Caribbean Rain

by Rick Murcer

  “The killer probably used another pay-as-you-go phone, so I doubt it’ll do any good. But it might help us figure out where the perp called from,” said Manny.

  “You’re right. You are learning about this tech world, aren’t you?” grinned Sophie.

  “Don’t hold your breath on that one,” answered Manny, moving closer to the human statue. He scanned the stall with those blue eyes of his burning every detail into his brain. Alex thought Manny would have been a hell of a forensic man too, but that hadn’t been his long-time friend’s calling.

  “What are you looking at?” he asked.

  Manny didn’t answer, but bent even closer to the killer’s version of Frankenstein’s monster.

  “Hey, you trancing again?” asked Sophie.

  “Trancing? Does he do that?” asked Dean.

  “Oh yeah. Big time.”

  “I don’t trance. Like I said before, you got to pay attention. Come in here, Sophie, and tell me what you see.”

  Whenever he did that, Alex knew it was important. He squeezed close, too.

  “I see a lot of body parts put together by some homicidal lunatic who probably wanted to hump his mother.”

  “That might be true, but what else?”

  “Hell, I don’t know, Manny. It looks like a jigsaw puzzle, that he cut the pieces to fit—oh, I get it. It’s a puzzle, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. Each piece was intentional. Each body part came from someone that he specifically chose, so that means something in the killer’s mind. I’m still trying to get my mind around what he’s trying to tell us.”

  “You mean like the twisted messages Argyle sent?” asked Alex, not sure that he wanted to hear what was coming next.

  Josh, Chloe, and Detective Ruiz came up behind him and Dean, crowding the entrance of the restroom.

  “No, not like that. Argyle wanted us to react, to have fear. He thrived on it. This one is telling us something different altogether.”

  “How in hell are you getting that from this mess?” asked Ruiz.

  Standing, Manny ran his gloved-hand through his hair. “Let me guess. The only body parts that you all found missing came from the rainforest victims? Right?”

  “That’s right. Except for Caleb—I had him flown to Miami. All of the other victims have something missing,” answered Josh, never batting an eye.

  Alex was impressed with the way Josh was holding it together. It had to be tough, even for Special Agent Josh Corner. Alex didn’t think he could do it. But you can never be sure of what you’re capable of until it becomes necessary.

  “That confirms what I thought. We’re dealing with the killer that murdered the people in El Yunque. But there’s more to this one.”

  “More?” asked Chloe.

  It grew so quiet that Alex thought he would be able to hear a drop of sweat hit the gray-tiled floor.

  “I think this unsub is planning to shock the world, and this is the first test.”

  That’s when the scream erupted, causing the hair on the back of Alex’s neck to reach for the ceiling. The hair reached even higher the next second as a gunshot exploded throughout the morgue.

  Chapter-30

  “Parting is such sweet sorrow,” he said out loud, relishing every word as if he’d uttered the most profound phrase ever spoken. Then he smiled. “Well, at least for me.”

  Anna had provided him with unexpected pleasure in an evening he’d set aside for reading and enjoying a few glasses of wine while listening to music that no one seemed to appreciate these days, after he’d returned from his “appointment,” of course.

  Too bad. As usual, the masses remained clueless regarding pleasures from another place in time. Music, literature, paintings, and sculptures from the masters. They were lost on a world filled with electronic gadgets for every purpose. People missed so much. Take his swords for instance, particularly the Katana. No question about the pleasure it had brought him, and he didn’t even have to plug it in.

  He poured more wine and reflected on his new guest, again. From the moment Anna had knocked on the door until he’d left the morgue, his heart hadn’t really stopped racing. Instead, it thumped with a life and rhythm he hadn’t experienced since he stood in front of his first classroom and delivered that lecture on habitat destruction. Not that any of the adolescent shitheads had appreciated or, for that matter, understood the wisdom he’d shared, but standing behind that clear, acetate podium had been a culmination of a dream. And what is life without dreams?

  “A little too philosophical for this late in the evening, I think,” he whispered.

