by Murcer, Rick
“Yes?” filtered through the speaker when Mike Crosby answered. The released collective breaths sounded like a gust of wind.
“Mike, this is Sophie. Listen, don’t ask why, just make sure your door is locked and chained. I need to call your dad, and then I’ll stop by to explain. Okay?”
The hesitation in Mike’s voice was obvious. “Ummm . . . okay. You . . . ahh . . . don’t need to come down to explain. You can tell us at dinner.”
“No problem. I can come to your room in a few.”
“Lex and I are kind of busy, you know?”
“Well, okay then. You call Manny or me when you’re ready to talk, got it?”
“I will.” Mike hung up the phone.
Sophie covered her mouth and snickered. “Sorry, Manny. Mike said to visit later or he’d call. They were . . . busy.”
“Yeah, I got that. Speaker phone, you know. Call Gavin and Stella.”
She wasted no time dialing Gavin’s room. After the fourth ring, Manny didn’t wait and headed out the door, running to the stairwell that led to the seventh floor, fighting every uprising fear sent his way.
This was a nightmare coming to fruition right before his eyes. It felt like some concocted story from a vivid, hard-crime novel. Except in real life, killers don’t expose part of their hand, but this one had—at least that’s how it looked.
Was he that sure of himself? That confident?
The murders weren’t some kind of random, homicidal rampage by a deranged sociopath. The assaults had been driven by vengeance, the worst kind of motive.
As he hopped the stairs two at a time, Manny tried to sort through years of arrests and investigations. He mentally reviewed specific threats from punks and pros alike, but it was hard to concentrate on that just now. He boss, his friend, could be in grave danger.
Manny reached the top of the stairs and rushed toward Gavin and Stella’s stateroom. As he approached their room, he couldn’t stop the dread that was beginning to draw a sickening portrait of its own. He hoped that they had figured this one out in time.
CHAPTER-56
The barrel of the .38 Smith and Wesson formed a small, circuitous imprint in the back of Mike Crosby’s head, and the man-mountain knew it hurt like hell. He pressed harder. Mike groaned.
The new groom’s hand shook as he fought for sufficient composure to hang up the phone on the waiting cradle, trying not to let it tumble to the floor. The killer smiled as Mike was able, somehow, to complete his mission. There was no way that the Crosby’s kid had ever before experienced the fear now running through his body.
No daddy around to take away the bad man?
Mike’s trepidation excited the killer. “Some hero cop you turned out to be,” he taunted, slapping the back of Mike’s head.
This had been a bold undertaking, even for him, perhaps marginally risky, but he reveled in it. The pathetic task force was now on full alert. Obviously, they had found his special memo. That’s why that little oriental bitch had called. He wondered if Williams had been the one to figure it out. He would ask him when the time came.
All part of the quest, if they were able to keep up, and frankly, he was surprised they had gotten this far. Although it did make things more vivid, more deadly.
I’m right under your dismal noses, and still you run around like chickens with your heads cut off.
“You did well. Very well. If you would have said one wrong word to that oriental bitch detective . . . well, I would have hated, but certainly not hesitated, to splatter your slutty new wife’s brains all over this room.”
He allowed Mike to glance into the large mirror and see the center of the bed. Lexy was bound around her ankles and wrists with gray duct tape and her body bent in a slight reverse “C.” A smaller piece of tape covered her tremulous mouth. She was dressed only in a white, sheer-lace bra and panties, looking like the low-class whore she was. Tears shone in her large eyes.
Mike spoke to his captor. “Why are you doing this? What do you want?”
The killer didn’t answer. Instead, he pulled his gun-wielding hand back and smashed the revolver against Mike’s head with the force of a jackhammer. The sound was sickening, like dispatching a jack-o-lantern with a bat. Young Crosby slammed against the protruding closet and crumpled to the floor, blood streaming from the long, deep gash gouged into his left temple. His lean body shuddered spasmodically and then grew still. The big man watched with fascination and then laughed out loud, turning toward Lexy. “I don’t think he’ll be playing with us anymore today. What do you think?”
