Miami Fire

by Rick Murcer

  It was his turn to smile. “Good looking and loaded, huh? You’re still a charmer. Okay. Okay. I know, Mom, we’ve talked of this several times. I’ll take care of what I want in my life when the time comes. It’s just not a priority right now. You and my business are all that I care for and really have time to be committed to. Dating can be a complication for a forty-five-year-old workaholic who thinks his mother is the most important woman on the planet.”

  “So, you’ll promise me that you will find the right woman when I’m gone, right?”

  Peter looked at the veins on the back of his hands. He hated promises because he hated lying in general. Most promises ended up as lies, in his estimation, but what could he say?

  “I will. When the time is right, I will, okay? Happy?”

  “Yes. I am. And you’ll thank me,” she answered, a twinkle in her eyes.

  A bird began chirping, and Peter realized it was his mother’s customized doorbell.

  “I’ll get it.”

  Peter rose from his knee and walked through the house to the front door. He pulled the mahogany door open and scanned the average-looking man dressed in a blue delivery company uniform that he vaguely recognized. The man held a package under one arm and a clipboard in the other.

  “Can I help you?”

  “Yes sir. Is this the home of Gladys Blanks?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “I have a delivery.”

  “Really? I didn’t know my mother ordered anything. That’s not like her.”

  The man shrugged, his cap rising a little higher on his forehead. He was still squinting in the early morning sun. “I just deliver them pal. I need a signature.”

  Peter sighed. What was this world coming to? People getting rid of their landlines because their only phone calls were from telemarketers. There were countless charities constantly begging for money, looking to take advantage of the old, weak, and ignorant. Now his mother was getting a package that he’d bet a thousand dollars she hadn’t ordered.

  “Who is it from?”

  The delivery man glanced at the address label, the beginnings of impatience showing in his expression. “It says it’s from Miami City Cemetery. Does that mean anything to you?”

  It did. The city’s cemetery was where his father had been buried six years ago, and it would be where his mother and he would spend eternity, at least in the physical sense.

  Peter was swamped with a sudden sense of nostalgia. He remembered the day, the hour, that he and his parents had bought the plots and paid for the headstones some ten years ago. It had been a melancholy day, but then later, they’d gone to South Beach and eaten at Joe’s Stone Crab.

  After a wonderful meal, they had driven past the cruise ships in port, something his parents loved to see.

  “Sir?”

  “Yes. I’m sorry, just walking down memory lane.”

  He opened the door and motioned for the man to step inside.

  “Where do I sign? I don’t know what this is, but it might be an omen, you know?”

  “I do know.” The delivery man pulled out the Taser from his pocket and forced it into Peter’s chest.

  Peter dropped to his knees, his body pulsing like he was in a massage chair going a hundred miles per hour.

  “Wh-what are—?”

  He was hit again, this time in the back of the neck. He fell to the floor, intense pain coursing throughout his body. On top of that, he was unable to move. A second later, he felt his bladder give way and could do nothing to stop it.

  The delivery man stooped over his stricken body, a confident grin on his face, the stench of onions on his breath.

  “I want to thank you for letting me in, Peter. I’ve been watching you and your mother for a while now and, I must say, you are a dedicated son. But I wonder, does she know about your other life? I’d bet not. Don’t worry. I won’t tell her. Well, at least not until the very end.”

  He tried to shake his head, to speak, to tell the man to leave his mother alone, and to not destroy her hope for him.

  Another jolt raced through his body as this crazy bastard Tased him again, this time in the thigh, ending any more coherent thought.

  He saw the darkness awaiting him on the fringe of his vision and fought it, fought like hell. Then just as his mind began to clear, one more jolt ended his struggle as it ushered in the bliss of a painless dark.

  The last thing he thought of was his mother, sweet Gladys who never harmed anyone, and how she’d cope with whatever hell was coming next.

  CHAPTER-9

  The sun peeked through the port window of the jet as Manny finished his coffee.

  He knew he’d surprised his staff and perhaps himself with his declaration, but it was what it was. This lunatic was different from the others, far different.

  Argyle had a twisted, vengeful purpose and a God complex.

  Anna Ruiz said she’d been sorting things out and then had a revelation.

  Caleb Corner had proclaimed himself protector of the rain forest in Puerto Rico.

  Mike Crosby had simply snapped and acted out his life-long hatred of cops, and apparently Manny. His anger had manifested itself after his new bride, Lexi, had been killed.

  There had been other killers over the last few years who’d exhibited classic behavior, at least for the most part. Each had a subtle, specialized beat that he or she followed. Still, they could all eventually be categorized, their styles analyzed enough to lead to a predicted behavior. They’d each had a trigger event in their lives, and that was always somewhere to start and eventually end an investigation.

  Manny wasn’t sure that was true about this one.

  “What the hell does that mean? All of these pricks have a reason to kill, and I’ve never heard of any of them doing it just for the fun of it,” said Dean, his face tight.

  “I have to agree with Dean on that, Williams,” said Sophie.

