by Rick Murcer
CHAPTER-76
“What in God’s name do you want to look at the forensic information for? This case is over. Jenkins is lying in the morgue. Right where we want him. This one is in the books,” snapped Josh Corner.
He stared at Manny as if he were some crazy panhandler in downtown Lansing. In spite of Corner’s adamant declaration, Manny detected an uneasiness that Josh wished not to acknowledge.
“I’ve learned to trust your instincts and you were dead on about Peppercorn’s profile, but I think this is over the top,” complained Agent Corner as he rubbed his stubbled face with both hands.
He looked at Manny again. It was the kind of expression you give your kid when they say they were late because they had a flat tire. He wanted to see the tire.
“Josh, sit down. Let me show you this.” Manny didn’t wait for the FBI agent to sit. He spread out seven crime scene pictures, in a very specific order, on the table in Manny’s room, where he’d asked Josh to come. They were close ups of the six women killed since they had left San Juan, plus one of Lynn Casnovsky’s face.
“I never get used to this,” said Josh.
“Me either. Shoot me if I do.” said Manny. “But these people need us.”
Corner motioned for Manny to continue.
“I want you to look at the bruising patterns on the necks of the first four pictures. You can see four distinctive bruises on the right side and one on the left. The left mark is bigger, and because of the darker purple color, it signifies that there may have been more pressure exerted at those points indicating it was his thumb on that side of each of these four women’s throats.”
“Okay, so he strangled them with his left hand. We know that Peppercorn was left handed so that makes sense.”
“You’re right, it does. The other bruising, here on the head and temple, is consistent with pressure from his right hand. So that checks out. The rest of his MO is patterned virtually identical, as well. Obviously the same perp except when it came to Detective Perez because he didn’t immediately rape or kill her. Everything else was almost the same, but not quite. Based on the markings on her neck, I still think it was Jenkins, but his MO changed. The trophy eyes, the hiding of the body in the closet. It didn’t fit. It’s like someone told him what to do.”
“But we all know these guys can wander all over the board. They evolve for whatever reason. He may simply have had a change of heart. We’ve both seen it.”
“Agreed. It could be true. But I don’t think so. I believe, in this case, he would have changed his routine gradually. The act of removing her eyes and putting her in the closet didn’t make sense. Too much change for one event. I think he had instructions.”
Corner carried a look of disbelief. “Tandem killers? Come on, Manny.”
“It’s not unheard of. Look at that sniper case in DC a few of years ago. Two killers--one dominant, the other submissive. They behaved like a surrogate father and an adopted son.”
“Okay. So far you have shown me nothing but theory and a pattern change.”
Manny’s intensity grew as he tapped the other pictures with his finger.
“Look at the pictures of Liz and Lexy. Look closely.”
Josh studied the pictures, and Manny saw the light go on, like sunrise banishing shadows. The marks on Lexy and Liz were mirror images of the other four. The thumb mark was on the right side of their throats and the finger bruising was on the left.
“Shit. The killer used his right hand to strangle these two ladies,” whispered Josh.
To drive his point home further, Manny pointed to the photo of Lynn Casnovsky’s face. “Lynn’s face is bruised on the left, indicating that he was hit with someone’s right hand and not their left. The only way that Jenkins punched Lynn that hard is if he was ambidextrous, which he wasn’t. So the logical assumption is that Lynn was hit by someone who is right-handed.”
Agent Corner looked at Manny with anxious, indelible amazement. “But Peppercorn was so messed up, he could have changed hands.”
“I don’t believe it. Right and left handiness operate much more from instinct and reaction when in a highly emotional situation. Murder is still just that.”
Josh rubbed the back of his neck. “You really think there is another killer?”
“There’s only one way to find out. Let’s look at the results of the stuff that Max and Alex gathered and see if anything is out of place.”
Agent Corner hesitated and then stood up and headed for his room.
“Okay, okay.” Corner continued in an almost pleading tone. “I hope to God you’re wrong.”