Lexy tried to scream through the sticky gag, but nothing except muffled spasms of fear leaked from her mouth. He watched her eyes widen even more as she saw that her wimp-ass husband stayed down. Her bronzed body quaked with anguish and panic.
He stood near the queen bed and ordered her to stop making noises. She did.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, he began to slowly run his hand along her shapely leg. Beginning north of her silver ankle bracelet, he slowly maneuvered up her calf, past her smooth knee, and eventually massaged soft, fleshy thigh. The hand’s journey had purpose, meaning. His action exhibited an intimacy that was far past his preference in the normal world. But this was his normal world, wasn’t it? No sense in splitting hairs, not now.
His awakening was clear, and Lexy’s body stiffened as she made extraordinary efforts to move away from his advances. “Careful, you might hurt my feelings, and you wouldn’t want to do that, would you?” She shook her head, reminding him of the Martin woman. Ahh, good times.
He explored her rigid face like a lighthouse searching for a troubled ship. Steady. Relentless.
After his right hand reached the top of her thigh, he stopped short of where body and leg became one, just short. The young bride glowed, and he could smell her unique odor mingled with the scent of melon body lotion. He closed his eyes in appreciation. There was nothing that matched the sweet smell of pure fear. Especially fear he called his own.
Labored breaths escaped Lexy’s nostrils as her chest began a rapid rise and fall, too rapid. He knew what was happening and wanted to see it play out. He had to see her asthma attack run its course.
Her eyes grew even wider while she struggled to capture precious air. Lexy thrashed around on the bed still harder, but he steadied her, his eyes never leaving her face. He was transfixed. Eventually, she stopped moving. Her pretty features had taken on an ominous, blue tint. Lexy’s eyes took on a glassy sheen, like reflections off a clear mountain lake, and then fluttered shut.
Rage exploded from within him, and he tore the tape from her mouth. Her lips were deep blue. Damn it. The little bitch can’t die. Not yet.
Bending his head to her chest, he ripped the bra from her full bosom and listened. Lexy caught a breath from somewhere and—yes! There it was: a faint, but steady heartbeat hollow to his ear. It had almost gone too far. Almost.
He nuzzled Lexy, touched her breasts. The pleasure would still be his. The opportunity remained perfect, and there was no reason to lose the moment.
Stepping from the bed, he lifted Mike Crosby from the floor and propped him on the loveseat facing the bed. Mike would be his silent but appreciative audience, his own special observer.
No reason to lose the moment at all.
CHAPTER-57
The icy-cold beer winked at Gavin from the small patio table, and he didn’t ignore the provocative invite. “This beats the hell out of murder scenes and dead bodies,” he pointed out to Stella while they sat quietly on the small terrace just off their stateroom.
“I believe you’re right on that one,” she said as they both marveled at the purple and orange beginnings of a Southern Caribbean sunset.
He had just returned from walking Louise and Barbara to their rooms, and made them promise to keep the doors locked at all times, telling them to make sure they fastened the safety chains. He didn’t have to tell them twice.
Michigan rarely displayed these kinds of sunsets, and he coul
dn’t help enjoying it just a little. That demented, murdering bastard wasn’t going to ruin everything. The killer had made shambles out of what should have been one of the most joyous weeks of his and Stella’s life. But Gavin could, and would, steal back some of the hijacked happiness. The sunset was a great beginning. So was his wife.
Still, he'd never be able to imagine this week without thinking of Liz’s and Lynn’s horrible deaths. Somber convictions of guilt traveled through him like pulses of physical pain except there was no pill to help dull the throbbing reminder of friends lost. Maybe Lynn and Liz would still be alive if he hadn’t invited them on this damned cruise. Maybe it was his fault they were dead. He struggled against ill-willed postures that wanted a pound of flesh.