  “First, just realize that this is my best guess, okay?”

  “We usually like your guesses, though,” said Josh.

  Manny glanced at Belle to await her response, and he got none. Instead, she was exploring his face, almost begging him to continue. There was apprehension in her expression as well.

  “What is it, Belle?”

  “Well, it just has to do with a note I wrote on the side of one of the pictures when I went through the Dade County photos the first time.”

  “And?”

  “I wrote that he likes what he does, that’s all.”

  “Why do you think you wrote that? Did it have anything to do with the time between the Welch’s deaths?”

  “Yes, for one thing. It looks like they died maybe three hours apart, if the ME’s timeline is correct. That means he took his sweet time getting to the woman after taking out her husband.”

  It was his turn to examine her face.

  “What’s the other?”

  “We’ve seen these killers be meticulous in uncanny ways, yet, this one . . . his care seems over the top, even for these types of killers,” she said, glancing down to the table, obviously uncomfortable.

  He understood that part. It had taken a few cases for him to say what was on his mind in front of the other detectives when he first started meeting with a new group of people. No one wanted to think the new person had a crazy side.

  Was that all, though?

  Her mannerisms indicated she was past nervous and maybe even a little fearful. It was probably nothing, and he’d been wrong before. Still, they’d talk later, in private, just to make sure.

  “Good thoughts and insight, Belle. Part of what you said makes me feel like this trip could be a different one for the BAU,” said Manny.

  There it was again. That sense of dread and impending doom. Maybe he needed to use some of those happy pills when he got home because his paranoia was getting a workout.

  “Well, don’t be shy cowboy, get to it,” said Sophie.

  Before Manny could respond, the pilot came over the intercom and said the
y had about forty-five minutes until they were on the ground.

  “Do they have to say it that way?” asked Josh, angst peeking from his face.

  The memory of his and Chloe’s nearly fatal crash in Youngstown rose up into Manny’s mind. He suspected the memory of that event was the reason for Josh’s comment and momentary anxiety.

  “I thought you were over that whole plane crash episode,” said Manny.

  “Over it and thinking about it are two different things,” said Josh.

  “Pansy-ass,” said Sophie, grinning.

  “Oh, that’s coming from Miss Puke-my-guts-out every time we take off and land. You would have died of a heart attack, right after you messed yourself,” said Josh.

  “Yeah, good point. But I would have done it in style.”

  “Plane crash? What plane crash?” asked Belle.

  “I’ll tell you later. Let’s stay on track, Manny,” said Josh.

  “Oh, I can’t wait for that one,” said Belle.

  “It’ll be a pisser of a story and, of course, he comes out a hero. Rumor is that Chloe saved his ass, though,” said Sophie.

  “I plead the fifth on everything,” said Josh.

  “Figures. Oh, wait a second. I have to make a call.”

  She pulled her phone from her pocket and hit a speed-dial button.

  “We don’t have a lot of time. What are you doing?” asked Josh.

  She raised a finger in the classic hold-on gesture.

  “Hey, Dough Boy, I just wanted to call and tell you that we’ll be fine. Belle’s really smart so you can take all of the time you need. Hell, maybe they’ll even let you go, you know, fire your ass. And no doughnuts before surgery.”

  She hesitated, listening to Alex’s response, an impish expression radiating from her brown eyes.

  “That wasn’t very nice. I don’t think that’s humanly possible for me anyway, but I’ll talk to Dean about the science of doing one’s self.”

  Another pause, then she answered again.

  “I’m pretty sure that’s not going to happen either, but you paint a vivid picture. Take care. We’ll be thinking of you, sort of.”

  She hung up, put the phone away, folded her hands together, and sat still, a content look on her face.

  “Was that necessary?” asked Manny.

  “Hell yeah. He’s got to know that we care. He’ll be heading into surgery in a while, so I had to lift his spirits.”

  “Care? You called Alex names and told him he was going to lose his job,” said Josh, shaking his head.

  “I did. That’s what friends are for. Besides, he got his two cents worth too, and I think it made him feel better.”

  “What did he tell you to do?” asked Dean.

  “Oh, I’m a lady. I don’t talk that way. That’s between him and me anyway,” she said.

  “I don’t get you two, but are we done with this stuff? We have murders to solve,” said Josh.

  “Yep, I’m done. Go ahead, Manny. I’ve got a couple notes and questions myself,” answered Sophie.

  Love wore different clothes for most of us, but he doubted that the wardrobe could be more bizarre for Sophie and Alex. And make no mistake, they loved each other like the closest of brothers and sisters.

  He shifted in his seat and began.

  “Like Belle said, these murders took an inordinate amount of time. Torture can last awhile in these situations, and this was definitely torture, but I don’t think the killer looks at it that way at all.”

  “Why?” asked Josh.

  “Time is always an issue for unsubs like this one. They like the torture aspect, which almost always possesses a sexual component, which doesn’t appear to be the case here, yet they don’t want to get caught either. No matter how comfortable they are with the setting when the murders begin, their paranoid minds get the best of them.”

