Caribbean Rain

by Rick Murcer

  There was a note in the preliminary toxicology report saying that there could have been a sedative in her system, but they didn’t know which one, yet.

  Closing the file, his mind was racing a mile a minute. Why send Anna’s hand to her father? Was he escalating the game aspect? Exerting control? Trying to muddle up the investigation or maybe delay it? Was that it? Random? Or was Anna in the wrong spot at the right time? But if she did seek this killer out, and somehow found him, how did she do that? He’s obviously clever. She was just a second-year criminal justice major, but a complete psychopath in the making, according to Ruiz. He’d read that some psychiatrists theorize that these types of serial killers actually have some sort of subconscious kinship with each other. That by their subconscious actions and habits, they actually might recognize one another.

  He ran his hand through his hair again and felt Sophie looking at him, waiting. Most of these killers are also opportunists. It’s how they reach the high road to satisfying their urges. Maybe his plan mandated sending body parts all along, and the fact that the victim was Anna was a pure coincidence. Again, right place, wrong time?

  Or, if what Ruiz said was true and Anna had tried to partner up, had she been an unwelcome guest? The problem wasn’t just that she’d seen the killer, but given that the vast percentage of these men worked alone, she’d be just another body to him. That couldn’t be good for anyone because it meant things were going to get even more complicated than he’d anticipated. Much more.

  Multiple messages from one killer displayed supreme arrogance and confidence, narcissism at its finest.

  “Agent? You all right?” asked Ruiz.

  “No. I don’t think I am. This is far worse than I thought, even two hours ago. Finding your daughter may be the key to all of it.”

  Chapter-39

  Running his hand over Anna’s wrist, the one that was missing its hand, he admired his work. Remarkable what a red-hot iron could accomplish. He’d cauterized the wrist right after he’d cut it off, but it hadn’t been as effective as he’d intended. After all, he wasn’t exactly a doctor—at least that kind. But after he’d gotten her back on the bed, tied spread eagle and much more securely than before, she was, once again, his. He’d repeated the cauterization. She’d screamed, despite the new dose of sedatives. The tang of burning flesh hung in the air. It was one that he found less than unpleasant. In fact, it wasn’t bad at all.

  I wonder what it would be like with a spice or two . . .

  He was amazed at the human body, and what it was able to undergo when the situation commanded it. Anna should not have been conscious, but there she was, fighting to survive. That was more than interesting, but in the end, she just didn’t have what she truly needed to survive.

  His guest had lost blood, had been traumatized past what most people could ever imagine, and moreover, had experienced a disappointment that rivaled no Christmas presents under the tree by not being able to team with him. Yet her heart rate seemed fine, and her breathing was even and steady. She had a slight temperature, and perhaps could use a bath, but all in all, was doing well.

  His eyes shifted to the rise and fall of her chest, fixing on her breasts. After a few breaths, he felt that sensation again. The one that said he could do anything he wanted. That he was entitled to anything he wanted.

  It rose from a place he hadn’t been familiar with, until recently. The instinctive and primordial urges that society, and the church, over the centuries, had taught mankind to submerge into the realm of the unacceptable and perverse, were now right for him.

  Running his hand along Anna’s bare thigh, his mind wandered deeper into what he wanted as opposed to what he needed. He ran his hand back and forth over her soft skin and speculated on how many people knew the difference. How many really cared? Just feed the beast.

  He unexpectedly felt her eyes on him, accompanied by a humorless grin.

  “You are a sick one, aren’t you,” she rasped. “But do it, if you want. I’ll even moan and groan, it you need me to. Maybe I’ll even feel something.”

  “Sick? Is that what you think? Not sick, Anna: driven. And soon the whole island, perhaps the world, will see what’s really important. What’s really at stake here.”

  She laughed, one of those haunting kind. “You make it sound so noble, but you’re no different than me. You got the fever, and that’s all that matters. A dog always recognizes another dog.”

  He moved very close to her face, smelling her coppery breath, and grabbed her throat, squeezing.

