by Rick Murcer
The life lessons she was taught early, especially with a cop for a father, came to the forefront, and she backed closer to the house, didn’t return the wave, and for a reason she didn’t quite understand, sought the back of the car to memorize the plate number.
That didn’t happen.
As Jen Williams spun around and hurried for the front door, she wasn’t sure what was more disconcerting—the fact that the man’s grin was spooky or that the car’s license plate number was covered with black paper.
CHAPTER-18
“Dammit, Williams. I know I’ve mentioned this before, but no one shows a woman a good time like you. I’ve been waiting my whole life for the opportunity to sit in a Mexican jail with no air conditioning and inhaling the stink of stale, funky God-knows-what,” complained Sophie.
“What? This isn’t on your bucket list?” asked Dean. “And you can relax. I think a couple of those odors are just coffee and cigarettes . . . and a couple bodily fluids that’ll need a spectrometer to sort out, but I’d say urine and feces isn’t out of the question. Probably a few more options.”
Sophie stood from her chair, wiped her hand across the back of her plaid shorts, and looked behind her at the chair she was just seated in. “Great. Just freaking great. What kind of bodily fluids did you say? I’m okay with a few of them, but really?”
“You’re treading in real deep water, Dean,” said Manny, smiling.
“Yeah, but it’s warm, and I’ve learned to swim,” he said.
Sophie’s eyes narrowed as she looked to Manny then Dean. “Are you yanking my chain, Beard Boy? If you are, you ain’t touching the magic stuff for the rest of the week.”
“I’m shocked you’d think I’d do that,” he deadpanned.
“Shocked, huh? We’ll be talking later . . . and that’s all we’ll be doing.”
“Hey. I’m only messing with you a little bit―there is smoke and coffee, and maybe some other stuff.”
Dean looked at Alex, who was sitting across from him. Manny hadn’t seen a look for help like that from Dean since Vegas.
“He’s right,” said Alex, pointing to the stucco wall over Manny’s shoulder. “That stain right there, the big green one? I think that was a bottle of alcohol that grew some mold and they couldn’t get it clean or . . .”
“Or what?” demanded Sophie.
“Or someone peed on the wall because they were upset with the cop that brought him in,” said Manny.
“See? I’m telling the truth. Mostly,” said Dean, pulling at his beard.
Moving away from the chair between Dean and Manny, Sophie sat on the other side of the table with Chloe and Barb.
“I don’t trust any of you anymore. I can smell stuff on my own, but your opinions are like politicians, full of shit. I’m safe over here.”
The warped, wooden door to the simple interrogation room opened, and Inspector Eduardo Munoz entered carrying a stack of green files. He was followed by a younger male officer in blue, pushing a rickety, four-wheeled cart with three more stacks of identical folders, except they were colored red, blue, and yellow. That wasn’t the extent of the contents of the cart.
On the lower level were stacks of photos on one corner, and on the other, six copies of a book titled The Mayan World. On the top of each volume were small cards, apparently used to mark specific passages in each book.
A couple of hours?
Manny’s best guess suggested they might be in this small room, away from the sun, beach, pool, and margaritas, for longer than that. His “uncomfortable meter” inched higher. He’d promised his friends just a short time away from the resort and their vacation. This wasn’t quite what he’d envisioned.
Munoz placed the files on the desk. He stood straight and began rubbing his back. He then scanned the six people in the room.
The man had the gift of reading people quickly. Manny could tell he’d already, at least to some extent, figured out the strengths and weaknesses of each of them. The fact that he lingered on Barb a moment longer told Manny he knew she wasn’t BAU. Munoz also had done his homework because none of them had name tags. He wouldn’t need them.
The inspector exhaled, folding his hands in front of him. “My friends, I can’t thank you all enough. I know how much time away from what we see and do for a living can mean. For you to give up some of your free time is very much appreciated. Gracias.”
“We’re here to help,” said Manny.
“You could have hired a maid though,” said Sophie.
“Yes. I’m sorry this room isn’t what you perhaps are accustomed to, but it is the best we have.”
“Yeah, well, I suppose we’ve seen worse, except for the sticky stuff on the chairs,” she answered, shifting in her seat.
Manny leaned forward. “By the look of the material you brought, we might be giving up a little more time than we anticipated.”
Munoz shrugged. “It is your decision. I brought all that we had, plus some reference publications describing the Mayan culture and its very strong influence on our island.”
Frowning, Manny’s mind began to run. “Why bring the books? Is there an influence of Mayan history involved with this spree killer’s MO?”
Instead of answering Manny’s question, Munoz stepped to the cart, pulled out the books, and stacked them on the table. He then picked up the files and passed them out to everyone except Barb, even though he had one more cradled in his arm. He hesitated and then placed the file on the corner of the table, causing the table to wobble against the hard floor.
“I’ll let you decide, Missus Downs, if you believe reviewing the photos and descriptions of the murder scenes are something you choose to explore.”
