by Rick Murcer
“Sounds crazy, but yeah, I think I’m right. His sense of intimacy, as messed up as that is, wouldn’t allow a crowd to participate in something so personal. Not even at a distance.” He turned to Clark. “I’m assuming your people didn’t find a camera.”
“None yet, but they just got back into the room. They’ll advise of anything new.”
“How about his room at the B&B?” asked Chloe. Her voice was steady and strong, her jade eyes alive. He wasn’t sure he had been this tough and composed when Argyle had taken Louise . . . and there was still no word on Meav.
Talk about double jeopardy.
He found himself being proud of Chloe, without understanding why.
You know why.
Clark answered her. “We’ve torn that room apart and there’s absolutely nothing, not even one of his smartass messages in a damned bottle. No receipts, no traces of places he’d been, or clues as to where he was going. Nothing that can help us.” Clark tossed Chloe a momentary look. “We’re doing all we can to find your Mum and your cousin. At least one of our people believes that Meav is alive simply because there doesn’t seem to be any evidence of a crime against her.”
“And it would be difficult for him to manage both Meav and Mum for any length of time. I know the profile,” answered Chloe.
“Plus, given what he does, we would have found a body by now,” added Alex.
Josh stood up and stretched his back. “Okay. Let’s get off that part of this thing and see what we can do to find him.”
Manny ran his hand through his hair. “Getting back to the way he murdered Shannon and the others, I suppose he could be trying to mislead us, to send us running in another direction. We thought the same thing another time, but there were two killers.”
“You don’t think so, do you?” asked Alex.
“No. If he resisted watching these people die, then his focus is somewhere else.”
“You mean my mother?” asked Chloe.
He attempted not to look at her, but that was like keeping waves from rushing to shore. “Maybe. But I don’t know what that focus could mean—”
“—because she’s probably still alive and that’s another pattern change,” said Josh.
“Could be. We have to bring that into the picture. He’s always wanted us confused, and right now, he’s made that grade.” He turned to Clark. “You didn’t mention anything about searching the coast and water outlets. There are hundreds of channels and passages to the ocean and coves here, which you’re obviously aware of.”
Clark nodded. “We’re doing what we can with that too. We’re investigating all of the marinas as fast as we can, and we’ve recently opened a new Coast Guard Station in Costelloe Bay. They have about twenty volunteers; most are helping in the search for anything unusual.” Clark wrinkled his nose. “Unusual. What a bloody stupid thing to say. How in the hell do you tell unusual when it comes to a couple of hundred boats in the bay and all of the coves and inlets running through County Galway and beyond?”
“You had to tell them something, right?” said Manny.
“I suppose so. It sounds so trite. They’re trained for Search and Rescue operations, not this type of thing. But they’ve been instructed to call anything in and to not pursue it on their own. Let’s hope that keeps them out of trouble. At any rate, we’re getting more help within an hour or two from County Doolin, and they have a helicopter that will be available for some swings around the coast.”
Clark sat down, sweat dotting his forehead. He threw a pudgy finger Manny’s way. “I think we have that covered, as much as we can, but why did you ask?”
“His profile has always been consistent in that he never sets his situation up without at least one escape route. It seems the hundreds of miles of coastal terrain leading to the ocean present the best opportunity for escape.”
Sophie stopped tapping her red fingernails on the table. “Let’s say you’re right, and he’s on a boat or in some little hideaway along the coast. How’s he going to get you, us, there?”
“He wants us to figure it out, like always, but this time it’s different because we don’t know the area.” He stood up and turned to Chloe. “But you do. Something that might escape us Americans might mean more to you or to Detective Clark.”
“Like what?” asked Alex, his eyes never leaving the table.
Max shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe some forensic evidence that hasn’t been found or another—”
Chloe’s phone rang, cutting Max off midsentence. Manny watched her glance at the number. Her eyes grew wide, and it was her turn to leap from her chair. “It’s Meav!”