  Philosophy.

  Kingdoms were built and destroyed on philosophies, and everyone seemed to have a different one. His was quite different than the prevalent take, especially when it came to law enforcement, or the lack thereof. He was more than positive on that point of view.

  He wondered how the authorities were doing, sorting out the morgue scene. Had they figured anything out? He guessed not. When he considered the tiny explosion that had set his handiwork into motion, he smiled. He hadn’t begun this journey to save El Yunque with the thought of playing any kind of game with law enforcement. Not really. Only a fool would think that his work would go unnoticed. But he and his methods had evolved, just as Darwin had predicted, so he needed to create diversions, such as his display in the morgue. And it wasn’t only a diversion, but a message, a puzzle that the SJPD and Feds had to solve. He wasn’t even sure, at first, why he had taken that step, the one that said I’ll help you understand my purpose, if you’re intelligent enough. He did appreciate intellect. But it was becoming clearer that, in the grand scheme of things, he was special. In fact, hadn’t his mother said so? More than once? It had taken time, but he had accepted the assessment, and deep down, he knew he deserved it.

  Special.

  It sounded so . . . perfect.

  Tasting his wine again, he contemplated his newly discovered gift for games. Even in nature, there were certain advantages that the weaker species possessed to stay alive and even thrive. So offering the opportunity to discover him and his intent to the investigators seemed natural, almost instinctive, because they had no chance otherwise. And he was still fair-minded, was he not? Besides, the thrill level went up about a million-fold at the thought of encountering worthy opposition who believed their sole, narrow-minded purpose in life was to protect the lives of others, and at any cost. How archaic.

  Once, he understood that life was sacred, and still did. But the life, the total living organism he was concerned with—El Yunque—had taken on an elevated importance. What were a few human lives compared to her? One thing he’d learned, and eventually accepted in the world of science, is that sacrifices were unavoidable and necessary. Over the centuries, people had died for the good of the species. Individual humans succumbed to groundbreaking research that could save someone in their very own future generations. Sacrifice was a commendable attribute that many humans shared, and at the ultimate price of losing their lives. He simply helped some of them make that decision, knowing full well that not everyone would agree with him. In fact, he was a member of a very significant minority.

  Thus the cops, the FBI, relatives of his supposed victims, and even the Park Ranger staff no doubt wanted his ass out of commission, in jail, or, he guessed, more likely, on one of the same slabs in the morgue that he’d just visited.

  Finishing the glass of wine, he rose, inserted his CD of Tchaikovsky’s greatest compositions, and returned to his chair, more serene, more confident than when he’d risen. There would be a full-fledged investigation, of course, and he’d have to be more careful, at least a while longer. As much as he hated the coming conflict, he also welcomed it.

  What is living if each breath has no purpose?

  Purpose he had, no question about that. But this other “feeling” he hadn’t considered.

  Loving, almost needing, the sound and sensation of the sword slicing through the air, and through living flesh, had more than surp
rised him. It was a by-product of doing the right thing. Was there something to the thought that God gave people the blessing to enjoy the calling of a special destiny? He brushed the idea out his mind. This was pure biology. Personal gratification isn’t divine but discovered through trial and error. Random genetics, not some intelligent design fairytale, explained deviant sexual behavior, why some people preferred steak over chocolate, and his new, special lust.

  Again his mind focused on Anna. She was a perfect example of his theory. Would a God create such a soulless, uncompassionate, unfeeling individual?

  I think not.

  A moment later, he heard a tiny sound coming from his spare bedroom. His smile grew wider as he rose from the comfort of his chair and strode to the room’s door, putting his ear close to the thick mahogany. There it was again.

  Grasping the antique brass knob, he turned it slowly and entered the almost dark room. Moving to the nightstand, he pressed the switch of the teakwood lamp.

  Glancing at the bed, his eyes grew wide. His prize, his inspiration for the evening—young, beautiful Anna—was not how he’d left her. If fact, she wasn’t there at all.

