by Rick Murcer
“I suspected so. But you’ve come to the right place. I can use your help—and help you at the same time.”
Anna began to sway and sweat even more. She sat back on the couch and then slid off the front. She was having a hard time focusing.
“Wha—what did you do to me?”
“Oh, a concoction I confiscated from one of my students. It works quite well. Don’t you think?”
“Please. I—my dad is . . .”
Pulling the Katana out from underneath the sofa, he gently opened the case.
“I’m going to help you like I said I would.”
Chapter-22
The coroner's technician swallowed nervously as she opened the door leading to the archaic, stone-front lobby of the morgue in Toa Baja. Randall Fogerty noticed the dank, musty odor that even the air conditioner couldn’t mitigate. It mingled with antiseptic smells and one overpowering scent that he was more than familiar with. He wondered, for a moment, if it was really just an odor or something more. Perhaps a feeling or some primordial sixth sense that would trigger a flight response in most people. Either way, death lived here.
“How can I help you, senõr?” asked the attendant. She had a pretty face with a clear complexion and large, dark eyes, but not as large as her waistline. The woman was huge. He never understood that one: young ladies with great looks attached to a chassis that could have plowed fields back in the day.
“I’m here because I think there’s been some mistake. I, for some unknown reason, have been led to believe that Amanda Fogerty, Griggs is her married name, has checked into this Godforsaken hotel.” His voice was calm, yet uninviting.
The attendant became even more fidgety. She nodded, then closed the door to the outside. “I just came on duty, so I’ll have to check the records. I know we had a busy day because the reports are stacked up. Please give me a few minutes to check, senõr. May I see your identification?”
He pulled his passport from his pocket. She took it, glanced up to him, then handed it back.
“Thank you.”
He glanced at her name tag. “Colita, is it? I’m not a patient man and, as you might imagine, a little more than distressed at this moment.”
“I’ll hu—hurry.”
She waddled away and swiped her card at the electronic terminal. The stainless-steel doors opened as slowly as any he’d ever seen.
Once she’d disappeared down the dimly lit hall and the doors closed behind her, he folded his hands and stood still. He’d give her three minutes, then he’d send for Braxton and the others, to find out for him if Amanda was. . .
Emotion had always been a little strange to him, but this one was more than strange, more like estranged. And now he knew why. He felt fear. Not the kind that sent you blubbering to your momma, but the type that says you’ve lost something precious, including the control to protect those you care about. Fogerty hated this feeling. He’d vowed to never experience this situation again, but vows and reality are always at conflict on some level. Today, the conflict had escalated.
Turning his gold Rolex to the left on his thick wrist, he stared. Two minutes. He felt like he was ready to explode. He’d left his .45 in the car, as was his custom when in public settings like this one, but Braxton could have it to him in less than thirty seconds, and by God, he’d use it if Fat Ass didn’t get it in motion.
One minute. His hands were clenching to the rhythm of an unknown conductor, and the maestro was building a serious crescendo.
What the hell is so hard about getting good help these days?
Three minutes expired, and he reached for his cell just as the metal doors swung open. Colita’s face was bent toward a file. She glanced up, closed the folder, took a moment to compose herself, and then walked directly at him. One look on the woman’s face said everything he needed to know, but never wanted to know, ever.
“Mr. Fogerty. Who did you say sent you here?”
“I didn’t say. Is that file my daughter’s, Colita?” The words were quiet, but filled with venom.
She took a step back, eyes bigger than ever. “Yes, Senõr Fogerty. There were seven bodies brought in from the rainforest today, and she was one of them.”
Out-of-body sensations had long left his repertoire of reactions, but he had one just then, felt it kiss his cheek and remind him that no one is immune to death’s circle of influence, not even him. There was a brief flashback of her playing in the sand at an age he couldn’t recall, a couple Christmas mornings when she’d been beside herself with the gifts he’d given her. He had even made her high school graduation, at least part of it. And of course, she’d been beautiful as a bride. They even did a superficial kiss and dance at the reception, but that was it. He had been far more detached than attached, and that struck home. Maybe he was in shock, but the thought left as quickly as it had come. His mind raced to the next step.
