Extreme Liquidation: Caitlin Diggs Series #2

by Gary Starta

  “I confess.” Crowley folds his hands and relaxes them upon the table. His reflection shines before her in the gleam of the wood finish. “There, have I become solid enough for your liking? Wooden enough for your attention?”

  “You still need to tell me some names.”

  “I admitted guilt. You have me right here.”

  “This is a vision. I don’t have you and you know it.”

  “If we were to exist in the Golden Spiral you would have me dead to rights, my dear agent.” Crowley’s emphasis upon the word dead infuriates her. He is playing with her. She knows damn well she won’t be able to haul away a spirit in handcuffs.

  “But here in your world, the reality is that you won’t be able to catch me even with a confession. You don’t know whose body I reside in. I can’t chance telling you. I need your cooperation. And you have responded quite rudely in kind. Imagine, I offered you godhood and you dared decline!” Crowley’s smile fades. He arches his left eyebrow.

  “You haven’t been straight with me.” Caitlin uses her hands to propel herself away from the table, sending her wooden chair screeching in defiance. She can’t stand to spend another minute in close proximity to this devil. On the other hand, another part wants this dream to play out. It wants time to consider the possibility that she has a supreme destiny, that she may be a goddess and that her light will bring love not only to herself, but to all those who reside in the Golden Mean Spiral. She wonders if this light inside her wasn’t influenced by her contact with the mysterious quartz crystal.

  “I know your thoughts, agent.” A smirk plays across Crowley’s face. “Your open mind won’t let you immediately dismiss me. It won’t let you dismiss your desire for love.”

  “You know I can’t let you keep doing what you’re doing. And I don’t understand your actions. If you want to reside in this Golden Spiral then why do you care about a war taking place on Earth?”

  “It’s all relevant. It’s all about love.” Crowley’s eyes begin to sparkle brightly until brilliant light engulfs the entire room. When the light subsides, Caitlin finds herself again standing on the slab of ice, communing with a metallic falcon circling above her.

  “Besides,” says the falcon, “How will you stop me? Wouldn’t it be easier to follow your heart? It is very capable of melting that block of ice. Then you can shine that light to open a glorious kingdom of love. And one more thing, Caitlin, that crystal did set some wheels in motion.”

  Diggs refuses to acknowledge Crowley’s reference to her contact with the crystal. He changes tactics. Speaking telepathically to her, he explains the crystal was a product of the Atlantean Gods who now take up residence in the spiral. Still, she refuses his lure. A gut instinct inside her doubts his outlandish story.

  “I can still stop you, Crowley. You can’t manipulate all my visions.”

  Diggs contemplates her real world circumstance. She knows the man in black is tangible. Therefore, he is human. Ultimately it will make him fallible. She doesn’t care if Crowley is reading her thoughts. She forms a thought with her mind, especially addressed for him. It tells him she can’t ignore her career because it is as much a part of her as her heart. It concludes that even though she might possess this love he claims, she is still human and that humans are often conflicted.

  The falcon breaks its holding pattern. It starts to soar toward a small golden light in the distance. It leaves Caitlin with one final thought.

  Are you still capable of trusting your visions, agent?

  She awakes to an empty house. Tara and Celeste have departed for their trip. The gloom of a dissipating storm caresses her windowpane. Darkness begins to gnaw at her.

  Chapter 23

  The storm that had lain approximately five inches of snow on the DC area one day earlier was fast becoming a distant memory. Thursday’s sky was nearly cloudless and beams of sunshine were hard at work converting white powder into slush. Agent Rivers would not allow her feelings to be swayed by a pretty blue sky or a golden yellow sun. The slight bit of optimism she had allowed herself during the overnight had been decimated one hour before sunrise.

  The call came from Washington PD. They had located the missing water delivery truck in a mall parking lot, spotless, devoid of any prints or transfer evidence according to a preliminary forensics sweep. FBI crime scene investigators assured Rivers and Assistant Director Dudek they would be taking the vehicle into a chain of custody, to examine it from the inside out if necessary, silently intimating they would not allow the perp to best them or allow city-employed CSIs to pass final judgment.