His flesh.
They pressed in, but Gavin dismissed them almost as soon as they appeared. That unconscionable sociopath had killed Liz and Lynn, not him.
He understood crimes of passion, at least some; they were as old as Cain and Abel. People sometimes snapped. But planned homicides that made Genghis Khan look like Gandhi were another story. Those killers held no regard for human life, and he didn’t get that part. They just took what they wanted. Maybe what they needed.
Getting older had some perks, but the idea that aging was golden was fantasy. Maybe he was just getting too old for this crap. The stress was more intense, and God knew he couldn’t take the physical part anymore.
The old days were better. Not nearly as many sickos, gangs, and not as much senseless stuff. Maybe it was those damn video games, like some people thought.
At least there was comfort in the fact that his three folks were working these murders, especially Manny. He hated that the boy never learned to relax much, that he was a bona fide, card-carrying workaholic, at times. Gavin was glad this was one of those times.
Stella reached for his hand. “Penny for your thoughts?”
“Only a penny?” He smiled at his wife of thirty-four years. She had a couple more wrinkles and maybe five more pounds than the day they were married, and her hair was more white than blond these days, but she still looked damn good.
She had put up with an inordinate amount of junk being the wife of a cop, then police chief. Life as a cop’s wife was tough enough, but throw in the politics and, well . . . there had to be a special place in heaven for her.
“I was just thinking how things have changed over the years. How many more psychos are running around than before. How violent our society has become. There just isn’t any respect for human life anymore.”
“And how glad you are to be married to me, right?”
“That too,” he laughed.
Stella’s gaze was steady, and he knew she was reading the rest of the story on his face like a newspaper headline.
“Don’t worry, honey,” she said. “I know that this isn’t what we bargained for with Mike’s wedding week, but it is what it is. It’s not your fault.”
Nodding, he felt the gratitude that can only come from a marriage like theirs. She always seemed to know what he was really thinking. Sometimes that was a pain in the ass, but not today.
The beauty of their surroundings brought about another observation: the dichotomy between God’s natural beauty and the hideous ugliness epitomized by these murders. Amazing that both could exist in the same world. He’d been a cop for thirty-five years and still wasn’t sure how to get his mind around that concept.
The knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. He would never have heard it if they hadn’t propped open the balcony door.
Never giving fate a thought, he got up from the chair, beer in hand, walked to the cabin door, and pulled it open.
Fate could be, and often was, a two-edged sword. Sometimes it labored for you, and you won the lotto or captured the heart of the only lover you ever pined for. Other times, it took your soul and ripped it into so many miserable pieces. Fate had no allies or enemies, it just was.
Gavin Crosby stared into the intense eyes of fate and instantly wished it had been an ally.
CHAPTER-58
Manny recorded the despondency on Gavin’s jowly face. For one fleeting instant, he could have been Methuselah’s older brother. He’d never seen that look from his boss before. He was pretty sure he didn’t want to see it again. Manny felt Gavin’s heart sink.
“What is it? What’s wrong Manny?” Dread vibrated through his gruff voice. “Has he done it again, the killer I mean?”
Manny shook his head. “No, at least not yet.” He looked his boss square in the face. “But we have a warning that he’s going to kill again. He left a poem on the mirror of Detective Perez’s bathroom. Alex found a sliver of wax on the floor and figured out the rest from there. All we had to do was steam up the bathroom mirror. The message was, ahh . . .” Manny’s eyes dropped to the floor as he studied his sandals.
“This guy’s no Robert Frost, so spit it out. What did it say, the poem?”
Hesitating, he slowly reached into the front pocket of his khaki shorts and pulled out a piece of paper with the Carousel crest stamped in the corner.
The note still smelled of the black felt pen.
Gavin read the big, block letters, and his face drained of color. “Did you talk to Mike?”