“What happened to her?”
“Her husband was brought in too and—”
“Do I look like I give a shit about him? Just answer my damned question.”
“I’m sorry. I know you’re upset, but there’s a flag on her file to contact the SJPD if anyone asks about the details. You’ll have to reach Detectives Ruiz or Crouse. And please don’t yell at me. I hate this part of the job, but I have my orders.”
Fogerty had always been able to control his reactions, his emotions, and his intent. It made him what he was. The last thing he wanted was a confrontation with SJPD. Although he had several “employees” there, he didn’t have enough to cover his ass in this arena.
If the SJPD is involved and there are seven bodies, this is homicide.
He had to find out for sure if one of his competitors had struck back.
“You’re right; I’m not handling this well. I need to see, to make sure this is my girl. May I see her body?”
“Well, I brought out the file with her picture and that’s the procedure in this situation.”
“Please indulge me, this once,” he soothed, “she’s my daughter.”
He could see Colita’s mind was racing, then she motioned for him to follow her. They made it through the steel doors. Twenty feet later, she stopped at the three-by-three cubicle door that matched the texture of the double doors.
“This is unusual, and I’ve not done my report, so please just identify her, and then I’ll do the paperwork.”
He nodded, searching for an emotion he’d lost long ago: true love. He felt nothing except a growing desire for revenge for an act that was intended to disrupt the business.
No mourning, no sense of loss, maybe they would come. But at this moment, he was relying on what he always relied on; himself.
Pulling the door open, he watched as Colita scowled. The body under the sheet wasn’t positioned like either of them had expected. There seemed to be objects stacked just below the body’s neckline.
Colita pulled back the sheet, swore, and quickly tried to draw the covering back over the body. Randall Fogerty’s hands were far too quick to let that happen.
He tilted his head to the left, then the right. Amanda’s face looked serene, with a few cuts on her graying neck, but that’s where her body ended. Below that, stacked on her severed torso, lay an arm and a discolored leg.
Finally freeing her hand from his grip, Colita pulled the sheet back over the body.
Before she could speak, he was through the door, heading for the limo.
Fogerty stopped a few feet away and stared at the dazzling display of sunset and early evening stars jealously vying for top billing. His daughter had been murdered, desecrated in a manner he’d always tried to protect her from. In his way, he’d loved her more than any other because he’d spent such effort. Now someone had gotten to her anyway. It had always been a possibility in his line of work. He felt her loss, that was a given. But he felt an even more disturbing pang: someone had taken something from him, and that wouldn’t do.
Braxton stepped close. “I be sorry, Boss.”
�
��Sorry? That’s a word to contemplate later.” He rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “My baby was butchered like a pig.”
Braxton shook his head and stared at the cracked sidewalk.
“Whoever did this to her has no concept of sorry, but I’ll teach them.”
Motioning for Braxton to get in, he followed behind him.
“Take me to the SJPD. I’m going to introduce myself.”
Chapter-23
Screeching to a halt, like Gulfstream Vs were prone to do when the pilot clamped on the brakes, caused Sophie to scream. Chloe followed suit, both clutching one of Manny’s arms. Glancing at Josh, Manny noticed his fingers dig into the leather of his chair, but said nothing. However, if eyes had mouths…
“Damn. I’m glad we’re on the ground for a few days, or whatever. Maybe you two can act more like FBI agents than pansy-ass schoolgirls,” said Alex.
“Schoolgirls, eh?” huffed Sophie. “It’s going to be embarrassing to tell your friends, both of them, that a schoolgirl blackened your eyes and pulled your scrotum up around your neck with one hand tied behind her back.”