He then turned in Manny’s direction. “I’ll not answer your question. You do what you do, as they say, and tell me what you think is transpiring.”
“That makes perfect sense to me,” said Manny, his mind growing more uneasy.
The Mayans were notorious for ritualistic human sacrifices, particularly against their enemies. Yet they were considered a bright, intelligent people as well.
If this killer was emulating some form of Mayan influence, that could mean these murders held a personal significance. Not a good thing.
He shook off his racing thoughts.
The facts.
They simply needed to focus on the facts to build this profile. Yet, in cases like these, there could exist, and often did exist, a blurred perception between facts and the killer’s intent. That was the trick, wasn’t it? To sort out that line between reality and the killer’s world.
“Okay, we’ll get to work,” said Manny.
“I’ll take my leave. I’ll be in the outer office when you need me.”
Barb stood, placing her hand on Alex’s shoulder. “I’m going with him. I . . . I’m okay discussing some of this with you, Alex. But I’m not ready to see the stuff in these files. Not yet, at least.”
“Hey, we get that, honey. We’re not ready for it most of the time either,” said Alex, putting his hand on hers.
“I’ll take a taxi back to the resort and hold a few chairs for you all at the pool,” she said flashing a humorless smile.
“That’s what I’m talking about,” said Sophie. “Sun and pool works for me.”
“No need for a taxi,” said Munoz. “I’ll have one of our officers escort you back to the Casa Palms.”
Munoz waited for Barb to step toward the door before he followed her. As she reached it, she turned back to Manny. “Not too long. I want to enjoy my husband before the week is over, okay?”
There was a pleading in her voice. Another tiny piece of his heart broke.
The stark realization that not everyone was convinced they had to be the Guardian of the Universe was driven home. The guilt wouldn’t go away unless he got his people out of here quickly. Even then, the guilt wouldn’t dissipate entirely. It never did. But it would be better.
“I promise, Barb. I promise.”
“I know you do,�
� she answered.
Then she disappeared through the door.
Munoz took two more steps and stopped.
“There is one more thing. There is another missing-person report other than Aaron Rathburn. A woman who worked in a downtown office building did not report to work this morning.”
“Why is that unusual?” asked Dean.
“She worked for one of the missing men, Samuel Rozen.”
CHAPTER-19
Making another note on the front of the file, Manny set the pen on the metal table with a small clank. He then crossed his hands on the top of the orange folder and stared at them.
His were strong hands, he thought. Not those of a younger man, but one who had passed that stage and was onto the next. He was in better shape now than at almost any point in his life but had worked hard to get there.
Maybe going through what he and Chloe had experienced in Puerto Rico elevated his awareness of just exactly how mortal humans were—and taking care of himself was now a bigger priority. Life was too short, precious.
He recalled how he’d thought that way when he finally awoke from surgery and discovered the tip of metal from the broken knife blade had been successfully removed and his life intact. He had another opportunity to live. Not just be alive, but to live. He was grateful for that opportunity and would always be—that God thought him worthy to make a difference. He supposed getting another chance was one of the reasons he sat here with the others, in this life that meant so much to him. That and his workaholic tendencies.
At any rate, he spent more time in the gym and far less eating what he shouldn’t. Well, except for those chocolate chip cookies that Chloe seemed to pull from some oven in Heaven. He thought he could smell them even in this dungeon posing as a conference room.
Was there anything better than warm cookies and a huge glass of milk?
Looking back at his hands, he wondered if even the training he’d put them and the rest of his body through had produced enough strength to open the file. Despite any notions to the contrary, seeing people in the way he’d see them in these files never got any easier. But if not him and this crew, then who?
Looking around the table, he saw the identical struggle on each face of the members of the BAU.
We must be crazy.
“You all know the drill. Let’s take as long as necessary to effectively review the reports and files, and then let’s get to it. Obviously, there are other situations Munoz is working, like the office worker’s kidnapping, but that isn’t why we’re here. That information could shed some light on what this unsub is about, however,” he said. “And oh, by the way, thank you all again.”
“You’re welcome. Just make sure Josh checks on the medical plan and that my therapy sessions are covered,” said Dean.
Manny nodded. “That could be true for each of us.”
He glanced at Alex and saw that he was looking at the door through which Barb had left with Munoz. His friend had to be wondering if he should be the one taking her back to the resort. He knew he’d be thinking that way.
“Are you okay, Alex?” he asked.
“Yeah,” he sighed. “Let’s just get this over with.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” said Chloe.
With that, Manny opened the cover of the combined case files. The rest of the BAU, and Chloe, followed suit as they began the trek into a world they’d traveled numerous times before. Yet, that landscape changed constantly because the author of this kind of heinous behavior had concepts based totally on their discernment of reality. That was the trick, nonetheless, finding out what made these unsubs tick.
Staring at the first set of photos, Manny ran his hand through his hair. His thoughts immediately reflected what his instincts had already grasped.
