by Rick Murcer
“If he was a part of Wanger’s organization, who sent the message? They would know he’s dead. You can say the same thing for any possible organization that had him undercover. Either way both of these organizations must know he’s dead. Right? I don’t get it. There’s also another possibility, as far out as it sounds.”
“Fire away,” said Josh.
“What if he had been working all three sides?”
“You mean working with the people who bought whatever was sold at the warehouse?” asked Belle, frowning. “The terrorists?”
“Think about it. He would have a chance to hit on a payday so big he’d be secure the rest of his life. And, if it was done correctly, only Wanger and his thugs would know what happened, and they wouldn’t be talking to anyone, would they?” said Manny.
“Dead men tell no tales, eh?” said Barb.
Sophie rubbed her fingers between her eyes. “Let me get this right. He double-crosses Wanger by giving the people who killed Wanger and his agency people inside info, makes it look like this terrorist group took them all out, and the undercover organization thinks the deal went south. Is that it?”
“Close,” said Manny.
“Ahh, good God, Williams, you’re making my brain bleed this early in the morning. Let me think.”
“That goes for all of us,” said Josh.
Manny poured more coffee for himself and Chloe while he waited for more ideas to be expressed, other than the one that was forming in his brain. Even after he’d said what he said, none of it rang true. But there was one more possibility, but how unlikely and bizarre would that be?
Talk about paranoid.
Belle rocked back in her chair, her dark eyes alive. “There are problems with all of these situations. Especially involving any undercover group investigation. I’ve seen a couple close up in DC. There is a designated communication time every twenty-four hours. I’d bet that any undercover organization would know he’s dead. FB for sure.”
“Right. Plus, the warehouse has been all over the national news,” said Manny.
“True. But stranger things have happened,” added Josh.
“You don’t sound too convinced, cowboy,” said Sophie.
He sighed. “I know. I’m not. And I don’t think there’s any chance he was working with the people who killed him either. To me, the fact that Lucretia Doucett, who helped kill six people, is dead means this group or person isn’t in the loose-ends business, like Manny said yesterday.”
“Assuming you’re right on that, and these other theories we just talked about aren’t right, where does that leave us? I mean none of this fits well. There are too many holes in all of it. So what else are you thinking, Manny?” asked Chloe.
Another good question. But that old saying about removing what you know for sure from any situation and what was left was the truth rang spot-on here. No matter how crazy it seemed.
“Let’s get right back to basics. Who sent the message and why? It’s a key to this.”
“Who do you think sent it?” asked Josh.
“Let me answer that,” said Alex. He had been glued to his computer screen up to this point, but now he raised his head, eyes dancing.
“Alex?” Manny asked.
“I think I know who sent the message.”
CHAPTER-38
Connie Corner rose from her king-sized, four-poster bed, went to the kitchen, and drew a glass of water. She hardly noticed the cold floor as she turned on the overhead light above the window. Cold was a state of mind, both inside and out, at least for her these days.
She headed to the front room to once again peek through the curtains to the street. At this time of night, the streetlights revealed just enough to tell her that Josh hadn’t unexpectedly rolled into the driveway in the last ten seconds. She exhaled, her mixed emotions teasing both sides of her brain.
She’d always wanted him home, to be there for her and the boys. She remembered how wonderful it had been when he’d return home from a long bout with some sicko that his BAU had finally put away. Always with a gift for the three of them.
He was always safe and unharmed, unless one counted the mental damage of seeing what he’d seen. Regardless of that fact, seeing him come home had spawned tears of relief more than once.
Yet, this late evening, her feelings were on the other side of the board. She didn’t want her husband of twelve years to be here. Not at all.
The situation would be hard to explain.
He would be hard to explain.
The next minute, his hands surrounded her middle as he pulled her close, kissing the back of her neck.
“You’re awake again,” he said.
“I am. And I’m glad you are. I’m always worried that you won’t be gone before the boys wake up.”
“I know. We’ve done this a couple of times, and it’s been fine. Don’t worry.”
He kissed her again, and she felt the shivers go up and down her spine. It was hard not to compare this man with her husband, but it had been a long time since Josh had pushed her buttons like this. And after all, that was what counted.
She missed that intimacy with Josh, how it would bring her to a quick warmth. But no longer. Josh Corner had been replaced in every way except as father to Charlie and Jake.
“You’re thinking of him?” he asked, still holding her.
“In a way. Not as a lover, but as a father to my children. He’ll always be that.”
“Do you think he knows about us?”
She pondered that, then answered, “He knows he and I are out of sorts, and it’s happened one time too many for both of us. He . . . well, we have always been able to get on track before. But I think he realizes that neither one of us really want to do that again.”
“You’ll divorce him then?”
She instantly wondered what that might do to her boys. Protecting them was the most important thing on the planet for her. Yet, living like this, this tension, this fake happiness that the boys no doubt sensed could have far worse effect on them. She wondered if that was another lie she was telling herself.