“I don’t think hoping to God is going to change anything at this point,” he said as he fell in line behind the FBI agent.
They stepped into Josh’s cabin. The smooth jazz saxophone of Bony James filtered quietly from the small speakers while Corner walked over and unlocked the room’s safe.
He pulled out two sealed envelopes. Both were marked with the familiar “CONFIDENTIAL FBI FILE.” One read IAFIS RESULTS the other CODIS RESULTS. They had been sent to Josh’s attention.
“I didn’t see any reason to open them until I filed my report when I got back.”
Corner held out his hand. “Your idea, you get to open it.”
Manny smiled and took the file with the CODIS results.
The two cops sat on the edge of the bed as Manny unsealed the file and flipped to the name summary for the DNA results. Each case was referenced and catalogued with a date and a file number. Manny scanned down the list. He read them again. Then a third time.
No one was that good. There had to be something.
Doubt clouded his eyes. There was nothing at any of the crime scenes that shouldn’t have been there. Nothing. In fact, two of the victim’s names, Juanita Henkle and Rebecca Tillerman didn’t show up. They had no DNA record on file so references to them came back “unidentified.”
“Damn it! That wasn’t much help.” Manny cleared his throat and ran his hand through his hair.
“Hey, you know we don’t get hits on all of them. That’s why half of the murders in America go unsolved. Unfortunate, but true.”
Corner reached for the file. “Let’s see if we get any fingerprint surprises. It will probably be less helpful than the DNA profiles. Sorry Manny, but your theory isn’t looking too good.”
“You’re right, so far.”
Manny pulled open the folder and leafed through to Liz’s and Lexy’s reports. There were several identified prints. Most of them were staff and the other list of unknowns had to be previous guests. They would check it out, but his face fell like a stack of dominos. No Peppercorn, or any other name that was a likely link to the case.
Frustration smoldered like an out-of-control forest fire.
He flipped to the last, partial page, and saw something that changed his mood. “Look at this.”
Corner looked to where Manny was pointing, bent closer, and followed Manny’s finger.
There on the last page of the report, after Lynn’s case summary, was a small tag to the file. It was like an afterthought. It appeared that the tech processing the prints decided, at the last minute, that the information could be important.
The partial print on the stub Sophie found under lifeboat sixteen had been the last one processed and didn’t belong to a past or current guest. But to someone else, someone he knew.
The name that IAFIS had uncovered stared back at them like a cobra ready to strike; then it did. Dr. Fredrick Argyle, Jenkins’s shrink, had been on lifeboat sixteen.
CHAPTER-77
“There’s no Argyle listed on the ship’s manifest,” observed Corner as he tossed the booklet on the bed. Then he rolled his eyes and raised his eyebrows the way someone does when the obvious slaps them across the face. “Well duh. Of course there isn’t.” He stroked his chin. “I guess this explains why he hasn’t called us back.”
“He has another ID and chances are he’s changed his appearance. But he’s here, or at least he was
. I can feel it,” Manny said.
“Your ‘feelings’ are starting to bother me. What are you, some kind of psychic wannabe?”
“Just call me Silvia Brown.”
“Maybe I will,” Josh grinned. He turned serious. “What do you want to do?”
“I don’t want to panic anyone, including the Captain and Richardson. There’s no reason to get their panties in a bunch, just yet. Let’s keep this between us for now.”
The guest picture book that had been printed digitally from the ship’s database still rested on Corner’s loveseat.
“Let’s take out all of the single, male pictures in this thing and pay a visit to our only witness. Since we put Jenkins down, there wasn’t any reason to go over the pictures with Mr. Eberle.”
“You mean since I saved your ass and put Jenkins down,” retorted Josh.
“Yeah, but I didn’t see you walking through the Valley of Crazy Bastard to confront him,” answered Manny.
“Touché. But it did feel good to see him hit the deck.”
“Even better from my vantage point,” said Manny.
“Don’t forget me at Christmas, I love presents.”