  Chapter-31

  “Where’s Detective Crouse?” asked Manny.

  He pushed through the others, rushing in the direction of the scream and accompanying roar of gunfire that had the same effect on him as a stress test, the jackhammer rhythm in his chest said so. He pulled his Glock, looking for Julia and what she was firing at.

  Turning left, the others close behind, he heard the second shot, then the rush of hard shoes on tile as the blues ran from the front of the morgue in the same direction Manny was headed.

  Damn it. Have we missed something, or someone, again?

  He exited the morgue’s double doors and immediately smelled the expended gunpowder prancing through the air. A second later, he saw Julia Crouse in the far corner of the lobby facing away from him at a slight angle. She was on her knees, hunched over someone, blood staining her khaki slacks at her right knee. The detective had her gun raised high in the air, ready to bring it down like she was pounding the last nail of a casket. She was speaking Spanish in a loud, panicked voice. She brought the gun down, hard, and the thump of metal against flesh was intense, then she raised it again.

  “Muere hijo de puta, muere! Muere hijo de puta!”

  Manny understood a couple of the words, but he couldn’t see who she was screaming at, this son of a bitch that she wanted to see dead. He ran faster.

  To his right, three blues stopped ten feet short of Crouse, weapons pulled. A moment later, the first one lowered his, and the others did the same. All three began to laugh.

  Crouse turned to the three, an intense snarl on her face.

  “What the hell are you laughing at?”

  The first blue spoke. “Sorry, Detective, but isn’t that a little extreme? I mean it’s only a—a”

  “I’ll let you know what’s extreme and what isn’t. Get your asses back to the front door,” she ordered, a combination of anger and fear in her voice.

  The men turned on their heels and did as they were told, pronto.

  Swearing, she brought the gun down again, releasing more of that sickening sound.

  Taking one more step, Manny saw the object of her rage: the biggest black rat he’d ever seen. His mind went back to the alley in Lansing where he’d found Detective Ross’s body. The rats scurrying around there had been half the size of this one. Startling, no question, but. . .

  “Julia! What the hell are you doing? You freaking shot a rat twice and now are beating it for good measure?” said Ruiz, shaking his head. “There’s enough damned tension in this place without you pulling that shit.”

  Detective Crouse stood, wiping at the blood on her knee. “You don’t know, Ruiz, you don’t know—”

  “I know this. You gotta file a report on why you discharged your gun, especially in this morgue, and in the midst of an investigation that makes Jack the Ripper look like a ballet recital.”

  By now, Sophie was giggling. Chloe had turned her face, then blurted out a laugh. Alex was staring at the ceiling, trying not to explode. The only face showing the same emotion as Crouse was Dean’s. There are looks of fear, then ones of pure terror. Dean apparently carried the latter contemplation for rats, particularly one the size of a large tomcat.

  After cleaning the blood and hair from the butt of her handgun with a gloved hand, Crouse holstered the gun, regained her poise, and got into Ruiz’s face.

  “Listen, peckerhead. That rat jumped out of the ceiling and ran right over my feet. You know I have a thing for them anyway, so what part of that brain of yours thinks I’d let this bitch live?”

  Chloe, Sophie, and Alex laughed again, with more gusto.

  There was a rush of commotion, and suddenly Josh was in between Ruiz and Crouse, a look on his face Manny had only seen one other time. Rage wasn’t his MO, usually.

  He grabbed Detective Crouse’s arm and brought her face so close to his that Manny thought he was going to bite her.

  “You’re the peckerhead, detective. I don’t give a shit about any of your damned phobias. You just disrupted a crime scene investigation that has at least eight people dead. Not to mention, you’re shooting your weapon in a closed area. A damned rat? What the hell’s wrong with you? People die from ricochets, not to mention you flat out scared the living hell out of every one of us. For what?”

  There was an abrupt end to the laughing. It was replaced with shock and silence.

  Been waiting for this.

