Caribbean Moon (A Manny Williams Thriller, Book One)

by Murcer, Rick

  “Did she have any idea who it may have been?” asked Alex.

  “Not really. According to the file, she described her attacker as a big man. Tall and overweight. But that’s all she could remember. Her therapist said she blocked out most of what happened, and it might take years to uncover anything, if ever,” answered Tucker.

  “This doesn’t make sense. If it is Peppercorn, where did he get the money to do a cruise? How would he get here? And if I remember right, he wasn’t going to win any Nobel prizes for intellect. He wouldn’t know anything about forensic evidence,” observed Sophie.

  Manny mulled over the possibilities. There was a thousand ways Peppercorn could get what he needed to make an appearance in the Caribbean, even on cruises. Prison could be a source for almost anything a man wanted, once he was released and found a few bucks. And did it matter how he got here? Manny didn’t think so. At least not yet.

  “Has anyone tried to talk to Peppercorn’s prison shrink, Dr. Argyle? Maybe he can shed a little light on Peppercorn’s behavior,” said Manny.

  “I have a staff person on that as we speak,” answered Tucker.

  The room fell into an anxious silence. Everyone recognized the importance of capturing this killer soon. The preternatural knowledge that he would kill again veiled the task force like a moonless night.

  Agent Corner passed out assignments and scheduled another meeting for the afternoon. Manny was even more impressed at his organization than his demeanor. The man was more than good.

  Alex was to go with Tucker and process the Casnovsky’s room. Then they were to head to the morgue for a discovery session with Liz’s body and Dr. Kristoff. Richardson and his staff were to search the rest of the ship, including the rest of the lifeboats. Because no working security cameras were located in the passenger hallways due to privacy issues, the staff, especially on that deck, needed to be questioned. Corner wanted to see if anyone saw the Casnovskys or anybody else enter their cabin—and if anyone saw something near where Liz’s body was found. Manny was to review the file with a fine-tooth comb for anything that would step up the pace of the investigation. Sophie and Detective Perez were to go to security and order pictures of all the male guests. Corner wanted them also to walk the ship when the excursions returned, looking for anyone who might resemble Peppercorn or the suspect Manny saw in the courtyard. Corner asked Gavin to stay after the meeting for a few minutes because he had a special assignment for him.

  Corner then fixed on Richardson. “I have a couple of questions of my own. Why wasn’t DA Casnovsky’s room processed?” He turned toward Manny. “And how did you know it hadn’t been?”

  The chief explained that his staff was limited and that it had taken four hours to process the scene where Liz’s body was found. He lowered his eyes. The excuse must have sounded deplorably weak even to him.

  Manny never blinked. “I had one of the cabin keycards, and we stopped by this morning to see if we could find anything that the ship’s CSU may have missed.”

  “Did you?”

  “Did we what?”

  “Find anything.”

  “Yes. But I’ll let Tucker and Alex tell you about that when they’re done with the room. There’s more to find.”

  Richardson snorted. “Good job of tainting evidence at the scene.”

  Before Manny could respond, Corner’s cell phone rang. The room became as silent as a church on Monday morning. “Damn it. Okay, thanks.”

  Corner turned off the cell and panned the ceiling, his face grim and hard.

  “A body just showed up in a fisherman’s net off the southern coast of Puerto Rico. He was identified by his inscribed wedding ring. We have located Mr. Lynn Casnovsky.”

  CHAPTER-38

  Christina Perez told Manny and Sophie that she needed to go to her room to unpack and freshen up. She agreed to meet Sophie in twenty minutes at the security checkpoint on Deck One to request copies of photos for all the males on board, even the crew. The Puerto Rican detective had a decisive, but pleasant demeanor. Manny figured she was just as good getting her kids to confess to misbehaving as she was eliciting confessions in the interview room. He knew she had two boys because of the pictured button attached to the strap of her leather purse.

  “Handsome boys,” he said.

  “Thank you. Pedro and Ivan. Both named after famous major-league baseball players who were born in Puerto Rico.”

