Painted Beauty (2019 Edition)

by J. M. LeDuc

  Sin reached down and curled her fingers around the pearl handle of one of her Colts, before sliding down the wall and entering the building in a crouched position. With her night vision goggles in place, she realized that she was in some sort of storage room; a room that housed a mattress and a free-standing sink.

  This must have been where Joel lived, Sin thought, as she edged her way around the room.

  Finding and hearing no one, she opened the adjoining door which led into a larger room that the garage door opened into. The first thing she saw was a white van that she believed belonged to the tire tracks. Sin didn’t sense a threat, and after every hellhole she’d been to and every enemy she’d faced, she trusted her senses. Squatting in a corner, she took in the green, hazy surroundings. There was no doubt in her mind that she was in a morgue. Whether it was originally meant for teaching or not, it was definitely a morgue. By the strength of the formaldehyde odor flowing through her nostrils, it was one that had been used recently.

  Her earpiece came alive with Fletcher’s voice. “I’m at the back door. Where are you?”

  “Walk straight and into the next room.”

  Sin heard the sound of footsteps. She hugged the wall and aimed her gun at the door. She could never be too careful.

  “It’s me, Sin. Don’t shoot.”

  Sin lowered her gun as Fletcher entered. He nodded and looked around. “You’ve led me into some insane environments during our time together,” he said, “but what kind of medical hell is this?”

  Sin held up a flashlight. “I was just about to find out.” They took off their night vision goggles and explored the room. Sin pointed the light in the opposite corner. “That’s an embalming machine.”

  “Bloody hell,” Fletcher moaned.

  Sin pulled gloves from her dry bag and gave Fletcher a pair. “Put these on, I don’t want to contaminate the scene any more than we already have.”

  Fletcher pointed to a row of metal cabinets. “Those aren’t for filing reports, are they?”

  “No,” Sin said. “You want to do the honors, or should I?”

  “You’re in charge, you open them.”

  “Pussy,” Sin breathed as she gently opened the first drawer. “Empty,” she stated in a thankful voice. Repeating the process again and again she was happy to note that the results were all the same: empty. Placing her hand on the last drawer, she released the lock button. As she began to pull, her heart sank. Sin knew her luck was about to change. She eyed Fletcher, “This one’s heavier.”

  He drew his gun and nodded in her direction. Sin yanked open the drawer and did the same. It definitely wasn’t empty, but there was no need for guns either.

  On top of the shrouded corpse was an envelope.

  Sin pocketed the note, pulled back the sheet, and gasped as she stared down into the eyes of Jonathan Rand.

  Fletcher was the first to move forward. Shining a penlight at the body, he said, “It’s not as ashen as it should be.” He pulled off a glove and placed his fingers on the side of Rand’s neck, applying pressure. “I’ve got a pulse.”

  Sin was shocked. “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure. Call it in. It’s weak, but it’s there.”

  “Garcia, can you read me?”

  “I’m here, Boss Lady.”

  “We found one of the officers. He’s still alive. Is it safe to call it in? We’ll need a trauma-hawk out here.”

  “Duggen’s men seem to have everything under control; I’ll call it in.”

  Sin heard Duggen’s voice enter the conversation. “We found the other three officers in the schoolhouse. They won’t need a hawk. But we will need a coroner.”

  Sin’s eyes locked on a gurney leaning up against the far wall. “We’ll transport. Meet us in front of the main building. Over.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Sin and Fletcher made the transfer to the paramedics. Rand was placed on a saline drip, and with each drop, life began to ease its way back into the captain.

  He was about to be transported by helicopter to Jackson Memorial when he feebly reached out and touched Sin’s wrist. She placed a hand on top of his and told him to rest. Rand squeezed a little harder and pried open his eyes. Sin leaned forward as he opened his dried, cracked lips.

  Rand attempted to speak, but in such a weakened state the only thing that came through was a weak moan.