“Okay. Let’s go see John Eberle.”
“Let’s go.”
Five minutes later they were knocking at Eberle’s cabin. After the second knock, the old man stuck his head out the semi-opened door.
“Mr. Eberle. Do you have a minute?” asked Manny.
“Call me John. Sure, detectives. I was just fixin’ to go up on the deck and check out the lovely scenery around the pool, if you catch my drift.” Eberle looked at both the smiling detectives. “I ain’t dead yet, men, at least not all of the way.”
“No sir, you’re not,” answered Manny.
He remembered a saying he heard once, don’t die until you’re dead. The old man was still living. Good for him.
“We need you to look at some pictures. It may take a few minutes, but we would really appreciate it.”
Eberle’s face came alive. “Glad to help. Come on in, I got me a little time.”
The two detectives followed Eberle back inside his room and were hit with the pleasant aroma of mocha drifting through the cabin.
“Want a cup of double mocha latte?” I’m not supposed to have it but, well whatever, we’re all gonna die from somethin’, right?”
While John retrieved cups, Manny placed the stack of pictures on the table; purposely putting Jenkins on top.
John put on his wire-rimmed reading glasses and slid into the chair adjacent the table. Eberle’s wrinkled hand shook slightly as he pulled the stack of photos close.
He hesitated at the first photo. “This guy is close, but a little different.”
Manny and Corner exchanged glances and watched John go over each photo with methodical purpose. The process was excruciating. Each second seemed locked in time, captured by some time warp. But neither he nor Corner said a word. This had to be all Eberle.
After twenty minutes and hundreds of pictures, Eberle stopped. Manny held his breath. The elderly man was staring at a rugged, square-jawed man who looked remarkably like Robert Peppercorn. John studied the photo without blinking.
“This is the son of a bitch, right here. You have to take away the goatee, but I’ll never forget those eyes. He even has the same, cocky-ass grin.”
“You’re sure, John?” Manny asked, trying to stay calm.
“Yes sir, I am. This is the guy.”
He scrutinized the photo and didn’t see it, at first. Manny traced his finger over the left cheek of the man in the photo. The make-up job was a good one, but not good enough.
The small crescent scar was barely visible, but it was there. A souvenir from one of Argyle’s patients at the prison. An angry inmate, pissed because Argyle helped deny the con’s parole, had attacked him with a filed-down toothbrush and had sliced his cheek wide open. Anyone who had ever met Argyle knew about the scar. It was like his red badge of courage. He even bragged, to anyone who cared to listen, about how he had gotten it. Manny knew of it because he had worked with him a few times, especially with the Peppercorn case. And of course, there was the incident between Argyle and Gavin Crosby.
He bit his lip. It all made sense now. “Shit.”
“What?” asked Corner.
“There was a thing between Gavin and Argyle a few years ago. I’ll tell you more when we get to his room.”
The room number, 6217, was stamped below the frame of the photo along with his name, Dave Prisby. It was just a few doors down from Mike’s and Lexy’s cabin.
“Thank you, John, you’ve been a great help,” said Manny.
Manny gathered up the pictures. They had their man and his room number. Sometimes being lucky and good worked together. Like when a witness was sure of what they had seen. Like John Eberle.
“Detectives?” The two men stopped. “Yes?” answered Manny.
“I have just one question. Do you think this lunatic would come after me? You know, for putting the finger on him?”
“No sir. I think he wanted you to drop the dime on him,” said Manny.
CHAPTER-78
Richardson and his staff had shut down the elevators leading to the sixth deck and had sealed off the entrances in that section of the hall. They were doing a fairly good job of keeping this latest drama under wraps, but it wasn’t easy. People wanted to go to their cabins when they wanted to, not when it was convenient for the ship’s personnel. They didn’t like to hear about “minor problems that would be cleared up shortly.”
Standing outside of Argyle’s stateroom, Sophie raised her 9MM, as she stood to Manny’s left, with Richardson and Corner to the right. Four additional security guards waited on each side.