  She beamed with more than a hint of maternal delight. It was easy to see they were her life, her pride and joy.

  Through the flow of life, and being a cop, Manny had learned that certain things were universal. Every cop needs a familiar port in the storm. A place or a person who keeps them grounded and brings into focus why they do what they do. It went hand-in-hand with the conundrum that entangled homicide work. Her boys were her grip on the positive things in life, like Louise and Jenny were his.

  “It was their dad’s idea. What the hell? Pick your battles, right? Besides, they’re fine names.”

  Bright and practical, a good combination.

  He and Sophie left Perez at the elevators and walked down the hall heading to Manny’s cabin.

  “So. Is she hotter than me? And don’t lie.”

  “You’ll always be the hottest detective I’ve ever seen.”

  “Really? You’re not stroking me?”

  “I told you that I’d never do that to you,” he smiled.

  “Okay. Just remember that I can tell when you’re less than sincere. You suck at lying.”

  “Do I? I guess that’s good.”

  They walked a few more steps. “Are you all right?”

  Sophie gripped harder, refusing to release the strong, emotional hold on his left arm. Her quiet voice cracked as she wrestled for words that he wasn’t sure would emerge.

  “I guess I hoped there was a chance Lynn was okay, that somehow he wasn’t dead. It hurts more than I thought. “She wiped at a wayward tear. “I just can’t seem to get this man thing right.”

  He wrapped one arm around her shoulders and gave her a squeeze.

  “Remember that old song that asks if it’s better to be with the one you love or with the one who loves you? Maybe it’s time to make that call.”

  His advice set a fresh batch of tears in motion.

  “I have. But it still hurts,” she choked.

  They stopped at his door, and she turned to face Manny. She stood up straight, brushed off her blouse, and dried her eyes. “I want a piece of this asshole. We need to nail him to the wall. I’m going to go tell Randy what’s up. See you in a couple hours or so.” She reached up and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “And thanks.”

  He gave her his best it-will-be-all-right smile. She broke into the first real grin he had seen from her in a day.

  “You’re such a bullshitter—and I’m glad,” Sophie sighed.

  Manny watched her walk down the hall to her room, to the one who loved her. He thought it the best call she had made in months, maybe years.

  He stopped at his door and gathered himself. Telling Louise what had happened to Lynn was tough, but telling her that he was working Liz’s murder, as well as the other two, was going to be tougher. He eased into the room. “This is going to go over like a lead balloon,” he mumbled.

  Louise was sitting on the deck, door cracked, dressed in her white, two-piece suit, reading the newest J.A. Konrath novel. Jazz sounds poured from the stereo like a fine, velvety Cabernet. Her perfume hung in the air, and he loved it because she had been wearing that scent when they’d met. It was her. Experts say that the sense of smell is the strongest link between memories and events or people in your past. No denying that.

  When he slid open the balcony door, the love of his life jumped like an awkward teenager caught making out in the corner of the gym.

  “Easy there. It’s just your favorite Lansing cop.”

  “You scared the heck out of me . . . and how do you know?”

  “Know what?”

  “That you
’re my favorite Lansing cop? I may just take Gavin up on that nude deck thing.”

  “Are you going to take pictures? I think I can get them loaded on his Facebook page.”

  Louise raised her eyebrows. “That’s a thought.”

  Manny reached for his wife’s hand. They had been through a lot together. Getting married young isn’t easy. Some couples grow apart when they mature, and some grow up together. Louise and Manny had hung in there and finally grown up. They had proven to the world—and more importantly, themselves—seventeen years later, it had been right.

  There hadn’t been a magic formula. Love, hard work, and acceptance of one another went a long way, a very long way. But he knew she had gotten the short end of the stick when it came to overlooking faults, by far, and it made him love her even more. It didn’t seem fair she had to deal with this mammogram situation too. But no one ever said life was fair. Never any promises.

  Louise watched his face and read him like an open book.

