Caribbean Rain

by Rick Murcer

  “That depends on what we can figure out this morning. I think we’ve got good old-fashioned legwork to consider first.”

  “Manny’s right, but let’s take a quick look at what Alex and Dean came up with. Then we can talk about it.”

  A few minutes later, Sophie stood up, walked over to Alex, kissed him on the balding area above his forehead, and sat back down.

  “What the hell was that for and do I need to know about any diseases?”

  “Great first report. I can actually understand half of the words, and I got rid of that one rash thing a few weeks ago, so I’m good to go.”

  “Thanks, I think.”

  “You’re welcome, I think.”

  Alex stood at the table and adjusted his glasses. “Okay. Let me go over this so we’re not wasting time. Most of the info here you already know about and saw firsthand so I don’t have to go over the body-part display and the crime-scene generalities. Just the juicy parts that might lead to something.”

  “First thing is to send traces of the nitro we found inside the head and mouth of the vic to the lab. Like I said before, lots of those chemicals have genetic markers that might ID where it came from. We’ve also sent every hair, stray tissue, and all of the clothing from the victims, including the morgue tech, to the lab, along with all of the out-of-place material we bagged, to have analyzed ASAP. All pretty routine, but sometimes routine makes a big leap for us. One of the FRTs is taking pictures of every tire on every vehicle and any possible tracks within a two-block radius to run through TreadMate. I know, lots of shots in the dark here, but maybe something will come up in more than one of those searches and give us something to go on.”

  “Dean and I also went over every severed limb, noting age, gender, and even severity of injury compared to the others. If the time frames are right, as a side note, he seemed to be getting more aggressive with the later victims because the cuts were smoother, more precise, like he had more confidence.”

  “We’re in touch with SJPD’s work regarding both boxes and Anna Ruiz’s severed limbs. They’re working as fast as they can to nail something down, but they have no idea who put the second box on the bench and, except for the blood and the foot, the rest of the box seems clean. Still, they’ll go over the print-pattern on the box and see if that shakes anything loose. They are sure it was the same printer for both boxes, so maybe that’ll lead to a manufacturer ID, but my guess is that it’ll be a printer that anyone can buy at any department store.”

  Making a few notes, Manny leafed through several more pictures, then, holding his finger in one place, he went back to another picture of the man killed in the Britton Tower.

  “I know you haven’t gotten there yet, but was everyone attacked by the same weapon?” asked Manny.

  Shaking his head, Alex grinned. “You’re on track. It apparently is so. Just like in Miami, when you discovered that Chief Richardson’s cuts had been inconsistent, thus two killers, we compared the cut patterns with samples of all of the victims under the microscope and discovered a true consistency with the edge patterns. Definitely the same weapon, but that’s not all. We’ll let you know on the other reports, especially if we get a cross-match hit with CODIS or ChemFinder, but we had one test put to the top of the list.”

  “What was that?” asked Sophie.

  “Look on page six of Dean’s report. Right under the blood splatter info.”

  Manny let out a low whistle. “You got a sample of the metal from the weapon?”

  “Yep. Alex found it, but I had to take it out. His hands aren’t that steady. Getting old,” grinned Dean.

  “Bullshit. I was just tired,” said Alex, returning the smile. “Anyway, we rushed that metal analysis and got some preliminary information that’s not in your files. Judging by the number of folds and the way the metal was processed, it appears to be from a very old sword, maybe German, like a rapier, but since the FBI doesn’t have such a person, we need to get a real expert to take a look at it. So I had them send the sample results to one of my old buddies at the University of Michigan, who not only is a mineral and metal expert, but just happens to be an old sword and knife freak. I think that’s why he went into that field; he loves the old weapon shit more than his real job. We should know something today, as long as he’s in.”

  The room grew quiet. Manny suspected each one of them was focused on the implications of Alex’s discovery. He was.

  “So what does that mean to us?” asked Chloe.

  “It means legwork, like I said,” said Manny. “An old sword has a ton of inferences. All the way from collector to slightly deranged enthusiast.”

  “What do you want to do?” quizzed Josh.

  “The way I see it, we’ve got three things to check out, pronto. A good place to start with the sword angle is any fencing clubs on the island. If this guy is an expert, and a collector, then maybe someone will be able to help put a profile with a name. And given his penchant for being bold, he just might stick out as an arrogant asshole. We also need to check out the crime scenes in the rainforest, just to see what we can see.”

  “Sounds like a good approach,” said Josh. “What’s the third thing?”

  “As long as Fogerty’s decided to throw his scumbag ass into the mix, we need to check out any animal, or disease research labs in the area and see if we can nail down where that mongoose came from and who might have gotten it to the hotel. If we can nail him for that, it gets him off the streets and out of our hair, at least until some bribed official lets him out. Which brings us to the next point. There are six of us, so teams of two works, but we should have a local with us. Did you get that info from Crouse?”

  Josh shook his head. “Not yet. But when she sends the list, it won’t take long to go over it. It seems this office anticipated my request and has pulled all of the background checks, including bank account numbers, for the detectives and their bosses, all of them.”

  “Done it before?” asked Manny.

