by Rick Murcer
Not this time, you son of a bitch.
He gritted his teeth and took off, running harder than before. He passed a security guard and slammed on the brakes. He pulled his wallet, showed the guard his badge, told him what Argyle was, and what he was wearing.
The guard’s eyes grew as large as Chinaware. “Seriously? A serial killer? Here in the Park?”
“Yes. And if you keep talking to me, he’s going to get away.”
The guard reached for his radio.
After catching his breath, he took off again. He dodged several fans, and a couple of hotdog and souvenir vendors, and almost caused an already-happy patron to drop the two beers in his hands.
Just when he didn’t think he could go another step, he saw them. Four guards had Argyle pinned on the concrete, cuffed and restrained as two more guards arrived.
The pain vanished. Argyle had finally screwed up. The cruise ship capture was by design but this one, well this one . . .
Damn.
Manny felt the wind leave his sails. It became painfully obvious to him that this was another part of the game. There was no way Argyle would get himself into this kind of situation. His plans always left a way out, always. He’d let Jenkins die on the ship, just a pawn in Argyle’s twisted, fantasy world. He’d used his death as a diversion from the truth. Manny had that same feeling of revelation now.
Argyle was arrogant, but too smart to let this happen.
Manny limped up to the man in white and motioned to the guards.
“I’m Detective Williams,” he labored. “Roll his ass over.”
By now there was a huge audience of bystanders, despite the efforts of security to get them to move on. Manny motioned again. The guards turned their captive.
Shit. This is getting real old, real fast.
The man was similar in height and build to Argyle, but that was about it.
He was balding and maybe five years older. His beaked nose and protruding chin gave him an Ichabod Crane look. There were fresh wounds on both and not from the scuffle with the guards.
He peered into the man’s close-set eyes and saw fear, wild fear.
“My name’s Al Forester. You got to let me go. He said he’d kill them if I didn’t get back in thirty minutes.”
“Whoa. Easy. Who will kill who?”
“The man who has my wife and mother.”
Manny felt sick. Would Argyle kill them? He hated the answer to that one.
“He . . . he said, if I got caught, to have Detective Williams call the number in my coat pocket.”
Manny reached for the pocket and fell back on his haunches as the pain ripped up his left side.
“I’ll get it,” said the voice behind him.
He turned to see his wife and daughter standing beside Sophie.
Sophie shrugged. “Randy really wanted that cotton candy. And there was no way I was going to let you come here without us.”
“I know. I would’ve done the same thing. Where’s Alex?”
“He’ll be here in a minute. He’s calling the Feds.”
“We’ll talk later. Get me that phone number.”
Sophie reached into Forester’s pocket and handed the piece of paper to Manny without speaking.
He glanced at his wife. She was burning holes in the concrete floor, but said nothing. That was worse than chewing his ass. Another family trip gone to hell in a handbasket because of what he did for a living, and what his profession meant to men like Dr. Fredrick Argyle.
Manny started to dial the number when Forester interrupted him. “Detective. He said to use my phone.” Forester started to cry. “Will he kill them?”
Manny didn’t answer, but he knew that Argyle already had. The psycho bastard never intended to let them live. Argyle counted on Forester getting caught. Another way to show he had control.
Sophie got Forester’s phone, and Manny dialed the number. The pain in his side could never match the pain in his soul.
The phone rang once, and he felt the silent evil on the other end. “Argyle?”
“Detective Williams. You are two minutes faster than I thought you’d be, and you are speaking like you’re in pain. I’m so sorry; you were supposed to be on the way to a hospital.”
“Yeah. I’m full of surprises. How did you know where’d we’d be?”
“Calculated certainty. I saw the tickets on the refrigerator when Louise and I had our . . . date . . . and I surmised your guilt would lead you there. You’re not as full of surprises as you think.”
Manny ran a hand through his hair. He hated how the Good Doctor sounded so confident. “Why this? Why more innocent people?”
