by Rick Murcer
So far, this daybreak was the complete antithesis to the previous evening. It had to be because nothing felt good about last night.
The Crosbys’ collective torture danced vividly in her mind. No one should have to cope with the death of a child. It wasn’t natural, not the way things were designed. And in a real sense, Lexy had been Gavin’s and Stella’s child.
Lexy. Sophie had always thought herself tough as nails and able to handle most things. She had seen plenty in the back streets of Chinatown in San Francisco. But seeing Lexy like that, like some kind of slaughterhouse mistake, had gotten to her, really gotten to her. The truth of the atrocity was driven home even deeper as she sat with Gavin and Stella. They wore identical vague, glassy eyed expressions. These kinds of things didn’t happen to them, their family.
The quick sob came out of nowhere and surprised her. Lexy had been such a good kid. She had been a perfect match for Mike. But that train had hit the tracks.
Hot anger flared as she began her thirty-lap trek around the tan oval that circled beneath the weather towers and wind indicators.
With each lap around the deserted track, Sophie picked up speed, trying to exorcise the images from the previous night. Maybe even some of the ones that Lynn and she had hidden together. She steered away from thoughts of Lynn. There was enough to deal with today.
Her skin glistened in the early morning air as she pushed herself near the limit.
Who said sweating was bad for women?
She was so lost in her own world that she didn’t notice the big man pull up beside her until she caught movement out of the corner of her eye.
He was outfitted in a black tank top and army fatigues. His long, powerful legs loped stride for stride with her.
“It’s a beautiful morning, don’t you think, Detective Lee.”
Her head jerked to the right. “How do you kno…?” Sophie stopped breathing. He had changed. He was in astonishing shape, but it was him. Robert Peppercorn was no longer missing.
She slammed on the brakes and reached for her zipped-up Glock, but she never really had a chance. He sprayed the chloroform directly into her face.
****************
Jenkins lifted the small woman over his shoulder like a rag doll, and headed for the food court. His body language revealed just how pleased he was with himself.
“Hey! What are you doing?”
He turned to see First Officer Pena, dressed in jogging gear, running toward him from some twenty feet away. He raised his left hand and pulled the trigger of the Smith and Wesson. Pena’s white shirt turned to crimson as he hit the deck, dying from a shot to the heart. A toothy grin spread across Jenkins’s damp face.
Oh what the passengers on the Ocean Duchess would write in their cruise journals after this day was over.
CHAPTER-71
The darkened room squeezed him. Not because the walls were closing in, but because the entities surrounding him, touching him, embracing him, were growing. Manny sensed them changing, evolving, and he was afraid.
The absence of light in the room ordered him to feel lost, forsaken, and caused his fear to escalate. The blackness enveloped all reason and logic and kept them isolated from him like a prisoner in solitary confinement.
As the objects pressed closer, he realized he couldn’t move. He could smell the aroma of rank death as hot, putrid breath scampered across his face. He tried to scream, but nothing came out. Fright whirled closer.
What the hell is this? Why am I here?
As if to answer his questions, out of nowhere and everywhere came a deep, deafening voice booming directly into his brain. “It’s all your fault. The reason that everyone around you is dead is because you let them die. If you had been any kind of cop, they would ALL still be breathing. Some Guardian of the Universe.”
Then the voice changed gender and it was Liz’s turn.
“Thanks loads, Williams. I wanted to do this cruise thing, but you screwed that up and now I’m dead. But you’ll pay. Starting with Louise, she’s the next to die.”
A small movie screen sprang to life directly in front of him. The picture was as clear as life. He watched in horror as Lexy Crosby pointed a Glock 19 at Louise’s temple. Lexy turned toward Manny, showing off her mutilated face as a vivid reminder of her fate. He screamed to warn his wife. But the loud report blocked out everything.
His body jerked as his senses spiraled back to him. The next loud knock brought Manny up from his chair like a jack-in-the-box, a terrified jack-in-the-box. He looked at his watch. 6:15.