  “It’s all right, Manny. I want you to find out who killed Liz. She was my friend too. We can do this another time. This animal has to be caught, and they need you.”

  His hand tightened around hers. “A fishing boat near Puerto Rico found Lynn’s body this morning, and there were two other women murdered in the last two days. It looks like the same guy may be responsible. Here’s the kicker: It could be Peppercorn.”

  Louise shivered, and Manny felt it run from her hand to his. She was all too aware of the conviction of Robert Peppercorn.

  “My Lord! Poor Lynn. That’s just awful. Two more women too?” Louise bit her lip. “Peppercorn? Are you sure?”

  “No, not yet. But it looks like his MO.”

  Louise hugged him tight, tight enough to relay the message. An anxious alarm had just gone off, and he knew she was afraid for him. There was always an underlying uneasiness for spouses married to cops. And this was magnified many times over. Peppercorn was a nightmare morphed into reality.

  “You need to get him.” She moved past afraid, running toward angry. “Be careful. I want my husband to come home with me, but get him.”

  There was nothing Manny wanted to do more. And fast. This killer’s party was just getting started.

  CHAPTER-39

  “Do I have reason to be concerned?” asked Agent Corner, glancing at Captain Serafini then back to Gavin.

  Gavin gazed at the hot latte as steam rose into the air with an indolent dance. He lifted the mug and drank cautiously.

  “This is the best latte I’ve ever had, the best.”

  “Gavin, I—”

  Gavin interrupted Agent Corner. “Concerned? That’s funny. Manny Williams is the most talented investigator I’ve ever worked with. He sees things that aren’t noticed by other cops, good cops. Maybe more than that, he feels things. He has solved cases that, in my opinion, would never have been closed without his insight.”

  “I’ve read his personnel file, and I must admit his record for cases-assigned to cases-solved is amazing. But I’m not con—”

  Gavin cut off the FBI agent a second time. “Do you know how he put the hammer on Peppercorn?”

  Gavin could see that Corner wanted to reverse the table, to butt in. Like that was going to happen. He seemed like a nice enough guy, but he was still a Fed. He was going to give Corner a taste of his own medicine. The FBI didn’t always get to win. Besides, it could help catch the killer.

  “After the third attack, he came into my office to ask for the evidence bags from the first case. He said he had noticed something from one of the pictures that wasn’t addressed by the CSU or the FBI’s ERT lab. No one thought anything of a tiny, black hair caught underneath a button on the first victim’s sleeve. Hell, we must have seen it a hundred times, but never really saw it, you know? I reminded him that the first girl had short, black hair, and it belonged to her. I told him we had pulled several like it from the victim’s clothes, and all of them had been hers. He said it didn’t look right. More than that, it didn’t feel right.

  “So we pulled the hair from the shirt and, damn, he was spot on. The hair belonged to a black Labrador retriever. Not just a black Lab, but an American black Lab. The hair is just a tiny bit smaller and less coarse than a regular, block-headed English black Lab.

  “There were only two kennels in the Lansing area that sold this kind of dog. We went through their sales records and made a list of people we wanted to speak with.

  “Williams was on the way to see Peppercorn because he showed up as one of the people who had bought a dog. He had gotten the pup for his mother as a birthday gift. Just as Manny pulled into his driveway, he heard a scream. Peppercorn had just dragged his intended fifth victim into the house. The son of a bitch was in jail an hour later.”

  Corner nodded. “I knew some of the story. Impressive. It’s also the kind of effort we’re going to need in this case. But you didn’t answer my question.”

  Gavin lipped more of the choice coffee.

  “Did I say this is damn good stuff?”

  Captain Serafini smiled. “Only the best for our guests here at Carousel.”

  Gavin turned back to an almost-impatient Agent Corner.

