

  She adjusted the barrel and snuck out of the stateroom.

  One of the security guards asked her if she wanted company. She shook her head and flashed the weapon. “This little darling is all I need, but thanks.”

  With that, she headed for the jogging track on the Sun Deck. She knew it was going to be about the only time, at least until they docked later in Aruba, that she would have to herself. After what had happened last night, the investigation was going to intensify, if that were possible. Especially if Manny and she had anything to do with it.

  Poor Lexy. Poor Mike. Poor Gavin and Stella. She lowered her head. Someone needed to remind her again why she wanted to be a cop.

  The information from the FBI labs would be in Oranjestad this morning and she was sure that the good-looking Agent Corner (and he was good looking) wouldn’t hesitate calling them together.

  He couldn’t waste any time. Who knew when the killing machine would strike next? She had never seen anything like this guy and never wanted to again.

  Sophie stepped from the elevator and stretched her calves and thighs, watching the red sun peek over the horizon. She felt its immediate impact on the already warm and humid air and took a deep, sweet breath. It just plain felt good. Maybe there is something to that old saying that things would always be better in the morning.