Chapter-59
Meav Franson watched her hands shake as she hit the quick dial on her cell, missing Chloe’s number altogether. She couldn’t help it. The raging tears were blurring her vision in a way she’d never experienced, making it almost impossible to press the right numbers. Every time she tried, the rhythm of her hands failed to match up with the keypad. It didn’t make things any easier that she was holed up in the tiny, pungent, laundry chute that led from the second floor to the laundry area on the first floor.
Her legs were cramped and tired after hours of constant shifting to stay just out of sight for anyone who wanted to search the dark passage—and Argyle had searched often. At first, he’d called her name like a loving father who only wanted to hug his lost child, to tell her everything was all right, that he’d take away all of the terrible, frightening things in life and never let them go near her again. It was so soothing, so believable, so comforting. She found herself tempted to go to him, but the temptation was squelched as fast as it appeared. She had seen what he’d done to Haley Rose. Not fatherly at all.
Then his voiced had changed. He became more demanding, angrier, and then the American had threatened her. He’d said that what he’d done to her best friend would pale in comparison to what he was going to do to her, if she didn’t show herself. Her mind had drifted to Kathryn O’Malley’s body and that horrifying scene. Meav knew without a doubt in her mind or heart that Dr. Fredrick Argyle was indeed capable of doing what he claimed. More than capable.
Argyle had then grown silent, quiet like the insatiable killers do in the hundred slasher movies she and Kathryn used to watch on Friday nights growing up. In the silence, she had begun to cry. Had he guessed where she was hidden or had he given up? Was he lying low, like a clever predator stalking an unaware prey, waiting for her to breathe too loud or scrape her shoes on the metal lining of the shaft? The wait was the most excruciating part. Seconds turned into eons.
Then came the moment of truth. She’d heard the thin metal door to the laundry chute open slowly, creaking like it always had, and her heart had shimmied up her throat and choked her. His voice had returned to that calm, intriguing sonata.
“Meav? Are you there? I only want to talk. Come converse with the Good Doctor.”
So this was going to be how she was going to die. He’d see her—or worse, feel her—pull her from the tunnel and do what he did. But it didn’t happen. After a few more seconds, he released the door. The loud bang caused her to jump and cover her mouth, but she heard his footsteps move down the hardwood stairs. She finally let out the air she’d been hoarding—just in time to hear the siren of screams erupting from the elderly guests. They begged for him to stop, then for their lives, then to kill them. She bit her hand, and then tried to cover her ears. She sobbed silently and prayed for it to end. It seemed nothing could stop the terrible waves of ungodly clatter echoing throughout the B&B. Then it was over as abruptly as it had begun.
A few minutes later, she thought she heard the front door open and close, but it could have been her imagination. She waited for an eternity to make sure it was safe. Just as she was ready to crawl up the chute, the front door opened again. Meav quickly scaled back down the shaft, hunkered down, and waited.
Ten minutes later, she thought she heard voices, but wasn’t sure. That’s when she decided she couldn’t handle another sound. She reached for
a pale-blue blouse hanging on an errant screw in the shaft just below her feet, freed it, and stuffed the tail in one ear and the top in the other. She closed her eyes, prayed again, and held on. That seemed like hours ago, and although she still didn’t fully trust that Argyle had left, she’d pulled out her barely charged phone. She knew it was an awful gamble, but what choice did she have? She couldn’t stay there forever.
Steadying herself, Meav dialed again. Like some miracle shot that allowed Galway United to win the Irish Cup of Soccer, she hit the right numbers, and Chloe’s picture came up as the phone began the sometimes unreliable process of dialing out.
“Meav? Darlin’, is that you?”
Meav swallowed the dry, raspy lump in her throat. “I’m in the B&B. Help me.”
“Where, Meav . . . where in the B&B?”