He wiped at the moisture on his face and felt his pulse start to calm. He shot a quick glance at Louise, saw the faint rising of her chest, and knew the nightmare had lied. But it was still fiercely alive. He tried again, but couldn’t quite shake the helpless binding that some nightmares bring with Jacob Marley-like chains. He took another deep breath and relaxed his shoulders. Better.
Wow. He had fallen asleep after he closed Lexy’s file. He wanted the rest, but that kind of sleep he didn’t need. No one did.
The knocking intensified. Manny grabbed his gun and went to the door. A fast look through the security peephole was all he needed to become fully awake. Adrenaline pushed through his just-settled body and the pounding in his chest returned.
Richardson and Agent Corner stood outside his door wearing looks of worry fit for a mother. “Damn!” He said as he opened the door and waited for Corner to speak.
Alex Downs and Max Tucker joined them. The expression on their faces only made things worse.
He noticed his partner wasn’t in the hall. “Where’s Sophie?”
Josh Corner searched the floor and then went back to Manny.
“He took her. He’s killed First Officer Pena and kidnapped Sophie. He’s holding her hostage behind the food court. And, damn it, now he’s got Perez’s .38 and Sophie’s 9MM.”
Corner shifted his weight. “He says his name is Jenkins, but it’s Peppercorn. He’s either playing with us or you hit the dual personality thing on the head. Regardless, he wants us, especially you,” gritted Corner.
Surreal dread grabbed him and refused to let go. Not Sophie. Not another partner.
Pointing at the security guards, he said, “Don’t let anyone get into this cabin.” Then he turned to go.
Richardson grabbed his arm. “That’s not all. He claims that he has pipe bombs and will use them unless he gets what he wants.”
Manny stopped in his tracks. “I thought you said he wants me. What else does he want?”
Richardson threw up his hands. “I don’t have a damned clue, but he said you would know.”
“How would I know?”
Searching the others, he hoped to see the answer written in big, bold letters across their foreheads. No luck.
He ransacked every corner of his mind, looking for something he already had, a gift that Peppercorn had given him. His eyes burned holes in the floor, and then it hit him. He did know what the killer wanted.
It all made sense now. It was masked in the madman’s agenda for revenge, the real reason he did what he did, was who he was. The killer didn’t even realize it himself.
“What do we all want?” He rushed to the Lido Deck with the others trailing close behind.
CHAPTER-72
By the time Manny reached the Lido Deck, Jenkins had moved to the very back of the ship, taking Sophie with him and using her body as a human shield, just in case anyone got trigger happy.
He pulled the card out of his pocket and eyeballed the copy of the ship’s picture ID Corner had handed him earlier. It appeared to be Robert Peppercorn. He had changed his hair, and his face was chiseled. His skin had been transformed by hours in the sun or tanning booths. The name under the picture read Eli Jenkins.
Was this name change an attempt at hiding, going underground? Or did his mind pathetically blow a psychological gasket and evolve into what Manny thought he saw in him those years ago?
How did this fit with the knowledge that Jen
kins wanted to talk to him?
Manny had interrogated him several times, with different questions meaning the same thing, and on each occasion, Peppercorn had maintained his innocence and he’d been convincing, too. But the evidence called Peppercorn a liar.
Is it possible to really do something that hideous and not know it?
How could anyone really know what hid in the mind of a psychopath? Lucky him. He was sure he was about to get a glimpse of that unchartered territory. Maybe even a full-blown show.
“Hey, you with us?” asked Corner.
Eyes snapping away from the picture, he put it in his back pocket. “Yeah, just trying to put things together.”
He looked around the lounge area surrounding the five eateries and noticed that Richardson’s people had the doors guarded and had sealed off every exit leading to the very back of the deck. Peppercorn was trapped. He frowned. It didn’t fit. These guys didn’t leave themselves in this kind of position. Unless…
What if he wanted it like this.