“Maybe, but that would mean you have to let go of both your purse and Manny to do it. By the looks of things, that doesn’t seem too likely.”
“He’s got a point,” said Manny.
“Yeah, on his head, but it won’t save him,” said Sophie.
The co-pilot emerged from the cockpit, a big man wearing a disarming grin and a pilot’s hat that seemed a size too small for his head. Manny immediately thought he recognized him, but the moment vanished. He’d probably seen him when they boarded.
The co-pilot looked at his watch. “Welcome to beautiful San Juan. Safe and sound. It’s 10:08, so we got you here a little early. We’ll be pulling up to the private part of the tarmac in a few. Just thought I’d let you know.”
With that, he squeezed back through the door.
“That’s new,” said Manny. “Why the speech?”
Josh sighed. “He told me before we took off that he realized he didn’t really know the agents he flew all over the world and just wanted to try to connect a bit.”
“That’s nice. We are all in this together,” said Chloe.
A few minutes later, the five stepped off the plane and walked toward the terminal. The co-pilot was right; it was a beautiful night. The first thing Manny noticed was the warm air that carried a mixture of jet fuel and tropical trees. The atmosphere brought back some memories of his first time here for Mike and Lexy’s wedding just before the cruise. So much had changed since then. He’d gained much. New friends, new career, but wondered if the price he’d paid to get them had been worth it. Louise was gone. Sometimes he’d wake up at night and still wonder how that had happened, and always why. They’d had everything a couple could want or need. Then, in the blink of an eye, she was on to bigger and better things— at least that’s how he saw it. He’d promised himself to not dwell on it. In fact, Louise had told him not to in that dream he still couldn’t explain.
As if she knew his thoughts, Chloe slipped her hand into his. He turned to her and let her mesmerizing smile move the memories to the shadows. Chloe would always be a reminder of what he’d gained through the war that was life. Smiling back, he recalled a saying by Ralph Waldo Emerson: “Each suffering is rewarded, each sacrifice is made up, every debt is paid.”
Chloe epitomized that wisdom, a hundred times over. She was his reward.
“Agent Williams, you started to say something in the hospital room just as Josh came in. What was it?”
“You’ll have to refresh my memory. Getting old, you know.”
“Getting old my arse, you know what I’m talking about.”
True enough. He did know, and now that he considered it again, he was struck with an impetuous thought that wasn’t him at all. But times were different these days, especially for this crew.
“You caught me in a weak moment. I thought I’d lost you, and you’re way too hot for my own good. So we should. . .” he hesitated.
You really going to do this?
“Should what?”
The terminal door flew open, and as they entered, two people waved them over. A third stood a distance behind them. The first two—tall, attractive woman dressed like a cop and a shorter, muscular man wearing a teal island shirt—both displayed large, golden badges. Partners with the SJPD, he assumed. The third person was not dressed like a cop, at least none he’d ever seen. The man looked like an argyle peacock. His long beard and matching hair only added to his milieu of being totally out of place. Always something.
“That’s two strikes, Williams. You’ll not be getting out of this the next time, I tell ya,” Chloe whispered, releasing his hand.
“Out of what?”
She elbowed him and moved ahead to shake hands with their greeters.
“Come in, agents. I’m Detective Carlos Ruiz and this is Detective Julia Crouse. We’re pleased to have you here. I hope your trip was pleasant enough.”
He spoke with an accent, but also with an air of melancholy that Manny recognized from his own experience. The man had not only seen too many human-on-human atrocities, but had lost someone he loved.
“Yes. Glad you could make it,” said Julia. She scoped everyone in the blink of an eye, hesitating at Josh, then giving Manny far more time than she should’ve. He returned her smile.
Always good to be appreciated.
Chloe must have noticed too—of course she would—and stepped between them, introducing herself and grabbing Julia’s hand.
