Caribbean Rain

by Rick Murcer

  “Is that all?”

  “Is that all? Hell, ain’t that enough?”

  “No, I mean is there anything else?”

  “Let’s see. I almost die in a plane crash that almost killed two pilots with families. I lose my brother to a freaking lunatic with a slaughterhouse fantasy, my wife and I are fighting, and I want a job that might destroy my life, killing me in the process. I guess that covers it.”

  He reached down to help Josh off the floor. “You forgot something.”

  “I think I’d remember anything else, but since you’re the damned profiler, what’d I forget?”

  “Remember that line in that old movie that’s says something about love means not having to say you’re sorry?”

  “Yeah, I do. It’s one of Nikki’s favorites, so?”

  “That doesn’t work here. I don’t think Crouse and Ruiz are loving your ass right now.”

  Sighing, he smiled a weary smile. “I don’t suppose they do. You’re right. I owe them an apology. Let’s go. And Manny, thanks. I just couldn’t—”

  “Hey, that’s what I’m here for.”

  “Ever think about throwing up a shingle?”

  “A counselor? Hell no, this job gives me all of the problems I need.”

  Splashing water on his face, Josh took a deep breath, and pushed through the door, looking a little more like the man Manny had come to know.

  Once back in the lobby, Josh motioned to his team and the two detectives.

  The six gathered round him, everyone looking at the floor, faces tight. Manny stood behind Josh, a little to his right.

  “Detectives, I . . . listen, that’s not my style, and I apologize. It’s been a hell of a day and I’m tired. No excuse, but it’s the best I’ve got.” He stuck out his hand.

  Ruiz shook it right away, wearing a grin. “You could be Latino with that temper and a few of those looks.”

  Crouse reluctantly reached for his hand, a cold stare shining in her big eyes. “You get a pass on this one,” she said. “But not again.”

  “Fair enough. Don’t shoot anymore rats in a tight area like this, endangering my team and others, and we won’t have another problem. Deal?”

  Her stare intensified. Then she nodded, lips tight and arms folded across her chest.

  Josh returned the nod and then did what he does best: took charge. “Okay. Here’s what we’re going to do. Alex, you and Dean will have to process this place tonight. You can get some help from the night crew from our local FBI ERT group. Remember, you won’t be waiting on the CSU report—you’ll be doing it. You’re now a Fed, so we’ll be waiting on you.”

  “Got it. We’ll need access to ViCAP, IAFIS, and CODIS to run any prints and DNA we might find.”

  Reaching into his pocket, Josh handed Alex a small, sealed envelope.

  “These are your very own access codes and logins. You won’t need to wait on anyone, at least for the ViCAP information. You’ll need lab reports for the DNA, but CODIS has a new process for the field. If you find a good print, or even a partial, download the picture and the scanner at the database in Quantico will do the rest. Something about high resolution scanners that are a hundred times more sensitive than the last ones we had.”

  “I read about those. Awesome,” said Dean.

  Sophie rolled her eyes. “You science guys are all alike. If it has circuits or latex, you don’t need a date.”

  “I don’t know, Agent Lee, I like dates, just don’t get many,” answered Dean.

  “Well, shut my mouth. I’m shocked,” grinned Sophie.

  Was that a little more than grin?

  Manny thought it was.

  Josh picked up the focus. “We can talk about your love lives later—ah, never mind. I don’t want to know. The rest of us are going to interview anyone who’s willing to come in to talk to the cops and the FBI at 10 p.m. We also need to find this Fogerty character. He could be a key, even though Manny thinks not; we still need to make sure. Also, I want everyone at the hotel and in bed—alone—by two a.m.” He glanced at Chloe who had moved closer to Manny. She was touching his arm with hers.

  “What?” she asked. “My intentions are honorable. Sort of.”

  Ruiz’s phone rang, and he stepped closer to the large windows on the south side of the room.

  He then snapped the phone shut and returned to the group. His body language was less than encouraging.