He didn’t like how this was going down, but there weren’t many options. Jenkins or Peppercorn, or whatever he called himself, had Sophie and that had to change.
“Are you ready to do this?” asked Corner.
“I’m fine. Let’s go.”
Manny piloted the others past both deck pools and the small winding water slide that led to the end of the larger one. He sidestepped broken and tipped sun chairs scattered over the wooden deck. It looked like a bomb had gone off.
Sharp tension took hold of his hand, and he could see that the stress was affecting the others, too. And why not? Peppercorn had been a step ahead the whole way and they could be walking right into a trap--and more death.
They neared the last sliding door that opened to the very back of the Ocean Duchess; to where Jenkins held Sophie hostage. They’d better get this right or he would bury another partner, or Louise would be a widow, maybe both.
Without warning, the door parted and a tangle of flesh tumbled through it.
Reflexes took control, and he leveled his gun at the snarl of arms and legs moving his way.
“No shoot! No shoot!”
A terrified Japanese couple toppled breathlessly to the deck like sacks of potatoes, covering their heads with unsteady hands, and screaming in their very best English.
He quickly raised his gun to the cloudless sky and swore.
Corner motioned for the couple to go to the forward part of the ship.
“I’m getting too old for this shit,” swore Richardson, lowering his gun.
Alex agreed. “I thought I was going to need new underwear there for a second.”
“That makes two of us,” Manny exhaled.
“Three,” added Tucker.
Once the couple was out of range, he motioned to the others. The next step wasn’t exactly proper protocol and probably wouldn’t work, but Manny saw no other way.
“Let’s split here. Josh and I will stay on this side of the ship and you three come up the other side. With teams on each flank, we might be able to distract him. And for God’s sake, let’s not do anything rash.”
He turned to Richardson, and he nodded.
“If he wants to talk to me, at least I hope talking’s on his mind; we’re going to give him the opportunity. If we can divide his attention enough, maybe we can get a clear shot. I hate this, but we’re just going to have to play it by ear. He’s holding all the cards.”
Corner turned to Manny. “You think you know what he wants?”
“Yeah, I think I do. I guess we’ll find out shortly.”
“You better know or it’s gonna get ugly,” snapped Richardson.
He looked at the burly ex-cop. The pissy attitude was getting real old. But he also knew the Chief was right. “Just hold up your end.”
Richardson grunted and led Alex and Tucker through the sliding door. Two minutes later, Corner put his hand over his ear phone. “They’re ready.”
Manny and Corner crawled to a group of steel dining chairs piled on hand carts just to the left of where Peppercorn lay in wait and hunkered behind them. Manny raised his head to get a look at Peppercorn and hopefully, Sophie.
The scene in front of him caused the wind to leave his sails. It wasn’t what he had expected, but the killer had been clever all through this ride, and now was no exception.
Jenkins was holed up in the rear left area of the deck with stacks of flat sun chairs on each side of him, protruding at forty-five-degree angles. Two rectangular food tables had been stood upright, just on the outside of the chairs. A tall blue table umbrella covered the space so that no one could see in from one of the radio or weather towers. He had made sure no sniper could get a bead on him. The only way in was straight through his line of sight.
Sophie sat duck taped to a cafeteria chair just to the inside of the makeshift stronghold. Her head lolled on her slow-heaving chest. She was out, but alive.
There was something else. Something out of whack. This scene looked too contrived, more than planned. Too staged. There was no way out for Jenkins. Even if he tried to jump off the back of the ship, he would hit at least two protruding deck covers. No one could avoid them except maybe Superman.
No matter what happened to Sophie or with any alleged bombs, Peppercorn couldn’t get out alive unless he surrendered. Manny thought that possibility had a snowball’s chance in St. Thomas of happening. This was set up for a bad ending for Peppercorn. He frowned. These men didn’t work that way. Life was about them and what they needed and suicide just wasn’t in their vocabulary.
What was he up to?