  Rivers knew the odds were in favor of the killer, no matter whose latex-wrapped hands bagged and tagged the evidence. The perp had most likely taken the time to detail the vehicle’s interior with a cleaning agent before abandoning it. The luxury of time had been and still was on his side. He had successfully vanished back into thin air after stepping foot on a tightly secured military base, all without engaging a single squad car. The tainted water bottles he left behind only mocked Hoyt and Rivers, who were , in no position to determine how the perps were disguising their drug as ethanol.

  Rivers could not help but equate the perp’s ability to camouflage himself with the drug itself. It too had a way of masking itself, refusing to give highly skilled pathologists like Ed Hoyt the opportunity to expose its true makeup. Emotionally burdened by the reality of the situation, Rivers’s pride still held itself in check, refusing to allow her to turn to Caitlin as a sounding board. As a consequence, both agents waited in silence outside the medical examiner’s office at Quantico for what seemed like an hour. FBI Medical Examiner Andre Savard was expected to release an official autopsy report any minute regarding the murdered water courier.

  The wait gave Caitlin ample time to study Rivers’s body language. Rivers didn’t need to say a word. Frustration and anger was written all over her body. She understood completely. Anger filled her as well. But she had learned to conceal telltale body language by working with Geoffrey McAllister.

  Her late lover and partner had schooled her on mind games and how perps relished any small chance to rattle officers. Feelings were becoming harder and harder to mask for Caitlin. It was all part of her change.

  She weighed Crowley’s words from her dream and subsequent vision, which still rang in her head. He claimed the mysterious crystal quartz had set a wheel in motion to transform her. She clenched her fist, willing the imagery to leave her head. She must focus on the investigation at hand.

  Unfortunately, Caitlin came to realize that all the evidence they had collected so far was as fleeting as melting snow or the bird-like visitor who had invaded her sleep. Whether sorcery was at work or not, it seemed most likely that the evidence and the people who manipulated it would continue to engage in a disappearing act at will. It was as if they were capable of the most skilled alchemy, disguising both the drugs and themselves in veils of deception.

  Another fifteen minutes dragged by. Rivers sat cross-legged on a red vinyl waiting room bench, her right leg dangled back and forth as if it were a pendulum. She pretended to study some paperwork from a leather briefcase. Caitlin sat on another bench, directly across from her. She stole glances at Rivers from the corner of her eye, comparing her partner’s stubborn demeanor with that of McAllister’s. She fished some wintergreen mints from her purse, their sting reminded her of the biting wind in her dream vision, how it stung her as she stood atop a great block of ice. Had she simply dreamed of Crowley or had he actually manipulated her vision? The appearance of Crowley as a falcon seemed fantastical, unreal. The vision of him as a corporeal being in an interview room seemed plausible if she believed he could use magic to overcome death. As she pondered this she did not consider the possibility that Crowley’s nocturnal appearance may have simply been a distraction, designed to take her mind off the case.

  Savard finally broke the tranquility, confirming the death of the water courier did occur approximately one half hour prior to the water delivery a
t Fort Belvoir. The finding solidified Diggs’s belief that the killer had taken over the truck somewhere along Interstate 66, stripped the driver of his uniform, killed him and disposed of his body along the roadside all before proceeding to Fort Belvoir. The man responsible must surely be a skilled assassin, one who probably followed a schedule without improvisation. She recalled how the man in black had skillfully subdued her in her hallway. He accomplished it all without the aid of a single weapon. She had no evidence to prove it, but Caitlin Diggs was sure the man who had abducted her had also snapped the water courier’s neck.

  She wondered how long the water company had been under surveillance. Perhaps a stakeout had enlightened the perps as to how the water was transported to Lt. Colonel Sweizer’s office. Or maybe one of the men behind the operation was privy to such information. The thought of Hainsworth burned in Diggs’s mind. The fingers on her left hand twitched slightly. She quickly donned gloves in an attempt to mask her feelings.