  “We got good news and bad news. The good news is that Randall Fogerty is awaiting us at HQ. Seems he made a call, and he’s no longer in cuffs, but wants to talk to us about what happened to his daughter.”

  “Well, we get to put one theory to rest, or not, tonight. What’s the bad news?” asked Manny.

  The SJPD detective shifted his weight. “It seems there was a package delivered to my desk a few minutes ago.”

  “You get those all of the time,” said Crouse.

  “Yeah, but this one’s leaking blood.”

  Chapter-32

  Standing in the soft light emanating from the lamp, he scanned the room slowly, listening intently as he did. The window was still sealed and remained unbroken. He’d locked the door from the outside so there was no way she could escape, especially in her condition. She was still here.

  Another game to play?

  He was beginning to enjoy that part of his crusade far more than he would have suspected.

  “Come out, Miss Anna. Come out wherever you are,” he sang.

  The room was large by any standards. It included its own bathroom with a Jacuzzi tub, two separate closets, and a mauve motif. He’d designed it just for his mother, and she’d loved it. She had used the tub nightly during her short visit. He recalled the loud, unrestrained laughter each time she stepped into the bubbling, steamy water.

  You won’t hear that anymore though.

  That dark, inner voice was in the house.

  The remote for the Blu-ray player sat on the dresser untouched for all of these weeks. He remembered his mother turning on the forty-six-inch HDTV only once. That was to catch up on a couple of game shows she loved to watch.

  Running his hand over the bed, he began to circle toward the first closet. It occurred to him that this room also doubled as the last place his mother had slept. In spite of the good things he wanted to dwell on, the truth was large; it always is.

  Again, he wondered how his life, and hers, would be today if he hadn’t come to visit his island, and if he hadn’t introduced her to his mistress.

  You know how things would be, don’t you?

  Anger was building up a little steam, and he felt his pulse pound in his head. He closed his eyes and pushed it away. It worked, but it was becoming harder. The rage simply had to have its say.

  Reaching the first door, he noticed the blood on the door knob. His smile returned. He thought his Anna brighter than to leave a trail a blind man could follow. But maybe she just wasn’t thinking straight. Intense pain can have that effect.

  Gripping the brass knob, he bent low and pulled the door open in a fluid motion. Expecting to see her wielding some sort of weapon, he jumped back and waited.

  Nothing.

  He searched the floor of the closet, feeling both left and right. His newly discovered friend wasn’t there.

  “Clever girl,” he said out loud.

  Moving slowly, he stepped away from the open closet door and moved around the antique oak dresser, catching his reflection in the old, wavy mirror.

  Still looking good.

  Rarely had he had thoughts like that in the past, at least no more than others, but it occurred to him lately that it was part of “the gift,” the complete package needed to attain his destiny.

  No one would listen to an unattractive crusader.

  Standing before the closed bathroom, he noticed more blood, much more, on the floor and on the door, just beneath the glass knob and lock.

  “What are you thinking, young Anna?” he asked quietly.

  Pressing his ear tightly, he listen
ed for any sign of her. It was a heavy oak door, matching the others in the room, but certainly not impenetrable. Thirty seconds later, he moved away. She wasn’t in there either.

  Obviously, she was running out of hiding places. For the first time in this little game of hide-and-seek, he felt a twinge of nervousness.

  Could she have somehow gotten out?

  “Where are you Anna? I grow tired of this. Come out now, and I’ll make your contributions to this grand scheme less painful.”

  Then he heard it. A delicate rustling from underneath the bed, near the foot. Circling around to the bed’s left, his feet scarcely touching the Oriental rug, he lowered himself to his knees. He grasped the island-designed comforter, felt its soothing texture, then jerked it up. He immediately noticed the string attached to the small storage box, running along the floor just as the closet door burst open behind him.

  His days as a fencing addict served him well. He spun out of the way of Anna’s desperate charge and nudged her as she passed close to him, the sound of her hand swooshing far too close to his face. She landed heavily on the bed. The odor of perspiration and fresh blood attacked the air, then seemed to settle on his shoulder, at least figuratively. He loved it.