“What do you think?” whispered Corner. “Should we get his attention?”
“I don’t know. There’s something wrong with this set up.”
“I think so, too. But maybe he truly screwed up.”
“Maybe, but not likely.” He grabbed Corner’s wrist. “But we can’t wait for more help; Sophie’s running out of time”
Corner nodded. “Let’s see what’s on his mind.”
The agent turned in the killer’s direction, the ship’s bullhorn to his mouth.
“Robert Peppercorn, this is Agent Corner with the FBI. Put down your weapons and come out with your hands behind your head.”
Immediately a shot echoed over the deck. The bullet ricocheted off one of the chairs to Corner’s left.
“You stupid shit,” screamed Jenkins. “Peppercorn is gone. Long gone. My name is Eli Jenkins and I sure as hell don’t want to talk to a damned Fed. I want to talk to Detective Williams, now.”
Jenkins’s voice had gone from lunatic screaming back to full control in one eerie second.
“I want him to come to me. Unarmed. You hear me, detective? If you don’t get your pretty-boy ass out here, I’m going to kill your partner. I’d like to take the time to do it my way, but a bullet in the head will work. Don’t you think?”
“Put down the weapons and come out….” Another bullet exploded near the stack of chairs, slamming into the deck. Shards of wood scattered like twigs in a hurricane.
“Are you deaf? You have two minutes before this skank’s head goes inside out,” yelled Jenkins.
Manny started to stand up and Corner pulled him back. “What the hell are you doing? I can’t allow this. He’ll kill you before you get within fifteen feet.”
“I don’t think so. At least, not until he gets what he wants. I’m not totally sure what this Jenkins is about, but I think I know how to get his attention. You boys better be ready.”
Shaking off the agent’s hand, he started toward Eli Jenkins.
CHAPTER-73
Runnels of sweat streamed from every pore on his body, soaking his shirt, as Manny walked. Every cop knew that the real threat of dying went hand-in-hand with living. It came with the territory. But he had never really ventured into the realm of dying, at least not like this. It was crazy and against everything he’d ever learned. Not only that, he was going boldly into what came next.
Who w
as the crazy one here?
He hoped God did protect drunks and fools because he was a card-carrying member of the latter. But he had to try. He couldn’t let Sophie die. If he didn’t face him, he knew Jenkins would kill her. These men didn’t utter idle promises. They weren’t politicians.
Bright reggae oozed from the ship’s sound system. The music hardly fit the mood, but it sounded better than the funeral march. He also noticed that the foamy trail left in the ship’s wake had ceased. Captain Serafini was guaranteeing this scenario wouldn’t be smuggled into the busy port of Oranjestad. This would be Eli Jenkins’s last stand, one way or the other. It might be his, too.
Eli Jenkins. What of this new persona that embodied Peppercorn? What did he mean when he said Peppercorn was long gone? Was this an alter-ego thing about the Dissociative Identity Disorder the shrinks working Peppercorn’s case mentioned, or was Peppercorn really dead and this monster, somehow, had taken his place?
“That’s far enough.”
The sunlight was blinding. He squinted through it, trying to get a good look at the towering figure. Jenkins took a small step forward.
Surprise tapped him on the shoulder. He had seen this man around the ship. In the glass elevators. At Trunk Bay in St. John. In the dining room. But never recognized him for who he was. He had changed. Lost sixty or seventy pounds and had gone the route to extreme fitness. But the man who now called himself Eli Jenkins was Robert Peppercorn.
The two men exchanged looks and Manny’s sense of dread went up ten levels. The cold, uninviting black pools that were windows to Jenkins’s soul almost caused him to flinch. Hatred, anger, and pain were the only things Jenkins was about. He got the unmistakable impression that any shred of goodness or compassion this man had ever held had been snuffed like a finished candle. He had never sensed this kind of wickedness. The man before him was more monster than human.
“How can I help you, Mr. Jenkins?” he asked softly.