  ***

  The sting of failure tore at Agent Rivers as she navigated her vehicle homeward. Desperate for a lead, her mind drifted. She entertained the notion of using the trust serum she and Hoyt had concocted—but on whom? As of yet, they had no one to use it on. At a stoplight, she glanced at herself in the rearview mirror. She lifted a lock of light brown hair away from her face, revealing a set of worry lines about her forehead. She could not let Ed see her like this. She would not. Her mind grasped for a distraction, any kind of creature comfort that might wipe the dark emotions off her face—even if for only a night.

  An image of the friendly counter woman at Sassy’s Department Store popped into mind. The woman with the long strawberry blond hair had promised to set aside a bottle of Vices for her. Their conversation took place shortly after she injected herself with the trust serum three days ago. The woman’s voice rang in her ears as if she were riding along beside her: “The perfume will be discounted nearly thirty percent on Thursday. I’ll set a bottle aside for you, honey.”

  She felt invigorated, hearing the woman’s voice in her head, almost succumbing to the sensuous scent of the trendy fragrance as if it were lathered about her body at this very moment. A brief whiff of Vices nearly intoxicated her at the store. She imagined how it would work on Ed. Memories of their uninhibited liaison in the FBI pathology lab nearly caused her to make a wrong turn. Yes, the perfume might do the trick. It was her best bet to conceal her troublesome worry lines and recreate the sexual intensity she and Ed experienced a few short days ago.

  She was third in line. Apparently, a lot of other woman believed Vices might transform them as well. Rivers stole looks at a middle aged blonde and the heavy set brunette who had also purchased the perfume, wondering what circumstances in their lives necessitated such an extravagant purchase. Rivers grasped her purse tighter, chiding herself for behaving so frivolously. A thirty percent discount off this pricey fragrance translated into the same economic axiom: “whether it was sold at full or half price, you’re still paying too much.”

  Rivers perceived herself as a serious person who worked a serious job. She had made little time in the past for such indulgences. She wondered if this behavioral detour was healthy. Then she thought about the case. Yes, she needed this perfume. She had a valid excuse. She required distraction. She chose to block out the small voice in her head that started to compare her need for the perfume with those who suffer from alcohol or drug afflictions. She promised herself she could resist the perfume if necessary. She still mastered her own course. The battle in her mind continued until the strawberry-blond counter lady’s eyes fell upon her. They blazed brilliantly with recognition.

  “I’m so glad you decided to come for the perfume. As I promised, I set aside a bottle for you.”

  “I appreciate that...Cynthia,” Rivers said, reading the saleslady’s nametag.

  “It pleases me to see a sharp, sophisticated woman like yourself bask in a little sunshine.”

  Cynthia’s word choice alarmed her. Bask in a little sunshine?

  The woman continued to stare into Deondra’s brown eyes. Her smile did not waver. “Now let me spray a little on your wrist, Ma’am. No sense depriving yourself. I say there’s nothing like a little immediate gratification once in a while. Don’t be afraid to take what you want from life.”

  Again, the woman’s odd penchant for words took her aback. To take what you want?

  By the time Rivers could process the salesperson’s cryptic messages, the scent of Vices had totally enraptured her. This was nothing like the experience of three days ago. Had the manufacturers made some improvement in the interim? Rivers beamed . She caught her reflection in a store mirror. Her smile radiated a presence just like that of the pretty blonde. The word “transformation” became emblazoned in her mind much as the word “Cynthia” had been emblazoned upon the store employee’s jacket. All other thoughts about the investigation, about her partner, even about her relationship with Ed all drifted away from her like water running down a drain. The perfume transported her to a place she had never been . It was an ethereal place. Nothing was tangible except for the perfume. And with that place came a mindset that finally allowed her to let the world slide off her shoulders for a minute. She glanced at the bottle. It wasn’t very large. She wanted more. Needed more. Now!