  “So near the end of the ordeal, after they’ve played out their perverted fantasies, they speed things up because they become nervous and a little impatient that someone will see them. That leads to sloppy behavior, or at least less precise actions than when they began their ritual. I don’t see that here.”

  “You know that how?” asked Sophie.

  “You’re talking about the precision in the carving of ‘Valentino’ on the victim’s bodies, right? I mean, the monograms on the woman are just as perfect as the ones on the man, who he probably killed a full three hours sooner,” said Belle.

  “Right. That proves to me he wasn’t in a hurry. He had complete confidence in his plan and knew he wouldn’t be disturbed in his location. That, or his enjoyment was far more important than any other concern, like getting caught,” said Manny.

  “If he’s as organized as we think, then we have to go with well-planned and not worried about being discovered,” said Sophie.

  “I think so. Yet, spending a minimum of four to six hours outside, even at night, engaging in this sort of activity is risky,” said Manny.

  “Unless he knew there was no issue with it,” said Josh.

  “I’m sure the locals are checking out how often the land was patrolled and when,” said Dean.

  “I would, but what if the risk was part of the high? You know, the adrenaline rush,” said Belle.

  “That’s possible. Yet, at least now, he doesn’t seem like a risk taker to me. I think he has total control over his emotions and kept his focus before he indulged in his—”

  Manny stopped.

  His what? His fantasy? No, he didn’t think so. They already knew, according to the preliminary report, that these murders weren’t driven by anything sexual.

  Revenge? There was nothing indicating anger-driven actions even though he killed them savagely. He didn’t mutilate the victims in a conventional way. Nor had he embarrassed them by making them look like something less than human, in Manny’s way of thinking.

  The devil was in the details.

  “I know that look. What, Williams? What were you going to say?” said Sophie.

  “I don’t know for sure. I was just struck with this whole picture of preciseness for both victims. Like he was performing his job with great pride. Maybe he believes it’s his vocation, his calling. Even his destiny. No revenge. No Anger. No fantasy. Just killing and doing it precisely, efficiently, and with great attention to detail.”

  “We’ve seen detail before, though. Like that sick bitch in Houston last fall,” said Sophie.

  “True, but that was anger related, as we found out later. He hated his abusive sister and everyone who looked like her. And, if you recall, he got sloppy with the last two victims. That’s how we caught him,” said Manny.

  “Oh yeah, right. But you left my Asian ass in Chicago for a couple of days, remember? And I didn’t get to see everything first hand.”

  “Hey, thank God for little favors,” said Dean.

  “Well, that’s true. I hate giving the dark side more nightmare fodder.”

  “Don’t we all. What else makes you think that way, Manny?” asked Josh.

  “I know leaving your tools behind isn’t a way to go about your business, but he left his knives.”

  “How would that work in his thinking? That part looks like, to me, that he is stuffing it in law enforcement’s face,” said Josh.

  “It does on the surface. But it isn’t, in my mind. I think he’s done with those knives. I think he believes that they’ve done their job and he doesn’t need those tools anymore.”

  “Like being finished with a broken pencil or an empty pen?” asked Belle.

  “Yes. Good analogy. But I’d take it a step further. He doesn’t need this special set of tools any longer. I think it’s more like using a football to begin a baseball game. Or an artist who is finished with a particular set of brushes and wants or needs different ones to get the right effect.”

  “We’ve run into some of these types of killers who thought they were expressing their art, or wanted us to believe that. Josh’s stepbrother Caleb for one, but this goes far deeper.�
��

  “I know, and he may have some of that thought process, but I think it’s far different than that.”

  God in heaven, why did he see so clearly into the minds of creeps like this? These insights were enough to drive most any man insane. After reorganizing his thoughts, he exhaled before he answered. “I don’t believe he thinks these blades will work for what he has coming next.”

  Manny felt the chill himself as the statement escaped his mouth.

  He didn’t look around the silent circle to verify what he already knew because his unit realized the truth of those words almost as deeply as he did.

  A few minutes later, the jet settled into its final descent and then landed lightly on the tarmac.

  As they rolled to a stop, Sophie softly broke the silence.

  “Shit. What is next, Manny?”

  “I’m afraid we’re going to find out,” he answered.

  CHAPTER-10

  Libby Cossaboom sighed in the direction of her husband.

  “Come on, John. I told Gladys we’d take her to the mall; and we’re already late.”

  John brushed his silver hair back from his forehead, but refused to pick up the pace. He was retired, by God.

  The love of his life was still that and more, but at age seventy-eight, he wasn’t hurrying for anyone anymore. It was bad enough he had to cancel his Monday morning round of golf with his friends, but then to have to go shopping with two old women under the guise of watching out for them . . . well, that just took the balls right out of his sac, what was left of them.

  The boys understood because they had wives too. They always understood, but that wouldn’t stop the bantering the next week, especially from Manis and Prisby, about his seemingly pussy-whipped condition, as they would put it. Eberle would take it a step further; he’d go the whole round meowing like some damned horny tomcat.