  “I’m sor—sorry. I—”

  “I don’t want a freaking apology. I want you to act like a detective, not a damned schoolgirl who is petrified of rodents, for God’s sake. You could have killed someone. If you pull anything like that again, I’ll make damned sure you’re writing parking tickets on the streets of Old San Juan so fast, you’ll think you were riding a time machine. You get what I’m saying?”

  Walking up to Josh, Manny reached for his arm, intending to pull him away from Crouse. Ruiz beat him to it.

  “Agent, she screwed up. We’re all feeling the—”

  Josh whirled around and bumped Ruiz before Manny could intervene.

  “You keep her together, or the same thing goes for you. I’m tired of this local incompetence shit. Got me?”

  Ruiz took a step back, surprise registered on his weathered face.

  Josh spun on his heels and strode away from the detectives . . . and confronted his team.

  It’s catching up to him, all of it.

  He opened his mouth to speak, glanced at Manny, then slowly dropped his head to his chest. Tears glistened in his striking eyes.

  Manny walked over to his good friend and leaned close. “Let’s go to my office and talk for a minute, okay?”

  Josh nodded, and they headed for the men’s room.

  “You guys get organized, and please get rid of that rodent disguised as King Kong. We’ll be back.”

  Standing with his back to Manny, Josh held both hands on the marbled countertop, looking deep into one of the stained sinks. Manny leaned against the wall, folded his arms, and waited.

  “So, was I a little harsh?” Josh asked, not looking up.

  “Oh, hell no. Everyone’s used to you losing it, especially on a couple of the locals. It helps with the public relations part of our job.”

  “Screw you.”

  “Ah well, you’re not my type. Besides, that was a pretty good bend job without any of my help.”

  Josh’s shoulders sagged. “Yeah, I suppose it was.”

  Manny shifted his weight. “Remember when we were in Ireland, and you told me I was in denial, and you’d be there when I wanted to talk?”

  “I do, and we talked later.”

  “Your turn.”

  Josh nodded. “I’ve got other . . . pressures right now.”

  “Not to mention, you looked at Caleb’s file, right?”

  “Couldn’t help it,” he whispered. “But I
couldn’t get past the first picture.”

  “It’s always different when it’s someone you know and love,” said Manny.

  His thoughts went back to Liz Casnovsky and Lexy Crosby on the cruise ship. He felt his gut tighten. Another way this job sucked the life out of you like some new-born Succubus feasting on its first kill.

  “That’s not all, Josh. I know you were freaked out by the crash too, but what else?”

  He let out a breath. “Oddly, the crash didn’t bother me all that much. I figured with all the other shit going on in my life, maybe a quick trip to the afterlife wouldn’t be all that bad.”

  “Spill it. What else?” he asked softly.

  Josh held Manny’s eyes and then slowly sank to the floor; the tears were no longer hiding behind the tough exterior.

  He spoke in a voice that hardly sounded like a confident, organized leader, but instead a broken, lost man.

  “Losing Caleb is bad enough, but Manny, I don’t know if I can do this, this assistant director’s job. They’ve been grooming me, and I jumped into the fire, but I’m really feeling it. Making decisions that could get people killed isn’t where I want to be. What if I mess up and someone does die? Maybe even one of you.”

  He licked his lips, and kept going. “The stress is insane. I’ve seen this job kill better people than me. The AD they want me to replace tried to commit suicide. He said he couldn’t take it anymore. You’ve talked to Dickman; you know what he’s like. I don’t want that. But if I say no, put a fork in me, I’m done. I’ll get assigned to the mail room.”

  He shook his head without looking up. “Some of the things that go on . . . well, you have no idea. Not to mention, it’s more time away from Nikki and the boys. We’re already fighting about that.”

  In a split second, Manny felt what Josh was feeling—a hopelessness that batters you when your rock, your reason for living, is suddenly jerked from your life. Josh’s job had become that.

  They call me a workaholic. . .

  He stood quietly and waited for Josh to find solid ground. A few minutes later, after the tears dried up, he watched part of Josh Corner’s famous resolve return to his face. It was time for one more question.