  “Apparently.”

  “We can’t wait all day for that, so maybe we’ll have to handle this on our own,” said Manny. “I want the rainforest crime scenes. Maybe something will talk to me.”

  “I’ll take the fencing club angle,” said Sophie. “I know a little about the moves and positions for fencing, and some of those guys have great asses.”

  “I’ll go with her to keep her out of trouble. Also the men in those clubs may not want to talk to a woman, and any women might feel more comfortable talking to her, great asses aside,” said Josh.

  “That’ll be fun,” said Sophie.

  “I’ll take the lab assignment,” said Chloe. “I hate those damned places anyway so maybe we’ll find something to shut one or two down.”

  “I know you’ll probably want to take Alex to the rainforest; I would. So I’ll go with Agent Franson. I hate those research pricks too,” volunteered Dean.

  “Okay. Before we go talk to the information officer and see if she has information on any fencing clubs and any research facilities, we have one thing to finish,” said Josh.

  Handing him a piece of paper, Manny stood and ran his hand through his hair. “This is the profile for this unsub, as I see it.”

  Studying the paper, he glanced quickly to Manny. “Are you sure about this?”

  “As sure as I can be. He’s not like Argyle, or even that damned Murder Club. I think he’s got a bigger agenda.”

  “Read it to them.”

  Releasing a breath, Manny nodded. “This guy is a white male and a little older, probably in his thirties. He’s obviously very bright, but I think past just bright. He’s brilliant, could be an academic. He’s not afraid of anything, but cautious, when he needs to be. Certainly an opportunist, like most of these men are. He’ll use whatever he can to his advantage. The thing about this one is that he has the ability to take that opportunity to a level that fits his plans. Not just a momentary sense of satisfaction, but he’ll use it to enhance his circumstance. I think that’s where th
e game kicked in for him.”

  “What the hell does that mean?” asked Alex.

  “I think Anna was a situation he wasn’t counting on, but instead of just killing her, he’s used her to expand the premises of his goals—sort of like evolving and devolving at the same time.”

  “Good God, Williams. You’re making my head spin again,” said Sophie, “but I think I get it. Kind of like playing chess a certain way, then your opponent makes a move you didn’t anticipate, and you go another direction.”

  “That’s it. Same goal, but different decisions along the way.”

  “Makes sense,” said Dean.

  “He’s single. Lives alone, and had a trigger event in the last three to five months. I don’t think he’s typical in the sense that he tried out his fantasies, then dove into them full bore. He decided, maybe based on that trigger event, that he needed to go to work right away. So he did.”

  “I also think he knows the rainforest like the back of his hand and, like we discussed, knows the business end of a sword almost as well. He’s arrogant, but not haughty, at least in public. I can’t get a bead on his sexual appetite because I don’t think that was a thought when he started. But given his progressive enthusiasm, he’s getting off on this, and in more than one way.”

  Frowning, Chloe twisted in her chair. “You didn’t mention why the sword. Could it be that’s some kind of sexual representation for him, maybe even subconsciously?”

  “That’s a great point and it may explain why he could be a collector or a member of one of these clubs, but I think it says something else.”

  Josh shifted his weight nervously. “That’s why you wrote the last line?”

  “It is.”

  “What last line?” asked Chloe.

  “I think this guy would do anything to reach his intended goal. Adding in the fact that he’s enjoying the killing and the game.”

  “Define anything,” said Alex.

  “I think if he doesn’t get what he wants, whatever in God’s name that is, and very soon, he’s going to pop his last thread of decency and state his case by killing a lot of people all at once.”

  Chapter-48

  “Who knew? I mean I followed a couple fencing competitions in the Olympics when I was taking lessons as a kid, but a Puerto Rican organization for fencing?” said Sophie.

  She glanced over at Josh, whose knuckles were turning white, gripping the handle above the passenger’s door, and grinned. “What’s the matter with you, Corner, don’t you trust me anymore?”

  “It’s not that. It’s just taking me longer to remember how damn crazy you are behind the wheel.”

  “I prefer the term necessary aggression.”

  At that moment, a rambunctious cab cut her off. Sophie swung to the right, cut between a Mercedes and an SUV, and pulled up beside the cab, rolled down her window, and yelled. “Hey! Hombre! Watch what the hell you’re doing.” Then she flipped him off.

  The cabbie gave her a lazy glance, smiled, and returned her gesture.

  “I should pull him over and kick the shit out him, just out of principle.”

  “I’m glad you’ve whipped the road rage thing. Damn. How fast are you going?”

  “Hey, no one likes a smartass . . . and only about eighty.”

  “The speed limit is fifty-five and you just left a forty-five. That old saying that it’s me, not you, might apply here,” smiled Josh.

  “Maybe, but I’ve never had an accident and no one else could get us to that blue-nose fencing club faster than me, right? Besides, cabbies need to be taught who in the hell runs the road: me.”

  “Okay then. Do you feel better?”

  “Come to think of it, I do. Really good.”

  She hit the accelerator again and watched the speedometer creep toward ninety.