Forester released a horrible wail.
“My dear detective, there is no such thing as innocent. Only strong and weak. You know that. Or are you just a slow learner?”
“Just say I’m wrong.”
“But you already know you aren’t. The wife was good sport. I especially enjoyed her neck. I saved her for last. If it’s any consolation to you, the old woman felt no pain.”
Manny grew quiet. “I’m going to kill you and bring flowers to your damned funeral. Do you understand?”
The insane cackle exploded in his ear. “Temper, temper.” The doctor’s voice hardened. “You have a rather high opinion of yourself. And who knows the future? But you’ll not see me until I’ve squeezed every ounce of sanity from your mind. Just imagine what that means . . . and what I enjoy the most.”
The phone went dead and so did another fraction of Manny’s heart.
Chapter-72
Midnight found Manny sitting at the kitchen table in the semi-dark. His mind was never a quiet place, but tonight was as bad as it got for him.
Talk about all dressed up with no place to go.
Thoughts continued to ransack his psyche and spied on his sanity like an expert voyeur hoping to get an invite. He had come dangerously close to allowing insanity to visit. But he didn’t, couldn’t. He had a wife and daughter to take care of.
Today should have been a perfect day, especially given the incredible start. But perfect days and he were fast becoming mortal enemies, thanks to this job . . . and Argyle. Hell, even Sophie and Alex had known the baseball game was a bad idea. But he didn’t listen.
He gritted his teeth in frustration. His pride could have killed his family. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.
Shifting in his chair, the pain in his side bolted both directions and caused him to gasp like he’d stepped into a cold shower. The emergency room doctor had said there was nothing truly broken. He had a tiny hairline fracture in the fourth rib and a large contusion that would disappear in a few days. Still, there would be no elephant-lifting contests for the next couple of weeks.
Sampson huffed and changed positions as he lay a few feet to Manny’s right. The dog almost never went to bed until Manny did.
Who is guarding who here?
The cops and the Detroit FBI office had sent out another APB on Argyle after they had gone to Forester’s home to verify a scene Manny hated to think about. Argyle had done what he’d claimed, and Al Forester would be shattered forever, his wife and mother embedded eternally in the violent, psychotic legacy of Argyle.
The agent in charge told Manny he’d never seen anything like it and never wanted to again. The walls had been painted in blood to taunt law enforcement, Manny in particular, and to make it clear Argyle could do whatever he wanted. The agent could barely speak about Forester’s wife, how Argyle had posed her at the dinner table. The man was in tears, and Manny told him to stop. He needed no more fodder for nightmares.
Of course, the Feds hadn’t found Argyle, and Manny was beginning to wonder if Argyle had made a pact with the Devil, the real one.
Louise had driven home and barely said a word. She was usually so supportive, so “let’s get to the next thing” like. But not today, and it wasn’t only today.
He’d seen her change little by little since they’d returned home from the cruise. The
breast cancer scare had taken a toll, but she had let that go as a non-issue. When she had seen the rose petals that Argyle had somehow gotten in her purse, something changed. She’d become more internal, more sullen. She confessed to him one night after they had made love that she didn’t think anyone was really safe from people like Argyle. He tried to reassure her. She kissed him and turned over.
Maybe she was right. No matter how hard he tried, he might not be enough to keep the demons away, particularly of the human variety.
Jen had sat in the back, staring out the window, occasionally wiping away tears. He had hardly been able to stand it. No physical pain would ever match that moment. He promised that he would never see his daughter like that again.
“So, Sampson, what should I do?” he whispered.
The black Lab raised his head, lifting his ears at the same time, giving Manny his best “you’re on your own” look, and then flopped back down.
“Thanks, Buddy.”
Manny got up and moved gingerly to the third bedroom and pushed open the door without turning on the light. Argyle had invaded his home, and in the process, violated his wife in a way that was akin to rape. It could’ve been worse. But Argyle wanted Manny to know he was in no hurry, that he would operate on his own schedule, and Manny was helpless to stop him.