  Just mere inches from his mouth, it was still difficult for Sin to hear, but she finally got the message. “You have my promise, Captain,” she whispered back. As she straightened up, his heart monitor went berserk.

  “We need to transport now!” a medic yelled.

  Sin stepped away, letting go of Rand’s hand as the emergency staff loaded him on the helicopter and took flight.

  Sin asked Jack and Gonzales to drive to the hospital. She wanted Rand protected, and she wanted someone onsite in case he was able to talk, if and when he woke up.

  Jack wasn’t happy, but he didn’t object. “Call me if you need me,” he said, as he and Gonzales turned to leave.

  Biting down on her lower lip, she nodded as Duggen approached.

  “Any sign of the killer?” he asked.

  His question brought Sin back into the reality of the situation. She shook her head. “He was definitely here but he’s gone now. I have a feeling Rand’s impromptu raid spooked him last night.”

  “What gives you that idea?”

  “Rand’s still alive. If our killer had been thinking straight, I have to believe that Rand would be dead.”

  Duggen nodded and took a deep breath. “I want to thank you and your men for your help. Without your information and assistance, we could have walked into a massacre. If you don’t need Metcalf and King any longer, I could use their help with transport and clean up.”

  Sin nodded. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

  “That and more,” Duggen said. The head of the cartel, Manuel Castillo, was found and captured. We have the drugs, the money, and the man himself.”

  Sin reached out and shook his hand, “I’m glad it all worked out,” she said before walking away.

  “You didn’t tell him about the note,” Fletcher said, walking beside her.

  “It doesn’t concern him.”

  “What note?” Garcia said.

  Sin reached over and handed Garcia the envelope she found on Rand’s body.

  He opened it and read.

  “What’s our plan?” Garcia asked, handing it back.

  She turned. “The best defense is a good offense. We’re going to take this war straight to the son of a bitch.”

  “Is that why we’re headed back to his hideout?” Fletcher asked.

  “It’s not his hideout, it’s his home. But, yeah, that’s why we’re headed back.”

  “You want to stake the place out?” Garcia asked.

  “Nope,” Sin answered. She stopped walking and studied the campus, from the buildings to the mass of surrounding trees. “I just want to leave the freak a message. A little correspondence of my own.”

  Fletcher grabbed Sin by the arm. “Talk to us. You’re talking in fucking riddles. And what the hell are you looking at?”

  Sin opened the note that she felt had been left precisely for her, and read the words for the umpteenth time. You’re next!

  “He knows this place better than anyone,” she answered. She continued to look around. “I can feel him watching us. He’s here. Somewhere. And we need to even the playing field. Take away his homefield advantage.”

  “How?”

  Her eyes narrowed as she shot a cold stare at Garcia. “Take away everything he holds near and dear”

  “Frank’s not going to be happy with the destruction of the crime scene,” Fletcher said.

  “Relax, we won’t have his possessions hauled away until after the scene is cleared.”

  44

  Ash had watched with unbridled glee as Sin first entered the mortuary building, although his joy was lessened when he realized Captain
Rand was still alive.

  The night before it had just been a matter of luck; good luck, he thought that Captain Rand had chosen to split from his men and came to check out the smaller buildings. When Rand entered, he struck him over the head with a pipe. While deciding whether to use Rand as a canvas, he’d heard voices and bullets. He grabbed a rope, choked Rand unconscious, and hid the body. Not knowing if his lair would be discovered, Ash decided to leave a threatening note in case anyone found the body, hoping to scare away any intruders.

  Now, his mental state all but crumbled as he watched men carry away all of his possessions.

  “I told you that agent was not someone to screw with,” she shrieked. “Now look what she’s done!”

  Her taunting brought his anger to a boil. He was about to explode when he heard the FBI agent’s voice coming from outside.

  “I know you’re here. I know you can hear me,” he heard her yell. “Let me tell you a few things while I have your attention. I know you were tortured by a sadistic bitch when you were young. I know you’re sick for a reason. But none of that matters to me.”