Meav was unable to respond. Her strength left her as she relaxed her grip and slid the rest of the way down the chute, landing in the pile of unclean clothes, unconscious.
****************
The tall man heard the thump, stepped into the room through the adjacent door, and rushed her.
Chapter-60
He waited until the conference room had emptied with the fervor that would be expected at finding Meav alive. Chloe had sprinted out the door with Williams close behind and the others seconds after that. He’d pretended that he’d accidentally left open the latch on his briefcase and would be there after he’d picked up the spilled contents. A few minutes were all he needed.
Taking out the cell, he dialed the number and waited for him to answer.
In many ways, Argyle had been right. They were simpletons. These were the best that law enforcement had to offer? Williams got a few things right, and the FBI’s database helped, but he was the one with the real answers. There was no denying that. History doesn’t lie. Whenever someone needed the truth, the insight, who provided it? He did, of course. When the investigation was slowing down, who spurred it along? No one else but him. Right again.
But who got all of the glory? These dumb-shit detectives. He squeezed the phone a little tighter.
The phone came to life. “What do you have for me?”
“The girl’s called in, so they know where she is, and they’ve figured out you’ve probably left Galway via boat.”
“Ah. Excellent! Just as planned. I could’ve pulled her out of that chute a dozen times, but then who would have given Williams the information he needs to facilitate our next and final meeting?”
There was a sudden pang of doubt as Argyle completed his last sentence. He’d thought about the eventual end for Williams and the others, but now that the time was near, it brought on a sense of finality that wrenched at his emotions more than he’d expected. He bit his lip. It went with the choice he’d made, however, and he was in it for the long haul.
“What do you want me to do now?”
“Do? There’s nothing more for you to do. You’ve fulfilled your purpose admirably, more than admirably, and I’m appreciative, but I suspect your run has come to an end.”
He could barely move as the words filtered through the phone. “Wha . . . what do you mean? We had a deal. You promised to help me get where I wanted to go and to pay me in the process.”
“Indeed, I did, and I meant it because I don’t lie. But I’m not the problem.”
“What in hell could be the problem at this stage? I did everything right, no one suspects a thing.”
“You didn’t really think that was true, did you? That you had managed to fool them all, especially Williams?”
His voice grew louder, higher. “I DID fool them all. I’m smarter than them. Not one of those damned fools has a clue.”
“That’s not quite true.”
He spun around to see Manny and Josh staring at him, guns raised.
“Did I mention the little text I sent from Haley Rose’s phone?” The faint sound of Argyle’s laughter echoed through the receiver and then grew silent.
He dropped his arm to his side, the phone slipping from his hand. Without another thought, Max Tucker drew his weapon, raised it to his head, and in spite of the loud warnings from Josh, pulled the trigger.
Chapter-61
Manny stood a few steps away from where Alex sat on the corner of the long conference room table.
Alex was staring at his friend sitting in the chair, bound in handcuffs.
He knew Alex was doing his best to shift gears from anger, hurt, betrayal, and maybe more than all of that, the forfeiting of something far more immeasurable: the loss of a close friend. Manny knew the feeling. Good God did he know it. Walking through life was tough enough, but losing someone who had made that trek easier was a bitter communion with loneliness that no one needed. Ever.
“What the hell is wrong with you? You didn’t think we’d find out?” asked Alex in a voice so soft that Manny had to strain to hear. “I didn’t believe Manny when he thought there might be something going on with you. In fact, I called him a damned liar. But he sees stuff I don’t, and it’s a good thing he did. That piece of shit Argyle’s text just sealed the deal. If I hadn’t emptied that clip from your Glock when you were sleeping on the plane, your freaking brains would be all over the wall.”
“You should have let me do it,” answered Max.
“Yeah, maybe, but that would have been the easy way.”
Max raised his head. “Easy for whom? For me? For the FBI? Or how about you? I’d be gone and not have to go through what’s coming next.”
Alex stood, took two steps, and grabbed Max by the shirt.