The anger began to boil, but wasn’t that what Argyle wanted, even fed on? He pressed the anger down. It wouldn’t help matters, and the emotional yo-yo would only delve deeper into the brain screw Argyle wanted to administer. Besides, becoming angry, out of control, wasn’t why he was here. He needed reassurance that what he was going to do tomorrow was the right thing. Nothing like a little visual reinforcement. Not to mention, he was curiously drawn to the crawlspace. It spoke to him, even condemned him for not being a better husband and father, and he wanted to face his accuser.
He stared at the area rug, waiting for the self-persecution to begin, but something halted the voices before they began.
The throw rug was usually lined up directly on the door over the crawlspace. Manny frowned. It wasn’t lined up properly, not centered. He pulled the carpet to the side, grimacing. He dropped to his knees, felt for the latch, then pushed the door. It popped up about an inch. He pulled it open, resting it gently against the hardwood floor and stood up.
He stared into the blackness. His wife’s unholy prison stared back. It mocked him, speaking with a voice that seemed to come from the very walls and floor themselves.
You let this happen in your own house. What a piece of shit husband and father you are.
Some Guardian of the Universe. You can’t even protect your family.
Sending the voices scampering away wasn’t the problem; the truth was another matter completely. He started to reach for the trapdoor and realized all of the voices hadn’t been stilled, that the pit had something else to say. He felt it. He kneeled to get a closer look. Not at all sure why, just that he should. There! In the damning black, he noticed a tiny glint of light reflecting through the blackness. He blinked, did it again, but it was still there.
What the hell?
He went to the kitchen and pulled the large flashlight from the pantry.
Returning to the entranceway of the crawlspace, Sampson at his heels, he dropped back to his knees, leaned over, and shined the powerful beam in the direction of the fairy-like glimmer of light.
Chapter-73
Alex struggled out of the thick recliner and turned off the fifty-inch-wide plasma screen. It was good to catch up on the shows he’d DVR’d the last week. However, it had kept him up later than he intended. Still Bones and Criminal Minds were worth it, even if it was just to laugh at how forensic science was portrayed. He wished, in his world, that things would move that fast. That particulates would stay rooted in a bone cut for months. Or that DNA testing only took less than a half hour. But he supposed Hollywood had to put everything together in less than forty-five minutes, so he let some of it slide. Good water-cooler stuff just the same.
Walking to the kitchen, he pulled out a tablespoon, scooped a glop of peanut butter, and sucked it clean. He then turned to the refrigerator, grabbed the milk jug, and took a monstrous swig to wash down the peanut butter. His wife Barb would kill him if she saw the swig. But she was sleeping, so he was safe.
Reaching for the light, he took one last look at his badge and gun sitting on the shelf above the dishwasher. They were constant, real reminders that he was a cop. It still gave him a bit of a thrill to have that fact register. Not bad for a kid who grew up afraid of everything. He wasn’t like Manny, but he did other important things to save lives, and that worked for him.
His thoughts channeled to his good friend. No peace seemed to be his MO.
Sophie had called him to talk about the incident at the ballgame and to see if they could help, but he told her that Manny had assured him there was nothing else they could do and had instructed them to stay home. The ladies and he were fine, he had said, and he would see Alex and Sophie in the morning. Sophie hated no for an answer, but respected Manny on this one.
A nondescript feeling of unrest tapped him on the shoulder. Alex wondered where this was all headed. Maybe Manny really had more than his fill of the detective life. More uneasiness. He didn’t want that to be true, but only time would tell.
The phone rang just as he flipped off the kitchen light. It sang again, and he swore. Late-night calls were never good, ever.
He looked at the caller ID. It was from the office.
“Hello.”
“Oh my God, oh my God,” Buzzy Dancer was in full geek mode.
“Slow down, kid. What’s going on?”