  “Whatever fever I may have has to do with justice, not murder. These deaths are a tool, that’s all. Exactly like you, you’re here to serve the greater good, my greater good.”

  Anna’s eyes grew large as he tightened his grip. A moment later, he released it and stood. She caught her breath, coughed, and repeated it, all the while, that peculiar smile never leaving her face.

  Fascinating.

  He bent to her again, putting the rag back in her mouth and then squeezed her face as he whispered into her ear.

  “Let’s see how long that smile lasts when we send another package to the authorities bright and early in the morning.”

  Chapter-40

  Detective Crouse pulled up in front of the neat but not overdone hotel and let Sophie and Manny out, promising to be back at nine a.m. sharp. The plan was to go over the case files at headquarters and develop a profile for their blade-happy perp that could be released to the entire force. Six hours of sleep, maybe, but he knew in his gut it’d take some time to unwind. Then again, exhaustion was a harsh dictator. He’d been there more times than he wanted to recount.

  Thanking Crouse for the ride, he and Sophie pulled their travel cases out of the car and watched her speed off. Sophie looped her arm through his, and they headed for the front of the hotel. They had taken only a few steps when he stopped, jerking Sophie to a halt with him.

  “What the hell, Williams? You tired of walking?”

  “Exhausted, but look.” He pointed to the two ships in port and how they were lit up like the proverbial Christmas tree, even at two a.m.

  “Yeah, they were hard not to notice when we went around that other hotel and ended up in front of this one. You’ll excuse me if I don’t gush. That cruise thing hasn’t been the best experience for me, and God knows, you either.”

  “True. But I have some good memories from the first one. Like when we found out Louise didn’t have cancer, and that night we danced . . .”

  Suddenly the past was gripping his throat, making his words stick. He looked to the dark brick sidewalk and slowly shook his head.

  “You okay, Big Dog?” asked Sophie, squeezing his arm.

  “I will be. Sometimes those memories, the ones that are kind of carved into your soul, come around for a visit.”

  “Well no shit, Sherlock.”

  They took a couple of steps forward and Sophie stopped him.

  “I don’t get that whole dream world you and Jen went to, or think you zoomed to, but Louise was right, you gotta move on. But having said that, if you think she’s not going to hang out in things that you see, places you visit, or food you eat, every once in a while, then you really are tired and a little goofy, too.”

  “You haven’t been this nice to me for a couple of months, what’s up?” he grinned.

  “Hey, everyone likes a little ass, but no one likes a smartass, and I know that one.”

  The almost-full moon seemed to catch the twinkle dancing in her eyes, and his appreciation for her climbed another notch. He couldn’t have done better in the partner department.

  They went through the large brass doors and straight to the check-in counter. A few minutes later, they were riding the elevator in silence heading for the fifth floor, and sleep that he hoped was waiting for both of them.

  Yeah, and people in Hell hope for ice water.

  They got out of the elevator and moved down the west wing.

  “Okay, 509, this is my room,” said Mann
y.

  “I don’t think so,” said Sophie. “I’ve got that key and you’re SOL. You can have 513. I hate that number anyway.”

  “A little too old to be superstitious, aren’t we?”

  “You got a mouse in your pocket? You can’t be talking to me. We Chinese don’t call it superstition; we call it not tempting the gods into some little bullshit prank.”

  “Seriously? I never knew that about you. Is that another way to say chicken shit?”

  “Just go down the hall and plop your blue-eyed ass into bed before you get hurt.”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  She waved him off and got half way into the room, and turned back to him.

  “Manny?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m not so good with some things. Like I kind of like this new guy, but I don’t really know how to be nice to him.”

  “You’ll figure it out.”

  “I’m also struggling to try to piece all of this case into something that makes sense, even in my convoluted way,” she said, biting her lip.

  Every picture of each of the victims exploded into some ungodly collage in his mind’s eye. He sighed. “You ain’t alone on that one, Missy, but it’ll be better in the morning. You’re not standing here because you want to talk about this case, so what’s really on your mind?”