Manny put his hand on Josh’s chest as he started to move toward the two CSIs.
Alex pulled Max’s face close. “You self-centered prick. You don’t get it. We were friends. We fought on the same side, and that meant everything. We stood for something better than ourselves. Not everyone gets that chance in life. You pissed that all away for money and a few promises from a psycho like Argyle?”
Alex released his grip on Max. “You’re right. It would have been easy for you to check out, but God knows it would’ve been a shitty day for me.” Then he walked out of the room.
A tiny waiver showed itself in Max’s eyes and then receded as quickly as it had appeared. A flicker of remorse? But it wasn’t enough. The man they thought they knew was still hidden deep in the self-deception that haunts everyone from time to time: that he deserved better and would do what it took to get there. Most people only think about it. Max was one of those who acted on it.
Pulling up chairs, Manny and Josh flanked Max. They sat in silence. They’d been in strange interview situations before, but this was the oddest.
“Do you remember the last psych evaluation you took about five months ago?” asked Josh.
Max glanced up and said nothing.
“We do those so we can see any changes, any insights on how the job might be changing our agents. Yours was a borderline ‘this boy needs a vacation’ kind of evaluation. The report said you’d become more depressed, more angry, and that you were becoming a tad dissociative. But we chalked it up to lack of time off and the whole set of cases you’d been working.”
Max shifted in his chair and said nothing.
“For the record, Max, you gave yourself away. Too many times when no one knew where you were. You’d never carried two cell phones before, the conversation that Sophie heard part of in the plane’s restroom, and then leaving your case unlocked on purpose. It added up to something, I just wasn’t sure what.”
Josh bent closer. “Are you going to talk to me, Max? Are you going to tell me why you really did this?”
The unexpected smile that grew across Max’s ebony face caused Josh to glance at Manny with that “oh shit” look. Smiles like that always seemed to go hand-in-hand with a high level of lunacy.
All the while, Max’s close-set eyes had grown hard, cold, hateful, but alive at the same time. He didn’t look at Josh, but turned his head toward Manny.
“Yeah, you know, I think I wi
ll tell you why, but I’m disappointed the Great Manny Williams hasn’t figured out the entire scenario. You Wonder Boys are supposed to figure everything out, but I guess you can’t get credit for this one.”
Max was becoming more distraught, and his twitching became more rapid. “The FBI is flawed. People like me do all of the work, and guys like you two get all of the credit. You get the raises, you get the good positions, and you get national recognition. Hell, you even get the women. What do people like me get? Royally screwed. We get bent over, and there’s not even a first kiss or K-Y. We go to the lab, spend late nights, get you information, and you waltz in and take the damned credit.”
“Max. We all—” started Josh.
Max’s face grew more vicious, his teeth clenched. “Shut the hell up. I’m not done. You never once gave me credit in a report or even made recommendations for promotions. It was like I wasn’t alive. I even caught some of your staff laughing behind my back. Do you know what their nickname for me is? They call me Meek Max because I take all of the bullshit and say nothing.”
“I’m sorry, Max. I didn’t know—”
“You freaking get paid to know,” he yelled, spit flying from his lips. “Then to top it off, this hick-town cop steps in and gets lucky with a couple of guesses, and suddenly you get a hard on every time someone mentions his name. I worked for you for eight years, and you never said thank you, not even once . . . just like home.”
“You were always an important part of us. I thought you knew that,” said Josh.
“What a damned liar. You’re so full of yourself you don’t even know what ‘us’ means. Do you know how many times I thought about shooting you? Argyle was telling the truth. He is better than you.”
“What did he offer you?”
Max threw back his head and roared. It was spooky to see this man travel to La La Land.
“Offer me? You mean besides more money than I’ve ever imagined? He said I could watch you two pay for your sins. That was my real pot of gold, but I guess that won’t happen, will it? You’re all going to die. I just won’t get to see it.”