  Rivers screamed as if she had experienced an epiphany. “I’ve changed my mind!” A twisted look of ecstasy encompassed her face. She caught her expression in the store mirror. This time her eyes bulged the size of quarters, her eyebrows creased into a ‘V’ formation and her lips snarled over a pristine set of pearly white teeth.

  “You’ve changed your mind?” Cynthia now looked as if she were the one trying to decode a cryptic remark. Her smile ebbed. A sick pit of dread knotted in her stomach. This was perhaps her ultimate chance to convince the Master of her unwavering love for him. She could not let this bitch off the hook. She had baited her. She must reel her in.

  Rivers had no intention of failing Cynthia or the Master.

  “I mean I want all the bottles of Vices you have in stock—right now!”

  “But ma’am, I reserved this one exclusively for you. We don’t have a lot of stock.”

  Rivers perused the glass container below her. It held approximately twenty bottles of fragrances. She pointed her finger at the bottles and then accusingly at Cynthia. “There must be some more in there. Get it for me. I can’t... I can’t live without it...any longer... The burden of life is too...too much...to bear...”

  Cynthia pretended to fish for keys to unlock the container. Rivers’s head lolled about her shoulders as if it weighed no more than a balloon. She reared back, eyeing the counter as if it was a football and she a place kicker. She ran three paces and levied her weight into the glass casing with her right foot.

  A loud crash rocked the perfume aisle, sending shoppers scurrying for cover. When the last bit of glass came to rest on the tile floor, an alarm sounded. It signaled an invasion, willfully intruding upon Rivers’s newfound sense of inner tranquility. Scooping up all the bottles she could carry from the broken display case, Deondra bolted for the nearest exit. In the confusion, she did not realize Cynthia had taken the bottle of Vices from her hand. All she carried now was a worthless collection of oils and aromas, fixatives and solvents contained in pretty packaging. One came in the shape of a star. Another sported a pretty red ribbon. Another resembled the shape of the number one.

  All represented a promise of hope for desperate women. A means to attain something or someone they could not realistically possess. The words of the counterwoman rang in her head as two security guards came into view. Don’t be afraid to take what you want from life... One guard dove for Rivers’s ankles. She fell flat upon her face. Bottles skidded left and right. Some shattered on impact, others skipped along the floor the way flat stones do when skimmed upon a lake.

  She saw all hope and promise elude her in a millisecond. But the giddy feelings of joy created from that one blast of Vices li
ngered. It gave her the will to flip her body over in the blink of an eye. She did it effortlessly as if she were a dolphin dancing over ocean waves. Her back came to rest upon the tile floor. She had been completely unaware the maneuver had dazed her first attacker as she turned. She had caught his chin with the pointed edge of her shoe. He fell sideways, emitting a slight groan.

  With a bottle in each hand, she waited for the second man’s assault. He acted instinctively, diving upon her. In that mere fraction of a second, Rivers wondered if this man’s intentions were to apprehend or conquer. Ed had told her many times she possessed a beautiful body. Maybe this pig man was going to cop a little feel before clinking the handcuffs on her. When the man’s head hovered mere inches over her chest, she crashed the two bottles together.

  Unfortunately for the security guard, his head had been caught between the two bottles. Blood splayed from deep wounds alongside his shaven skull in the aftermath. He staggered backward, barely righting his balance before toppling over. He came at her drunkenly, swerving to the left and right, muttering some authoritative-sounding words over the din of the store alarm. At that moment, caught in the brightness of the overhead lights, this man appeared as a monster to Rivers.

  Confidence dissipated from her expression. Her eyebrows narrowed. Her mouth puckered as if she had bit into a lemon. She screamed for Cynthia’s assistance. She sprayed perfume from a swan-shaped bottle about her neck and face. She waited a second. Nothing happened. No confidence. No giddiness. No transformation to the place she had visited seconds earlier. She was caught in the store’s lights, trapped in a world where her everyday thoughts hammered down upon her brain like a fist every instant. Never letting her bask in the light of that precious glow, the one that brings peace of mind. She despised how the fake light overhead beamed upon her in its fake fluorescent tones.