  Ash peered through the wooden slats at Agent O’Malley as she continued to talk, able to make her out in the moonlight.

  “That place you called home is now an empty shell, just like your life. That’s the reality you live in. Since I mentioned your reality,” she continued, “Let me tell you something else. I will find you. And I will kill you.”

  He began to tremble as she turned to walk away. His tremors and breathing stopped when her footsteps ceased, and she spoke again.

  “One more thing,” she paused, “your artwork is shit. You have no talent. Just like that sick, good-for-nothing, Miranda.”

  Ash could feel her begin to come apart at the seams.

  The FBI agent could have said anything and she would have been fine…anything but that.

  “She wants to play!” she screeched. “Fine, we’ll play. We’ll kill that no good bitch, just like the rest of them.”

  Ash’s knees grew weak, and he collapsed on the cold linoleum floor. Instinctively, he curled into a fetal position and covered his ears although he knew it would do him no good. He expected her rant to continue, but instead she began to recite the poem.

  “Cruelty has a human heart, and jealousy a human face…”

  By the time she got to the fourth line, he knew what he had to do.

  “And secrecy the human dress. Secrecy is forged in iron…”

  Ash was now on his feet reciting the mantra along with her. His direction was clear. He had to finish his work. He had to create the ultimate masterpiece regardless of people’s opinions.

  “You have one more work,” she hissed. “One that will be remembered for a long time.”

  45

  “That was some crazy shit,” Fletcher said on the drive back to HQ. “Calling out a killer.”

  Sin didn’t answer at first, but continued to stare down at her phone. While doing so, she said, “Silence in the face of evil is in itself evil.”

  “That’s profound,” Fletcher responded. “So now you’re quoting Dietrich Bonhoeffer. If I remember right, he was executed by the Nazis.”

  Sin stopped texting for a moment and gazed out the windshield. “To die in a noble cause doesn’t seem to be such a bad thing. I can think of much worse ways to go.”

  Garcia, sitting in the backseat, taking in the conversation leaned forward. “Who you texting?”

  Sin realizing that Garcia was trying to break the tension, smiled internally. “The Stoklers’ attorney,” she replied. “I want to meet with the brother and sister at ten this morning.” Sin looked up and stared out the windshield. “I also sent a text to Charlie. I found some information in his files that I still don’t understand. I think we all need to talk.”

  “Isn’t he on some sort of walk-a-bout?” Fletcher asked.

  “Yeah, but I have an emergency contact.” She continued before either person could ask, “I think the situation can be categorized as an emergency, don’t you?”

  Fletcher looked in the rearview mirror at Garcia, and then smirked. “Damn near,” he replied in a heavy Australian accent, “damn near.”

  By the time they made it back to the Miami Beach office, it was six thirty and the sun was rising.

  Fletcher plopped his butt down in a chair and poured himself a cup of old coffee. He swirled the sludge in his cup but didn’t drink it. “What do you say we file these reports later and get something to eat?”

  “Sounds good to me,” Sin said, stretching her arms out to her sides and arching her back. “I could use some grease and good caffeine.”

  Thirty minutes later the three of them were sitting in a diner surrounded by senior citizens and ordinary people grabbing a bite before heading to their nine-to-five.

  Sin sat back and traced the top of her cup with a finger.

  “What ya thinking, Boss Lady?”

  “Huh?”

  “It’s one of your only tells,” Garcia answered. “When you’re in deep thought you bite your lower lip, or if there happens to be a beer bottle or coffee mug in front of you, you trace the rim.”

  “Which you’ve been doing for the past ten minutes,” Fletcher added.

  Sin, who had been sitting with one leg curled beneath her, uncoiled herself and slid her mug toward the middle of the table. Her eyes surveyed the restaurant. “Have you ever wondered what it would be like to lead a normal life? You know, one where you go to work every day and go home at night not worrying if someone is going to kill you.” She eyed an older couple at the table next to them. “One where you grow old with someone?”