Ruiz motioned for the walking argyle sock to join them and then turned to Josh. “I’m sorry for your loss, agent. Caleb was a good man and a pleasure to work with, although I didn’t work with him all that often. I suppose your earlier flight situation doesn’t help, either.”
“Thank you for your condolences, and you’re right: I’ve had better days.”
The man in the beard reached the group and moved directly in front of Josh.
“Agent Corner? I’m Dean Mikus, the new CSI from LAPD.”
Josh stuck out his hand, and Dean hesitated, shrugged, and shook it.
“I don’t typically shake hands, disease and all of that. Do you know that at any given moment, you might have as many as six million bacteria on each hand?”
“Ah, well no, I didn’t know that.”
Alex laughed and put his arm around Dean’s shoulder. “I’m Alex Downs, the other CSI on this team. I like you already.”
The terminal door opened behind them, and Sophie charged in.
“Damn. I forgot my makeup kit and had to go back to get it. Leaving that behind ain’t going to work.”
Josh introduced Sophie to the two detectives and, when he came to Dean, he stopped; in fact they all stood in place and watched the new CSI.
Manny had seen a case or two of instant infatuation. The kind that reduces its victim to a brief catatonic state that evolves into worship, possibly accompanied by some kind of private shrine, which if discovered, would cause the worshipper to be sent to counseling and relieved of duty. Dean Mikus was absorbing Sophie that way.
Glancing at his face, Sophie did a double take, then looked him up and down. “What on God’s green earth are you gawking at? Ain’t you ever seen a hot Asian chick before?”
Silence.
Chloe began to giggle, and Julia joined her.
“Dean? Dean? Shake Sophie’s hand,” said Manny.
Dean came out of his self-induced coma and stuck his hand out so fast that Manny wondered if he’d hurt himself. Then he pulled it back, dropped to one knee, and kissed her hand.
“You’re a goddess and, hell yeah, there are a ton of hot Asian chicks living in LA. I dated some, but, well, none like you.”
He jumped up, regaining more of his composure. He turned to Josh, his face a bright red.
“Sorry sir. Is that sexual harassment? I’ll take it back if it is. But she’s so—”
Josh laughed. The first real laug
h Manny had heard from him since before Cleveland.
“No, agent, particularly given the parties involved, and our unit. But be careful in the future.”
“I shall, sir.”
“No problem from my side either, Mucus. Hard to be upset with a man who has such great taste in goddesses,” said Sophie.
“It’s Mikus.”
“Yeah, whatever. Besides, you’re kind of cute, but you can’t wear red-argyle pajamas when you’re working. Damn. Who dressed you?”
“Well, I kind of like—”
Ruiz’s phone went off, the ring tone mimicking an old telephone ringer that Manny remembered from thirty years past.
“Ruiz.”
“What? Aw, mierda. We’re on our way.”
Ruiz put his phone in his pocket and let out a long breath. Manny recognized that one too.
“More trouble?” he asked.
“With a capital T,” whispered Ruiz.
Chapter-24
Manny followed Chloe and Alex to Ruiz’s green-and-white SUV while Sophie, Josh, and Dean rushed to the detective’s cruiser.
Some things never change with the BAU. No sleep, no time to eat, a few clothes in a bag, and some sicko who’d lost all sense of how sacred human life is. At least he knew this game, and in a sick way, even embraced it.
Climbing in the back with Chloe, he smiled to himself.
Embraced it, huh?
That fact, and it was a fact, made him wonder who the sick ones really were.
“The morgue is about fifteen minutes away, on a good night, so we’ll be there in less than twenty,” said Ruiz, his sense of sadness still lingering. The detective careened up the ramp, lights swirling and siren blaring, hitting Highway 26 full out.
“You said there was an incident at the morgue, but you didn’t say exactly what that was,” said Manny.
“Just a minute.”
Ruiz flipped on his radio, hit a blue button, and adjusted the volume to turn down the static.
“Crouse? You got that box working?”