“I’m not sure I want to think about that. When Josh gets home, we’ll talk.”
“I won’t pressure you. Just know that I—”
His body stiffened, and he pulled away from her.
Connie spun around, fearing that one of her sons had gotten out of bed unexpectedly.
“Good evening, Missus Corner.”
The man standing in her living room stood by her lover, gun to his head. She blinked to make sure what she was seeing was real.
The man and his gun didn’t disappear.
“Please. The safe is open in the den. You can take all of the money we have. Just don’t hurt anyone,” she begged.
“Money? How novel. I’m not here to rob you. In fact, I’ve driven all the way from New York to meet you and your boys. But I didn’t expect to find you with, how shall I say this, a guest?”
“What? Why would you do that?” she asked, disbelief still haunting her.
“Oh, we have a little ride to take.”
“Ride? If you harm them, I’ll hunt you down,” said her lover.
“I bet you would.”
The man with the gun then shot him in the head, blood spattering against the yellow wall.
She stood in shock for a moment, utterly horrified, then slowly moved her sights to the man with the gun. Her eyes were already filled with tears.
“What have you done? Oh God in Heaven, what have you done?”
“What was necessary.”
Three steps later, he had her by her hair. “I’d hate to kill you and your family. I really would. So listen carefully. We’re going to get your boys out of bed, and then we’re going to take a trip. Do you have a problem with that?”
“No. No. Just don’t hurt us.”
He shoved her in the direction of the boys’ rooms. “No hero-shit on your part, and you and your boys just might make it. Now go.”
After one more look at the dead ma
n on the floor, she did what he said, praying that she wouldn’t go insane—something that would surely happen if her boys were harmed.
CHAPTER-39
Manny sat back in his chair and waited for Alex to share what he’d found.
“All of your theories made some sense, but like Belle said, nothing fit well enough to make the best-case scenario. I prioritized about fifteen information and tracking requests about the email servers and Brooks’s URL history to our forensic computer division at the FBI. Anna too.”
“And?” asked Josh.
“I’m getting some feedback. First thing. This email was sent from a secure server, not truly a proxy, but one with big-time security. Once I figured that out, I asked for help and found out this was a timed email, scheduled to go when it did, some two days before.”
“So no one had really sent it when Anna saw it?” asked Sophie.
“Right. Most systems let you schedule email up to a week in advance.”
“Who sent it?” asked Manny. “FB or someone else?”
Alex nodded. “You guessed it, FB. It apparently came from a DEA server, routed through a New Orleans location a few hours before the shootings in the warehouse.”
“So FB is or was a DEA agent?” asked Manny.
“We’re sure of it. Her name is Flora Burns. According to my DEA friends, she was very active in undercover work and known for her ability to recruit help.”
“So that’s why we couldn’t find anything in any criminal database or facial recognition files,” said Josh.
“That’s why. The DEA confirmed that she was after Wanger and was getting close.”
“What about Brooks then?” asked Chloe.
“FB had prison contacts who would throw out feelers for men and women with certain skills, which isn’t all that unusual. Anna is a case in point. Some of these people can and are willing to get down and dirty. She recruited Daryl Brooks with the promise of expunging his record and a fat paycheck if he helped her,” said Alex, looking back at his screen.
“I think that will make Amy Brooks feel a little better and get her bosses off her ass. At least that ties up who our mystery woman is and what she was doing there. But the DEA had no idea what was going to happen at the warehouse, right?” said Manny.
“None. They thought it would be one last deal before FB had what she needed on Wanger. Obviously, our unsub spoiled that plan.”
“Did you ask if they knew what Wanger was selling?” asked Barb, putting her hand on Alex’s arm.
“I did. She only knew that it was highly volatile, and once she found out, she’d bring the whole thing down on both Wanger and the buyer. She guessed it was biological, just from the way Wanger was playing it close to the vest. She said he even had one of his people killed before the warehouse meeting for asking too many questions,” said Alex.
Josh exhaled. “This is frightening on a lot of levels. We need to find out what this is and what the hell the plan is for the cruise ship.”
The room grew quiet. Part of the mystery was solved, but they were still miles away from fixing the real problem. This person or group was planning to kill thousands, and they had to stop them.
Manny broke the silence. “I think we need to move away from this warehouse situation and go forward to what we should do with the high possibility of a cruise-ship attack.”
“Based on what we have, we could make an educated guess for an attack on that ship coming in tomorrow afternoon,” said Josh.
“Again, what should we do?” asked Sophie.
“That’s obvious to me,” said Belle. “We stop that ship from sailing. There’s no way we can risk it going out to sea.”
“Or, for that matter, going through an embarkation,” said Josh. “Cruise security is good, far better than when we were on the Ocean Duchess, but if these people want to get something on board, it wouldn’t be a huge problem.”
“We can’t risk the safety of anyone, but the flip side is that we won’t have a shot at finding the suspect, or suspects, unless we go with business as usual and let the cruisers embark as planned,” said Manny.