  “I have only seen him upset like that a couple times. He lost a partner about a year after he joined the force. He took the afternoon off to play golf and his partner went on a routine domestic alone. Manny used to be a hell of a golfer . . . two handicap. Anyway, it should have been a routine call. But the asshole slapping the daylights out of his wife also had an assault rifle. He shot Manny’s partner nine times. Manny’s always blamed himself.” He stroked his mustache. “Seeing Liz like that got to him. It got to all of us, but Manny’s taking it personally. He thinks Richardson should have moved faster, and it pisses him off. Your security man should have moved faster. Much faster.”

  Understanding mirrored in the eyes of the other two men.

  “I’ve seen him shift to this gear before. He won’t sleep until this is over. The only concern here should be on the part of the killer. If he can be caught, you’ll need Williams to do it.”

  CHAPTER-40

  Ethel Manis forced her damaged eyes to focus on the glowing face of the cheap dime-store watch wrapped around her wrist.

  These damn eyes.

  She was finally able to make out the green, digital shapes: 9:42. It was Tuesday morning, and the docking in Dominica had gone smoothly, as far as she could tell. She was just glad the relentless rocking was over. For two days, she’d felt like she had been riding the most vicious roller coaster ever built. On top of that, her back screamed because of the collision with that man on the Lido Deck.

  A full tray of breakfast sat virtually untouched. The aroma of cooked bacon and fried potatoes almost caused her jumbled stomach to lurch up the two or three bites she had managed to keep down.

  The seasickness was finally subsiding, thanks to Dramamine. She took three times the prescribed amount on the bottle, but she was a big woman, and sometimes it took a larger dose of medication to achieve the desired results. She didn’t think doctors ever thought about that, but by God, she did.

  She rose slowly from the bed and trudged to the porthole, the room’s only opportunity for a visit from the sun. She squinted and closed the drape. The sunlight hurt her eyes, especially in the morning.

  Her cabin immediately retreated into gray shadows that felt familiar, comfortable. The remaining, solitary source of light, spreading from the bathroom, stopped just short of her bed. But it was enough, for now. Darkness had evolved into a cloak of solitude and understanding, and she embraced it. She was all right with not being able to see well as long as no one else could see her, the real her. She couldn’t allow anyone else the opportunity to dig deep into her soul and expose her secrets. The dark helped her keep that promise.

  A mother’s secrets.

  Ethel felt for the creased sheet of paper hiding in the breast pocket of her flannel shirt. He had sent her a letter, after all of this time; he had at lon
g last sent a letter. Her son had decided to contact her—no one else, just her.

  The letter explained how he had been living a simple, discreet life in another part of the country and how he needed, and wanted, a new start. He missed her very much, but it was just too risky to call her. The letter said that he hoped he could trust her and would see her soon. He’d put $2,000 cash money in the envelope. She was to use the money to book a cruise, this cruise, so she would be able to see him.

  After a moment, Ethel squeezed the letter and cursed the fact that she hadn’t brought her magnifying glass. Reading it again would reassure her, comfort her. Instead, she recalled that terrible trial and those awful accusations and damned, barefaced lies. He wasn’t the terrible man they had accused him of being, and he simply couldn’t have hurt those women. Not like that, not like they said. She hadn’t raised a monster.

  Licking parched lips, she became aware of the solemn doubt creeping in, memories she hated to visit. Her only son hadn’t been like other children. There had been something within him. Something different. That thing, that persona, seemed to lie in wait until his brilliant emotions ran high. He would change. Not much at first. Then . . .

  There were times she thought it her imagination or perhaps side effects from medication she had been taking. That’s all. But deep down, she’d known better, hadn’t she?

  Ethel released the subconscious grip on the front of her shirt. When he’d gotten like that, she would have to lock him in that windowless basement until Bobby, the real Bobby, came back to her. Any mother would have done the same.

  A mother’s secrets.

  NO!! Ethel Manis wouldn’t allow that kind of misshapen image of her son, her Bobby. She couldn’t allow it. No good mother would . . . and she had been a good mother. He had written her and paid for this cruise. Didn’t that prove her virtues?

  Her son.

  To touch that face one more time, to smell his hair, and to feel his strong hands was all she wanted.