“Mike and Lexy are fine. Sophie called to check on them, and she spoke to Mike. I tried to call you and Stella, but you didn’t answer.”
“The phone stopped ringing before I got to it.”
“All due respect, Chief, you scared the hell out of me. I thought, well, that you and Stella might be in trouble,” his voice trailed off.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you.” He looked at Manny, and his faced softened. “Thanks for worrying.”
The chief motioned Manny through the door, and he followed him to the vanity near the TV. Gavin put the ship-issued 9mm in his waistband. “If this jerk off wants to dance, he picked the wrong band.”
Manny clapped his boss on the shoulder.
CHAPTER-59
Agent Corner stood in the hall with the three Lansing cops outside Gavin’s closed cabin door. He wished he could see or sense what they were thinking. Too many options and not enough time to second-guess a wrong choice. Not exactly what the doctor ordered.
They looked tired, maybe more than tired, and especially Manny.
He had gotten a sense of how hard Williams would throw himself into this case, but the Lansing detective had run a much harder race than Corner had expected. Talent and hard work rarely existed in combination these days.
Manny looked back at the agent. “What?”
“You look like hell.”
“Well, thank you. That’s what I get for going on a damn vacation.”
“Actually, he looks like this most of the time,” grinned Sophie.
“Thanks for your kind words.”
“Any time. That’s why I’m here.”
The four slowly settled into an uncomfortable silence. Corner had been in more than a few of these gatherings, and his experience told him that no one wanted to contemplate—or worse, take responsibility for—the next decision. Disregarding this conversation, however, wasn’t an option. It was like a persistent bill collector; at some point, you had to answer the phone.
Gavin started. “Now what? Do we put everyone in the same suite until this is over?”
“I don’t like that idea,” stated Manny. “If everyone is in the same place, one attack is all he would need to make us go bye-bye.”
“Yeah, but what about that divide and conquer thing?” asked Sophie.
“That could be what he wants,” said Corner.
“I don’t know. He likes to kill up close and personal, but if he does have a plan we don’t understand, we could play right into his hands by putting everyone together,” said Manny.
Sophie bit her lip and frowned. “But if we don’t gather a little strength in numbers, are we being set up to be picked off, one-by-one?”
“He might try, but this just might be one of those best
-guess things. All I know is that we need to make sure everyone is as safe as possible, especially the Crosbys,” said Corner.
Gavin spoke. “Okay. Let’s, at least, double up and put four to a room. We can get security to stand watch and make sure there is at least one gun in each room. It’s not what the captain or Carousel wants, but it’s too dangerous not to take the next step.”
“Awesome. Josh can bunk with Randy and me. I’ll make Randy sleep on the floor.”
“Thanks for the offer, but I . . . ahh . . . well, Max will need a place.”
“That’s a thought. Never been with three men in the same room, all night at least.”
“Sophie!” barked Gavin.
“Sorry, boss. Just trying to help.”
“Okay. I’ll check with the captain and see if we can rustle up a few suites instead of these one-bedroom deals. You’re right; he won’t like it, but he’ll do it,” said Josh.
Gavin looked at Agent Corner and shook his head. “I hate this.” Gavin wiped his hand across his chin and shrugged. “But, as my wife says, it is what it is.” He reached for the door handle. “I’m going to tell Stella and then call Mike and Lexy to have them come to our cabin until we get something different.”
“One more thing,” Corner said. “I want you all to get some rest.” His eyes fixed on Manny. “Some of Richardson’s people are patrolling the ship and the rest of his staff is on high alert. I won’t get the forensic results back for a while, and you and Sophie haven’t really slept in the last twenty-four hours. You won’t do this investigation or the rest of us any good if you are out on your feet. Go get some shuteye, and I’ll call you when I have new accommodations—that’s an order.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice,” said Sophie. “Josh, you coming?”
Manny started to protest, but Corner’s gaze discouraged the Lansing detective from any further objection. “Okay, okay. What about you, Josh?”