  “I don’t do thank you and I love you very well, never have, but thank you for believing in me and recommending me for this FBI gig. You’re the closest thing, well, you’re like a big brother and I, ah, love you.”

  Then Sophie ducked into the room, pulling her bag behind her. She moved through the door so quickly that he laughed out loud.

  “I love you too, Sophie,” he whispered.

  Manny stepped down the hall, still grinning about his partner’s confession, slid the keycard into the slot, and pushed the door open.

  The high-pitched scream raised the hair on his arms and caused the goose bumps to come so fast he felt like he just had gotten out of cold Lake Michigan. It took a second to realize where the scream came from.

  His pulse pounded in his head as he ran down the hall. The scream had come from Sophie’s room.

  Chapter-41

  As he reached Sophie’s door, pulling the Glock 22 from his holster, Manny vaguely, somewhere in the confusion, heard at least two other doors open, but that was the least of his concerns. Whatever had happened, whatever had caused Sophie to scream, had been meant for him because he was supposed to be in 509, not her. His mind sprinted to one name the way those intuitions do until you acknowledge them to be pure truth.

  Fogerty.

  “Sophie!”

  The door swung open as he rattled the door knob, pulling his hand away.

  After one quick glance, he wondered where his willpower not to laugh came from. Even without knowing for sure what had happened, he knew his partner was pissed. That meant she was okay.

  Her long, black hair was mussed, and her bangs were partially on her forehead, dripping down to her eyes. Her blouse was untucked on the left side, and there was a smattering of blood on her tan skirt. All of that added to the priceless expression that was displayed on her face. Her eyes were flaming arrows that were directed at everyone and no one. The scowl on her face wasn’t really a scowl, was it? It was a snarl gone wild. That small vein above her right temple was throbbing a beat that would make any doctor nervous.

  “What the hell is so funny? You ain’t that good, Williams. I saw that asshole smirk when I opened the door.”

  “Sorry about that, but what the hell were you screaming about? You gave me a freaking heart attack and—.”

  “Let me guess,” she interrupted. “You thought it was your fault. Well, this time, damn you, it was, and I’m not lettin’ you off the hook.”

  She shivered, shook it off, and then grabbed his shirt. “Come on in, I’ll show you why I screamed. And you can put the gun away. I took care of it.”

  By then, Chloe and Dean had bracketed the door, and he saw Alex staggering down the hall.

  Dean was garbed in blue silk Captain America pajamas that were a tad too small and bare feet. Manny wasn’t sure Alex realized he was standing there in the hall in just a tee shirt and red boxers. Chloe wore a robe, covering something lacy, at least that’s what it looked like near her soft neck. But they all had their weapons drawn. Manny wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.

  Sophie pulled at him and he followed, after taking a second look at Chloe.

  The bright-orange suitcase sat askew on the king-sized bed, a few clothes were scattered near the pillows like she’d been startled and tossed them in the air. Her black loafers were sitting exactly where she’d slipped them off. Nothing too distressing; until he saw the dots of blood splattered against the pale wall. Sophie was standing, arms folded and tapping her foot, staring at something below the crimson pattern. The rest of the team came in behind him. Manny took two more steps, then felt his mouth drop open. Pinned to the wide baseboard was a small, slim, brown animal, maybe two feet long, adorned with a long tail. Its eyes were staring at nothing. Just below the animal’s head, right at the base of the neck, shined two points of a Chinese throwing star. Three inches below that was another one, showing less steel through the critter’s brown coat.

  “What the hell?”

  “What the hell is right. Damn. A girl can’t even unpack in peace.”

  “What is it?” asked Chloe.

  “It’s a mongoose. Bigger than the ones I saw growing up in the city, but it looks like the same freaking species,” answered Sophie.

  “A mongoose? In your room? How?” asked Alex.

  The blood dripping from Fogerty’s mouth came into full view as Manny pondered the shark eyes the drug lord wore so well.