  Fletcher, the always boisterous one, was suddenly quiet, as if contemplating her question. He wiped his sandy-blond hair from his eyes and stared down at the table. “I’m forty-two years old,” he sighed, “and I figure this is the life I was supposed to lead.” He picked up a butter knife and twirled it between his fingers, continuing to avoid eye contact. “I had a wife once,” a pleasant, loving smile came to his face. “It was a long time ago.” Sin and Garcia glanced at each other, knowing instantly that neither of them had been privy to this information. “I was twenty-one years old, studying at Oxford. I was in class one day when word circulated that there had been a terrorist bombing at one of the railway stations. A rail my wife took to work every day. I got a bad feeling. You know, one where your chest gets so tight you can’t even exhale.” His smile was gone, replaced by a vacant expression. “I ran out of class, threw up in a taxi on way to the scene, and found out my wife and unborn child were dead.”

  He put the knife down and stood up. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll meet you both outside.”

  Garcia went to stand, but Sin reached out and pulled him back down. “Let him go.”

  He folded his arms across his chest. “You mind if I ask you something?”

  “I’m an open book, Garcia. Be my guest.”

  “Your question. Were you asking because your boyfriend went back to Tumbleboat? Are you thinking of doing the same?”

  Sin wiped her mouth and let the left corner of her lips curl upward in a lopsided smile. “You were always the intuitive one.”

  “Sniper’s curse.”

  Sin raised her eyebrows in acknowledgement. “To answer your question, yes and no.” She slapped cash on the table and stood to leave.

  “Wait,” Garcia said. “Yes and no? What kind of answer is that?”

  “Use your sniper’s curse to figure it out. Let’s move. We have a killer to catch.”

  The three of them were sitting in the conference room waiting for the Stoklers to arrive when Sin’s phone vibrated.

  “It’s Frank,” she said, picking it up from the table. “Good morning, Director, how can I help you this morning?”

  “Cut it, Sin. I’ve been sitting by my phone since two thirty in the morning waiting for you to call. Twenty minutes ago, I get an email from Duggen letting me know what a great success his mission was.”

  �
��So all’s good,” Sin interrupted, “why the attitude?”

  “The attitude, Agent O’Malley, comes from a little promise you gave me about not going on a damn killing spree.” Frank’s voice became louder with every word. “My attitude comes from my own naiveté in thinking that I could ever reunite you with any of your unit and have any other result than the one I received!”

  Sin eyed Fletcher and Garcia who were listening in. She could tell they were waiting for her to rain a verbal assault on Frank, but instead, she remained calm. Sin waited for Frank to finish stating his perspective; only then, did she speak.

  “I’m tired, Frank,” she began. “I haven’t slept in over forty-eight hours, and I don’t have the strength to argue. I don’t know what Agent Duggen told you, so I’m not going to try to refute his statement. You asked me to come here and take the lead on this case and that’s what I’m doing. I will use whatever resources I need to stop this killer. After that, if you want to fire me, be my guest. It won’t be the first time.”

  Sin hung up the phone and stared into the eyes of Fletcher and Garcia. “What are you two smiling about?”

  “The question you asked in the diner,” Fletcher said, “I think you just answered it for all of us.”

  Sin opened her mouth to respond when she heard Ashley’s voice booming in the hall.

  “I don’t understand why we were dragged back here. We answered all the FBI’s questions and more. Unless they have a reason to hold us, I’m heading back to Delray.”

  Sin met the three of them in the hall. “Good morning, Counselor.” She eyed the Stoklers. “Ashley, George, thank you for indulging me one more time.” She stepped aside. “Please come in. Can I get you a cup of coffee or glass of water?”

  “No need,” Ashley said, “I don’t plan on being here that long.” She stood, arms crossed, tapping her foot while staring at Sin with laser-like intensity. “Let’s just get this over with.”