  She lay on the bed, breathing harshly. Her eyes were clear, but moving back and forth like a caged animal looking for any escape route. She thrust her hand at him again, and he caught it, wrenching the six-inch dagger from her. She must have found the dagger on the shelf of the second closet, because that’s where he’d left it.

  “Here, here. That’s certainly no way to treat a host. You might have hurt someone with that. And after I’ve been so kind to you.”

  “Please. I ne—need a doctor. I’m bleeding.”

  “That you are. But I’m all the doctor you’ll need. If you’ll do what you’re told, you’ll play an important role in this tragedy.”

  Her face contorted. “I could have helped. I could have—”

  He watched as her eyes rolled up in her head and she passed out.

  “You are helping, my beautiful Anna.”

  Glancing at the right arm that was missing its hand, he smiled.

  “Piece by piece, you’ll help more than you could imagine.”

  Chapter-33

  The second-floor interrogation room at SJPD Headquarters was smaller than Manny had expected. There were only six chairs and a long, worn-out maple table that wobbled when he leaned on it. Add a small, barred window about six feet up on the south wall and the faded one-way mirror and that was it. Except for the pointed graffiti that remained strangely untouched. He smiled to himself.

  Isn’t it physically impossible to do that to one’s self?

  The stale aroma of old cigarettes and spilled coffee added to the claustrophobic feel, and he wondered if the room’s setup was intentional to make the subject of any intense questioning more uncomfortable. He thought so. Good ploy, for most perps, especially the local garden variety B&E or assault offender, but not for the man sitting across from him. This man was confident, and his smug expression showed more than Randall Fogerty wanted to say. And Manny had a feeling Fogerty didn’t care, not one iota.

  Detectives Ruiz and Crouse were trying to track down the source of the package that had ended up on Ruiz’s desk. They were talking to the delivery service and the young woman employee who had dropped off the box. So, that left him and Sophie to “talk” with Fogerty. Josh and Chloe stood outside the room to observe. Not a bad idea, more eyes and ears never hurt in this business. Besides, Josh was looking a little beat, and he and Sophie worked well together.

  Added to that, Chloe didn’t want to run the risk of being recognized by Fogerty, but that wasn’t the only reason for her absence in the room. The distraction she caused for Manny was on the rise, more than he’d ever imagined, and she sensed it.

  Each time she touched him, or whispered something just for them, or smiled that Galway Bay smile, he fell deeper. That included the physical. How could he not? She was knockdown, drag-out gorgeous, and it had been a long time.

  “Hey, Williams, you gonna start this story or you want me to?”

  “I’m sure Mr. Fogerty won’t mind, either way,” answered Manny, glad that Sophie had taken him off that other horse.

  “You’re right, Agent Williams, but Agent Lee seems like a woman who gets right to the point,” smiled Fogerty.

  The man didn’t sound like someone who had just seen his daughter in the morgue, appearing like a butcher-shop mistake. His hands didn’t shake; his crossed legs indicated that he was more than relaxed and willing to talk. But his eyes . . .

  “Okay. Let’s get to it. First, let me say I’m sorry for your loss. I can’t imagine.”

  “Thank you, Agent. And you’re right, you can’t.”

  “What time did you leave the morgue, Mr. Fogerty?” asked Sophie.

  “I’m sure you have that on record. I’m assuming the security video will verify my statement, but I’ll humor you. I left around 8:05.”

  “Thank you. We don’t have working video yet, and our records need to be verified.”

  Sophie sat back in the chair, her eyes narrowing. “Did you return to the morgue after you left?”

  Her voice was calm, professional. Manny gave her a quick glance just to make sure it was her.

  “Now why would I do that, Agent? Once was all I needed.”

  “Yes, I understand. It must have been tough on you. I mean, seeing your daughter like that, right?”

  Fogerty didn’t flinch. Incredible. But that look in his eyes reappeared, then disappeared just as quickly.

  Cold bastard.

  “It’s not something I’ll forget, Agent, ever.”