“I . . . I . . . well, you know that other phone number? Oh my gosh . . . holey moley . . .”
“Buzzy! Stop. Take a breath. I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
“Okay. I forgot my laptop, so I came back to the office to get it and decided to see if I had anymore e-mails or stuff, and guess what . . . oh my gosh . . .”
“How many Red Bulls?”
“What? Only three . . . oh, I get it.”
She took a deep breath, and let it out slowly, in the vein of winding down near the end of Yoga class.
“Better. Anyway, I had a message from the pay-as-you-go phone company. They ID’d the coordinates of that call from the other day. So I found that location. Very weird. Then they did one better. They traced the GPS in the phone. So I triangulated the towers based on that info and found the closest address to where the phone is now.”
“Great. But can’t this wait until tomorrow?”
“No. Good Lord, no. I’m going to pee my pants. No. Wait. I think I’ll be okay.”
“Buzzy, spit it out.”
“The first set of coordinates had the phone no further than twenty or twenty-five yards from . . . your house.”
“What? My house?”
“Yep, but I thought that it could be a coincidence. So I checked the other triangulations and boom . . . three other calls came from somewhere near your house.”
“So, the killer’s one of my neighbors?” said Alex, angst building in his voice.
“I don’t think so because of where the phone is now.”
“Come on, Buzzy!”
“The phone seems to be in Manny’s house.”
Chapter-74
The beam from the flashlight danced from the hard dirt to the long, black case and then to the half-opened shoulder bag that leaked the cell phone’s LCD light. Manny took two more steps in his crouched position and touched the case. No mistaking what it contained. He’d seen a sniper’s rifle a time or two and knew how they were packaged.
The large, gray handbag contained more than just the phone. Much more. There was a black leather ensemble fit for any hooker on any street. But that wasn’t the worst thing. The four-inch stilettos had traces of a dark-red, almost black substance that he already knew was blood. The metallic smell sealed it.
There was something else in the
bag, the grand prize: a .22 handgun.
He touched his throbbing ribcage and felt his mind, his imagination, swirl out of control.
What’s the rifle doing here? What’s any of this doing here?
Not wanting to taint evidence, he scooted back to the opening and lifted himself out. He had to call Alex and have him bring his kit. The secret identity of the last member of the Justice Club lies in that crawlspace . . . in his house. The world was going crazy. Even worse was where his thoughts were rushing.
Brushing off his khaki shorts, he turned the overhead light on and the flashlight off.
What the hell is happening here? How would someone get that gear down there without Louise or me noticing?
There couldn’t have been anyone home. Not to mention, it would’ve had been placed there after Louise’s ordeal, so it couldn’t have been there longer than sixty hours. Unless . . .
His mind sprinted to where it logically had no choice but to go.
Louise? How ridiculous is that? My wife?
But Manny couldn’t rid himself of that feeling of denial basking in a truth he didn’t want to acknowledge. It attacked like a hungry wolf, and he had to clasp his hands together to stop from clenching them. He hated how his brain worked, but there was no denying the logic.
Hasn’t she been acting a little off her game the last few weeks? Who would hide this stuff in our house but her? Her reaction to Stella’s death was less than emotional to boot.
The pain in his ribs disappeared as he paced back and forth.
My wife a member of the Justice Club? A cold-blooded killer? The woman I’ve spent more than half my life with? My Rock?
He stopped his mind from racing and took in a calming breath. The facts didn’t support his wild dive into the deep end of the pool. First things first: he knew people and he sure as hell knew her. Next, there was a matter of being able to handle a rifle like that. Not on her resume. She’d also need opportunity, and he’d called her the night Stella had died. She’d been home.
Rubbing his face with both hands, he wondered how long he’d have his balls if she ever suspected the forbidden land where his thoughts had traveled. Probably about as long as it would take to get the words out of his mouth. Maybe right after she gave him that “your elevator doesn’t go to the top” look.