“I want the first shot. Boom, right in the wong,” muttered Sophie.
“No shooting, yet, but if it starts, feel free,” whispered Manny.
They had been situated outside his cabin for five minutes and hadn’t heard a sound. It was starting to look as if he wasn’t in the room, which Manny thought made sense. He seemed adept at saving his own skin and wouldn’t follow Jenkins’s lead.
But to storm in could be dangerous. Argyle may have even set some kind of trap.
Argyle had thrived on making law enforcement look bad. He wanted them to be like the blind leading the blind and to fall into the ditch. The arrogant bastard didn’t think they would, or could, ever catch him and, somehow, he had set up Jenkins to be the fall guy. Manny’s curiosity throbbed with how that had happened. How had Argyle controlled him? A thousand questions and no answers.
It was time to get this show on the road. He slid the key card into the slot and pushed slowly, stopping when the door cracked about an inch. He examined the gap for any sign of a trip wire and saw none. He pushed a little harder and felt no resistance. The muscles on his upper lip twitched and his hands grew moist, but he couldn’t risk wiping them.
Then, like some distant drum, he heard a faint sound resonating from somewhere inside Argyle’s room. Thud. The noise was muffled, but it was something. He held his breath, waiting for anything.
For the next minute he stood like a statue. But he heard nothing else. Only silence. The deafening kind.
Manny had waited long enough. His instinct, and lack of patience, said so. It was time to get real, as they say. One glance toward the others was all it took for them to know what was coming. He shoved as hard as he could and then dove into the room, flying low. Sophie dropped to one knee and held her gun with both hands. Corner stood above her, aiming high.
Bracing himself on the floor, he radared the room. No one or no thing moved. No gunshots or fiery explosion. No raging Dr. Argyle running toward him with two-foot dagger in hand.
The faint thumping he had heard from the hallway caught his attention again. It was louder, clearer, like a collision of plastic-on-glass. Poised like a gunslinger himself, he directed his weapon at the balcony door.
He approached the curtain and pulled it open with
a quick wave of his hand. There, dangling from the top of the balcony, banging the door whenever the breeze was strong enough, was a small, covered plastic jar. It contained two objects rolling around in clear liquid.
Manny’s stomach lurched.
Ogling back at him, through the crystal clear jar, were Detective Perez’s bloodshot eyes.
Behind him, Sophie, Richardson, and Corner had rushed into the cabin. Sophie came from the bathroom as Corner slammed the closet shut and they hurried to Manny’s side.
“Good God!” moaned Sophie. “Doesn’t this guy ever stop?”
She turned away, covering her eyes, as Manny opened the door and pulled the bottle down, quickly hiding it in the pocket of his shorts.
“Where is the piece of shit?” begged Manny.
Sophie flipped on the overhead light, but instead of radiance spreading through the room, the TV sprang to life. A small click filtered through the room as the DVD player switched on.
The voice coming from the player was almost immediate. “Good afternoon, Detective Williams. What kept you?” Argyle filled the screen with a conceited smirk. “I have eagerly anticipated this meeting.”
CHAPTER-79
The doctor had changed. He’d always been tall, but not ripped. His neck was thicker, his face stronger. It was obvious he had spent countless hours in the gym. He might even have partaken in the new steroid fad.
Argyle had dyed his close-cropped hair shining black and shaved his salt and pepper fu-man-chu, but there was no mistaking the prison psychologist. Except for the scar on his cheek, his appearance was uncannily similar to Jenkins.
It pissed Manny off that the narcissistic doctor was bigger than life on the screen. And only on the screen. He hadn’t bothered to attend this tenuous gathering himself. Instead, he’d sent his mechanical lackey to handle it. Argyle was smart, but part of him wondered if the doctor was gutless, too. In a perfect world, the homicidal lunatic should be standing in front of Manny instead of hiding behind some taunting video. But he had their attention, and he was in control, right where Argyle liked to be.