  Leaning forward, she spoke in a low voice. “You didn’t answer my question, Mr. Fogerty.”

  “No, I suppose I didn’t. No. I did not return to the morgue. Why do you ask?”

  Manny waited for Sophie to go forward. He didn’t have to wait long.

  “It seems there was a terrible disturbance there. One attendant was brutally murdered and several of the bodies were desecrated.”

  In one smooth motion, she floated the picture of his daughter's arm sticking out between the legs of the unfortunate Colita. She’d circled the tattoo that identified the arm as his daughter. Manny braced for the reaction Sophie was trying to evoke.

  It never came.

  Fogerty stared at the photo, inhaled, exhaled, then leaned toward Manny and Sophie. “Is it normal FBI protocol to attempt to enrage, embarrass, or stimulate some kind of emotional response that serves no purpose? Unless, of course, your reasons are veiled under some sick need to look at my daughter’s severed arm shoved up some fat woman’s crotch. In that event, you both should be fired and forced into an asylum.”

  That look waltzed into his eyes as he spoke with perfect control. It dawned on Manny what Fogerty’s eyes reminded him of: a shark. Dark, unfeeling, bent on nothing other than satisfying the most basic of needs. The difference was that sharks only wanted to eat. Fogerty had a much deeper agenda, and it was psychopathic, no doubt. He believed there would be a blood bath that would never reach the papers. They seldom did in the drug world. But if that’s what Fogerty suspected, he was dead wrong. This had nothing to do with the drug realm; these murders were committed by a killer with a purpose. This had nothing to do with a drug-war hit, or whatever the hell term people like this scumbag used, but instead. His daughter was a victim of a killer whose game was afoot.

  “Damn. You really have control over your disgust switch, or maybe you just don’t have a bit of compassion in that heart of yours. So which is it?” asked Sophie, not backing down.

  “My emotional state is none of your business. Could it be that I’m still in shock?”

  “Yeah, that’s it. You look like the type who shocks easily. Should we call one of the department’s counselors? Or you can talk to Manny here; he’s a great listener.”

  “I don’t like your tone, Agent. But I will say we all grieve in
our own way. Like the way you grieved over your divorces.”

  Meeting Fogerty’s resolve, Sophie stayed on track. “I don’t know, and don’t care, how you know about my divorces, so we’ll keep my personal life out of this, but I guarantee we’ll be finding out a whole lot more about yours.”

  “Excellent. I’ve nothing to hide.”

  “Then you won’t mind if we dig into your income sources. I’m sure the treasury officials in Barbados, after we employ certain Bureau policies, will help us figure that out,” she smiled.

  His lips tightened as he leaned back in the chair.

  A reaction. Good girl.

  “I’ve cooperated fully, yet you threaten me. I don’t care for that, Agent Lee, especially from loser dykes like yourself.”

  Before Manny could stop her, she grabbed Fogerty by the shirt and pulled back her hand. “Dyke? Dyke? Loser . . . maybe. But a dyke? I’m going to kick your ass,” she roared.

  Manny grabbed her hand, picked her up by the waist, and carried her to the door. She was pointing at Fogerty and opening her mouth to speak, but he whispered into her ear.

  “Great job, let’s see if we got his number.”

  She stopped struggling and Manny set her on the floor. She slowly opened the door, gave Fogerty the sign that she’d be watching him, then left the room.

  Walking back to his seat, Manny sat down and stared at Fogerty. “That wasn’t very nice. Particularly for an upstanding citizen like yourself.”

  “Was she offended? I thought it was part of the good cop, bad cop routine that you Feds screw up with the best of them. Besides, I just call ‘em like I see ’em.”

  “I see. Now I think we’re getting somewhere. What do you see in your daughter’s murder?”

  “I don’t know; that’s why I’m here. I want to know what you know about Amanda’s death, and I expect you to tell me. You owe it to me.”

  “Really? Owe it to you?”

  Manny looked to the opened window and listened as a few Coqui frogs revved up the mating call that sounded more like a bird than an inch-long reptile. He also heard the car as it passed slowly by the window, again.