What were these folks thinking after they were hit with the stark realization that they were about to die? Of regrets not expressed and apologies not made? Was God real? Have I served my purpose here? Will I see my loved ones? Why me?
Manny fought for his ever-increasing emotional purchase. These photos revealed people, human beings who aspired to live a decent life. The images allowed them to look back with satisfaction when old age made its inevitable appearance.
Reflecting a moment on his own reality again, he knew those musings, and much more, had riffled through each of the victim’s heads.
A distorted reality? Is that what this desolation was about? He bit his lip and began the journey from the emotional to the more analytical profiler mode that proved a conundrum in every sense of the word. He wondered, for the millionth time, if his ability to turn off the sympathy and concentrate on the facts and actions made him less human.
His almost-involuntary glance at Chloe, and all she represented in his life, said “no.” His love for her and Jen and Ian defied any thoughts of him lacking in humanity. Quite the opposite. Love, or perhaps the lack of it, defined us all. He was simply well equipped for what he did. Although he wondered why God would equip anyone with tools like he and the BAU possessed to solve crimes like these. Those abilities could send one on a fast track to a rubber room.
Manny slowly turned the pages of the file containing the first victim’s pictures and corresponding reports. He let out a breath as his eyes darted toward the gaping wound at the rib cage just below where the heart once existed.
Then to the blank eyes that saw nothing.
Then to the ancient bowl that contained remnants of that heart that once provided life.
He saw it all in a blink that felt like eons.
He continued to turn the pages until the case file was semi-implanted into his brain. He repeated the process with the next three files, which were remarkably similar in detail. They were related in another way that was impossible to escape; each of the victims screamed for justice to be delivered. He prayed the men and women in this room could help.
At the end of the thick folder were a few details of the latest kidnap victim, but he decided to follow his own advice and stick with the details of the murders, for now.
Munoz had obviously gone through the process of having the reports and notes translated into English, although some of the paperwork was still difficult to read. Another example showing Munoz was doing his best to stay on top of this investigation.
The others were progressing through the information. There were a few disgusted grunts. At one point, he heard Sophie swear, then again, but his crew stayed on task. They would all see something the others had not focused on, and that mix would be essential to finding this killer, as always. The only thing missing from this BAU gathering was Josh Corner and his insight.
Going back to the beginning of the file, Manny slowed his pace the second time through, which was his own personal custom. Yet the impressions and analysis from what he’d seen were already forming a portrait from the void of nebulous facts and details that filled this case. Obviously, the killings were related and ritualistic.
Each victim, three males and one female, had been killed the exact same way. Each photo was unique, but remarkably similar, right down to the length of the incisions.
He’d done a little research on the Mayans and their habits while getting ready for this trip, but these weren’t the type of details he’d been researching. He knew, as was the case in most ancient and some modern cultures, there were different acts and sacrifices for different prayer requests to particular gods. These killings seemed to fit that pattern.
The island of Cozumel had been a gathering place for fertilization rituals, for females, among others, in which most Mayan women in the region gladly participated. They came to deliver proper respect and offerings to a goddess whose name he couldn’t recall at the moment, to insure the prosperity of a large family.
I must be getting old.
He reached for one of the books Munoz had left and began searching the colored three-by-five cards, which had particular passages bookmarked. After pulling a few cards, he found what he was looking for. The goddess’s name was
Ixchel. It translated to “she of the rainbows.”
As he read the text, he learned that she was depicted as a peaceful deity that represented fertility, midwifery, and medicine, but was subject to the will of greater gods and powers, particularly Itzamná, the Mayan creator god and god of fire.
He sat up straighter. This god wasn’t the only one that held spiritual power over Ixchel. The god Kukulcán, a colorfully feathered serpent divinity, who seemed to be a co-creator with Itzamná, was also powerful. The description of this god was ubiquitous and sketchy; nevertheless, he was credited with numerous traits. The one attribute that got Manny’s attention was the possibility that he resided over sacrifices as a god of war.
Scowling at the perceived image of the god, he closed the book and flipped back a few pages in the case file to a two-page spread, which contained several pictures of the surrounding area, maybe six feet from the second victim’s head resting on the sacrificial altar.
The second picture on the right side of the page showed two feathers, one blue and one green. Each was approximately the same length. That was telling enough, but the Mayan symbol just to the right of those feathers forced him to lean even closer to the photo.
He then turned back to the book and pulled the page showing the image of Kukulcán he had just reviewed. He moved it closer to the photo that Munoz’s people had taken at the crime scene. He ran his finger over both images several times but wasn’t totally convinced he was right.
“Alex. Slide your magnifying glass over to me please.”
Alex shrugged, started to reach into his pocket, looked at the prostheses that served as his left hand, then switched to his right. He extracted the glass and slid it across the table.
“What did you see, almost?” Alex asked.
“I’ll tell you in a minute.”
Manny ran the glass over the photo, staring until if felt like his eyes would burst from their sockets.
It took a few moments, but his heart skipped a beat when certainty showed its face.