  “It was Fogerty. I’m guessing he didn’t like his reception at the SJPD headquarters,” said Manny.

  “But why Sophie?” asked Chloe.

  “I was supposed to be in this room, but we got the keys mixed up so Sophie took this one.”

  By then Dean had bent over the animal with a curiosity that reminded Manny of an eight-year-old who had just picked up his first frog. He poked it with the pen he lifted from the desk, and then turned his attention towards its mouth; the razor-like teeth, still looking like they could do some serious damage.

  “You did this?” asked Dean, not even attempting to cover the admiration in his tone.

  “Of course. I told you, I’m bad. When that little peckerhead jumped at me, I tossed my clothes at it. I guess that’s when I screamed. I jumped on the table. He tried to follow, but hit the edge of the chair, like he hadn’t seen it, and it seemed to stun him. He didn’t look too steady. Then I pulled a couple of stars from my garter, flicked them at him, and it was all over but the bitching. And there’s going to be more of that, just hang tight.”

  She gave Manny one of her evil-eye looks.

  “You wear garters?” stammered Dean.

  “Yeesss,” she said slowly. “Would you like to see?”

  The CSI swallowed hard and turned away. Manny thought that was a yes.

  Josh came into the room, looking a little more harried than the others. God knew he needed the sleep even more than the rest of them, but he was here, and that’s what Manny loved about his new boss.

  “Did I hear mongoose, Fogerty, and garters in the same conversation?” Josh asked.

  Manny expected Sophie to run to Josh and say something totally off color and act like she needed him to protect her. It didn’t happen. Instead, she’d fixed her gaze intently on Dean, watching his every movement. In a sense, maybe she thought she was protecting him, or . . .

  We’re going to talk about this one later.

  “Yeah. I think Fogerty meant this little reception for me.”

  “But why? Mongoose attacks aren’t deadly, at least as far as I know. It’d hurt like hell, but that’s it,” said Alex.

  Before Manny could answer, Sophie and Dean began to speak at once. Dean stood, doffed an imagin
ary hat, and deferred to Sophie. She accepted.

  “I know a little about these rodents. They catch and carry rabies with the best of them. My mom almost died from an attack back in the late nineties. She got a nasty bite from one when she went to the market. One had escaped from a vendor who didn’t know it was sick,” she said.

  Running his hand through his hair, Manny spoke. “I read that. They were brought to San Juan to control the black rat population, I think.”

  “Maybe they can team up with Detective Crouse and do a real job on those rats,” said Alex.

  “Good one, Dough Boy, good one,” grinned Sophie, regaining most of her old verve. “But what I’m saying is that maybe this one has rabies.”

  “No need to speculate on that,” said Dean. “It definitely had rabies.”

  “Let me guess; foaming at the mouth? That could be several other disorders.” said Alex.

  “That’s true, but combined with the erratic behavior it seemed to display while going after Sophie, I’d say it was a sure thing. Of course, the tag on its ear that says ‘Rabies Virus,’ clinches it.”

  Squinting, Manny looked to where Dean was pointing and noticed the round white tag clipped to its tiny ear. He glanced at the teeth again and a thought flashed about how bad this could have gone. But then again, the mongoose had no clue with whom he was dealing.

  “Great. That brings on a question or two. Not the least is; where in hell did it come from and how did Fogerty get his hands on it?” asked Manny.

  “I’d say some research lab, and, a guy with his connections, well it’s not hard to put that one together,” said Chloe.

  “We’re not going to be able to trace this animal, are we?” asked Josh.

  “I’m guessing no, but we’ll get this thing boxed up and check it out. Most research viruses have a genetic identifier specific to their lab. Maybe we’ll get lucky. I mean, how many labs can there be in San Juan?” said Alex.

  Somewhere, Manny could swear he heard Fogerty laughing.

  “I know there’s a series of shots to treat rabies, so I don’t think his point was to kill me, just to cause some pain and give me a scare. To show me who was really in control, but we can deal with that later. There’s another question, maybe even a bigger one,” said Manny.