  “The exit is just up there, the one that says State, you better—”

  Darting back to the right, she cut in front of another SUV, hammered the brakes, turned through the next lane, exited the ramp, hit the brakes again, skidded to the left, spun the wheel into the skid, then cramped the truck right. The Traverse shuddered, did what it was told, and saddled up between the other occupied two lanes, lined up perfectly in the middle lane.

  “Hey, Hoss, you can breathe now.”

  “That’s what you think,” whispered Josh.

  “I told you I had this.”

  Exhaling, he released the handle. “You did. I still don’t know how we’re not buried under five thousand pounds of SUV.”

  “Manny says it’s because God looks out for fools and drunks, and I don’t drink too much, so . . .”

  “He is a wise man. And you’re a helluva driver: scary, but good.”

  “Thanks, and not just for that, but for taking a chance on me. I still don’t know how to deal with some of the shit in my past lives, but I can do this agent gig.”

  She felt the warmth as he put his hand on her shoulder. “Sophie. As much as I have grown to care for you and Manny, and as much total crap as he’s gone through, I didn’t do it for either of you. I wouldn’t have let the Bureau bring you on if I didn’t think that you could do it. Your attitude doesn’t always fly with some of the situations we get into, but I’ll take it over the agents who don’t care and just want to put in their time and go home. So, you’re here because you can be a good agent. I pay attention. Some of the questions you’ve asked have led to the next step in our investigations. As good as Manny and the rest of this unit are, no one thinks of everything.”

  Gratitude and Sophie weren’t always on the best of terms, but they were kissy-facing right now. It felt good to be thought of as important.

  “It wasn’t because of my new boobs then?”

  Laughing, Josh shook his head. “Well, maybe a little, but you didn’t hear it from me.”

  It was her turn to laugh. “Then if I do that butt enhancement surgery, I should get your job in a couple of years.”

  “Let’s not get carried away. God knows I wish I knew what was going to happen with all of that job mess. But we can talk about that later; we’re here.”

  Sophie pulled in front of the flat, stucco-designed building common to San Juan and parked in the handicapped space to the left of the door.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Parking. How many handicapped fencers do you know?”

  He shrugged. “Good point.”

  They entered the building, Sophie taking the lead. After getting inside, they stood in the tiled foyer, and she bent her ear toward the sounds coming from the back of the building. The clash of metal caused by foils and épées in fervent battle flooded her with memories of the school in San Francisco that she had attended back in the mid-nineties. It was where she learned about handling such weapons. And for a change, those memories didn’t haunt her, but lent nostalgic excitement—one of the few commands her father had made that she didn’t rebel against.

  Josh touched her elbow. “You okay?”

  “Yep. Just remembering how much I liked the club where I learned to flash the steel.”

  “Any good at it?”

  “Hell yeah. Won the club championship my last year there.”

  “Last year?”

  “Long story, but I beat a boy who everyone thought was going to be some Olympic champion. He didn’t like it that a little Asian girl whipped his butt so, after the match, he pushed me a couple of times, and I decked him. They tossed me, but that was okay. I was ready to move on.”

  “Can’t figure out why that anger part of your psych exam didn’t throw up red flags,” he grinned.

  “Playing the game, just playing the game,” she said.

  And who knew that better than her?

  Just then, a short, svelte woman with long, black hair appeared from the office door behind the half-moon counter and smiled. “May I help you?”

  “All yours, Princess,” said Josh. She glanced at his face and saw encouragement and confidence in those blue eyes. She felt nervous, then didn’t.<
br />
  She flashed her ID and went to work. “We’re from the FBI, and we have some questions for the owner.”

  The warm reception grew cooler.

  “Doctor Donald Flores, but Doctor Flores is busy with a class.” Her low voice was heavy with Latino accent. “Can I tell him what this is about?”

  “Yes. You can. It’s about seven murders.”

  Her mouth dropped open as her eyes widened. “You mean the ones in the rainforest? I read of them in the paper this morning. You think—?”

  “Just go get him. Like I said, we have some questions.”

  The receptionist recovered her composure. “That class will be over in about ten minutes. Would you care to go watch the end of it and then speak to Dr. Flores?”

  She shifted her feet and considered walking back to the back and pulling him out of the class, then remembered something Manny always talked about. Give and take. Give a little and take a lot. That man knew his shit.

  “Okay. Deal. Take us back, and we’ll wait.”

  She led them through a hallway smelling like mold and sweat as Josh moved beside her and whispered. “Good control. Good call.”

  There was that damn gratitude thing again. She could get used to it.

  “I freaking hope so.”

  They entered the wide, metal door escaping to a mid-sized gymnasium. About twenty-five feet to her right stood a tall, thin man in his forties dressed in fencing white with his mesh mask under his arm talking quietly to a group of ten- or eleven-year-old kids, maybe twenty of them. She quickly noticed there were only four girls in the group. Some things never change.

  A few minutes later, he demonstrated a touché move that Baryshnikov would have been proud of, spoke to them again, and then dismissed the class.

  The receptionist strode over and spoke to him. He frowned, then nodded, handing her his foil and mask, and approached Sophie and Josh. His stride was confident and probably held the blue-blood mentality that sometimes permeated sports like fencing.