Josh shook his head. “You’re right about better chances of locating the suspect, but we can’t risk it. There will be five thousand people on that ship.”
“I’m aware of that. I’m not saying we let it sail.”
Sophie gave him a thumbs up. “That’s smart. Just let them board but don’t sail unless we find the dickhead or dickheads that want to raise hell here.”
“Yes. I think we can set it up with security cameras, undercover people, K-9 units, our own people, NOPD, and Carousel’s people. That should cover everything. We could also see how difficult it is to swap out as much of the ship’s staff as possible to lower the chance that there is inside help from an employee.”
“Dey can run security sweeps in da employee quarters too,” said Braxton.
The bellhop wheeled in another cart of coffee, croissants, and breakfast sandwiches just as Josh stood up. He walked over, poured another cup of the rich-smelling brew, and then began to pace to the other end of the room, head down.
Manny knew that, ultimately, the decision regarding the ship was Josh’s call. A burden he wouldn’t want to bear himself. He got it. As good as law enforcement could be, one slip up and people died. Lots of people. Maybe even some of the people in this room.
After filling her plate, Sophie came back and sat down beside him, still watching Josh pace, agonizing over what to do.
“Josh?” asked Chloe.
“Yeah, I’m still thinking.” He looked at his watch and turned back to the table. “One thing hasn’t changed. You three are still going to New York. You have to. No matter what I decide, we can get this handled without you being here.”
“What?” said Chloe. “You need us here. No one—”
She snapped her head around and bore two holes in Manny’s face with those emerald coals glowing from her eyes.
Here comes the Irish storm.
“You told him what you thought about New York, didn’t ya, Manfred Robert Williams?”
“I may have said something.”
“I’ve got to hear this. What about New York? This better be good, because Chloe’s right—we should stay,” said Barb.
Josh exhaled a long breath. “Manny thinks it wasn’t a coincidence that those murders transpired just before we got new intel about what could happen here,” said Josh.
“Okay, that’s paranoid for even you. You need another nap,” said Sophie, crossing her arms.
“Maybe. But I feel like I’m right.”
“Why in hell would you think that?” said Belle, exhibiting her own version of pissed.
“Think about it. Three sets of murders in random locations, yet still in Central Park. That’s one of the most unusual escalations of a rage or spree killer I’ve seen. And that park has a very sophisticated security-camera system, as well as dozens of blues patrolling the area. It’s a recipe to get caught, at minimum but he wasn’t. That means he had a plan in my book.”
“Go on,” said Belle.
“Listen. It weakens us with you three gone, no question, but the timing isn’t random. I’m telling you, it’s not. And there’s something else,” said Manny.
“Pray tell, Manny. What else?” asked Chloe, the arctic having nothing on the chill in her voice.
“I asked Alex to request the initial ballistics reports from the NYPD. We also sent a couple of FBI reps over to look at the security footage from the cameras near the three crime scenes in Central Park. They didn’t have a lot of other information available yet, but they’re sending it as it becomes available. At any rate, I got what I wanted to see from ballistics,” answered Manny.
“Which was what?” asked Chloe.
Before Manny could respond, Alex said, “I don’t know how Manny makes these jumps of logic and comes out smelling like a rose. But it appears he might be right,” said Alex. “The ballistics show that the gun used to kill these people in New Yo
rk, at least the first four, belonged to Lucretia Doucett.”
CHAPTER-40
The drive would probably take longer than he thought. Fourteen hours was an extended period of time, but would put him there with three hours to spare, give or take.
Complicating that eventuality was the whole idea of bathroom, gas, and food stops, the variety that could be dangerous to this kind of prolonged journey. Yet, it was something he had done before and more than once.
Besides, notorious risk came engraved with notorious reward. His kind of engagement, for sure.
Still, he’d have to keep his eyes open, three passengers were far different than one or two, but then again, he’d planned this trip over and over again, and would deliver as promised.
After that, he’d spend a few days in the Crescent City and enjoy all it had to offer. Given Bourbon Street’s reputation, that could be interesting.
First things first, however.
He opened the front passenger door and gazed at the young boy staring back at him. His blue eyes bright and wide, the tear streaks almost completely disappeared.
“Do I have to repeat myself, or do you understand what’s going on here, Charlie?” he asked quietly.
“Y-yes, sir. If we keep quiet and don’t cause trouble, you won’t hurt my mom or Jake.”
“Right. Very bright for an eight-year-old. And how will we do that?”
“By doing what you say and not talking to anyone else.”
It was hard to ignore the emotion in the young boy’s voice. He couldn’t tell if it was fear or hatred, then decided it didn’t matter. Both would keep Charlie in check.
“Buckle up. We’re going to leave.”
Moving to the other side of the car, he opened the rear passenger door. Connie Corner looked up at him, her youngest son leaning on her, buckled into the middle seatbelt, already unconscious from the injection.
Her emotions were not nearly as masked as her eldest son’s. Her fear and hatred were plain to see.
Interesting.
“What did you do to my son?”