Caribbean Fire

by Rick Murcer

  Centuries of rain and weathering had taken its toll on the carving, but there was no mistaking the shadowy image in the photo.

  What was the god of war doing in a temple of fertility and peace?

  CHAPTER-20

  For the third time in ten minutes, while Ian wiggled on her lap, Haley Rose watched as Jen stood from the sofa, walked over to the bay window, pulled the beige curtains to the side, and searched the street of the quiet neighborhood. Each time, her step-granddaughter clutched her cell phone, turning it over and over in her hand like a stack of chips at a Texas Hold Em table.

  Haley Rose had seen Jen do that trick a few times in the past, when she was anxious about something at school or talking about her deceased mother.

  Neither of those situations had arisen today.

  “What are ya doing, lass? You’ll be making your old Maimeo more daft than I already am if you keep that up.”

  Jen began to close the curtains, looked one last time, and drew them shut. She stood by the window, staring at her sandals. “Sorry, Granny,” she answered as she plopped down on the sofa. “Just a little of my dad in me, I guess.”

  “Whatever does that mean?”

  Haley Rose watched Jen’s face as she seemed to be debating how to choose her words. Then Jen shrugged.

  “Well, if paranoia is a family trait thing, then I’ve inherited the mother lode.”

  “Do tell.”

  Jen sat beside her. “Okay. When I went to get the mail, this car drove by real slow, and like, I thought it was my friend, Stacie Wells. She has a car just like that. Anyway, I started to wave, and I actually thought the car might stop because it was going so slow. Except it wasn’t her.

  “So it wasn’t Stacie. Is that a problem?” asked Haley Rose.

  Again, Jen was taking time to pick the proper words. Yep. Just like that dad of hers.

  “I’m not sure. He was older, like in his fifties.”

  “Careful girl. Careful.”

  Jen tilted her head and smiled. Yet, she stayed focused. “Not like your fifties. He was a lot . . . I don’t know . . . like, harder? He wasn’t bad looking, I guess, and he had long, gray hair, but his grin and his stare . . . I guess they were just kind of creepy, ya know? Plus there was something covering his license plate so I couldn’t see the number.”

  Haley Rose nodded, trying to hide the thoughts spawned by an imagination that had instantly and uncontrollably rambled to one of those places parents, and in this case, grandparents, feared the most.

  A man watching your granddaughter so closely that she could make out his facial expressions was disconcerting, to say the least. Add to that the fact Jen had been carrying Ian when it happened, and one could call it a recipe for panic.

  “It could have been anything, Jen. He may have been lost, or maybe he thought he recognized you, right? I don’t know about the plate situation. Maybe some kid was pranking him so the cops would pull him over. That’s not a new trick.”

  Haley Rose’s voice sounded confident, she hoped.

  “I suppose. You’re probably right,” answered Jen, releasing a breath.

  She began flipping her phone in her hand again as Sampson came into the room and sat by Jen’s feet, leaning against her leg. No doubt he sensed her anxiety.

  “But?”

  “It’s just . . . well, I don’t know about that, granny. My dad says go with your gut when you’re not sure what to make out of something. I don’t know what that man was doing, but I don’t think he was a good guy looking for directions or anything.”

  Moving Ian to her other knee, Haley Rose got a better look at Jen’s expression. Manny had a gift for the “feel” about people. It wasn’t a far reach to think that his daughter had inherited Manny’s insight to people’s emotions and their intentions.

  She saw a trace of Chloe in Jen’s expression as well. Chloe, while at home in Galway, would often make some of the same observations about people. And she’d been right the majority of the time.

  Her angst rose.

  Changing dirty diapers, feeding Ian, watching him laugh, rocking him to sleep, eating pizza and cookies, feeding the Big Dog, and shopping with Jen had been her complete agenda for the week. She’d been prepared for those situations, but a possible stalker or some pervert who had a hunger for young girls or babies was not on her list of things to do. Not even remotely.

  She took a deep breath.

  “Jen. I believe you, but I think this was a random situation, so let’s not get our pretty new lace panties in a bunch, right?”

  Her granddaughter looked at her for a moment then broke into a real grin. “Good Lord, you’re right. I’m sorry for maybe, like, overreacting.”

  “Given what’s happened to you and Manny the last few years of your life, I’d be way worse than you. So let’s bake a batch of those oatmeal-raisin cookies that I can almost taste, and try on those new clothes we spent your dad’s money on.”

  Jen jumped up, smiling. “Oh. That sounds great. I’ll get the mix out of the pantry.”

  “Mix? Oh, girl. We don’t do mixes where I come from, don’t ya know. You are about to get the baking lesson of your—”

  The ring of Jen’s cell phone interrupted Haley Rose.

  Jen looked down at the display, and her smile grew wider.

  “Speak of the devil. It’s Stacie. Wait ’til I tell her about that car and stuff. I’ll be right there, Granny.”

  Haley Rose felt her tension disappear as she took Ian to the kitchen, put him in his high chair, and walked to the pantry. She dug out the flour and a box of oatmeal, grabbed a bag of raisins, and then returned to the table.

  This baking lesson was going to be far better than worrying about some psycho driving by the house.

  Reaching for the cupboard door next to the table, she rattled two pots around before she found the cookie sheet, checked to make sure it was clean, then turned back to the table.

  “These cookies—” She stopped in midsentence when she saw the expression on Jen’s face. Her granddaughter stood in the archway leading from the family room, her face pale, and her eyes moist. The phone was clutched so tightly in her right hand that her knuckles had morphed white.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Haley Rose.

  “That was . . . was Stacie’s mom. Stacie got mugged this morning after track practice. She’s okay. But she’s in the hospital right now.”

  “Good God. I’m so sorry.” She rushed over and hugged her.

  “That’s not all.”

  “What?” said Haley Rose, putting Jen at arm’s length.

  Wiping at tears, Jen looked her square in the eyes.

  “The mugger stole her car.”

  CHAPTER-21

  “Wait for the rest of us to finish, will ya?” said Sophie, giving Manny one of her infamous evil-eye looks.

  “I’m waiting. I’m only doing what you all should do. I found something that doesn’t fit, at least with what I understand about the Mayans. You know how this works. Pieces and then a completed puzzle, we hope.”

  “Well, do it quieter. I’m concentrating here,” said Sophie.

  His loquacious friend then looked around the table, closed her file with a thump, and put her pen on the table.

  “I’ve seen enough though. How about the rest of you?”

  Chloe followed suit by shutting her file, then pushed another of the books that Munoz had provided toward the center of the table. “I’m ready. I might be rusty, but I’ve got an idea or three.”

  “Yeah, you mean the kind that will get us back to the pool, colorful drinks, and the ocean? That kind of idea?” asked Sophie.

  “There’s that,” she answered, smiling.

  Alex glanced at Dean and raised his eyebrows. “How about it, Dean? You ready?”

  Dean didn’t answer right away. He stroked his beard, adjusted his teal-paisley driving hat, glanced at his notes, and then pursed his lips.

  He flipped back to an already dog-eared page in one of his files, shook
his head ever so slowly, then shifted in his seat.

  “Damn, boy. You look like a fifty-year-old who needs a potty break,” said Sophie.

  Her husband looked up and offered a small grin. “Well, that makes sense. I have to pee, but that’s not the driving force behind my apprehension.”

  “Want me to hold your hand and take you to the potty so we can get on with this? I’ll make it worth your while later,” said Sophie.

  “Hey, best offer all day, but I think I can manage.”

  Manny knew there were subtle signs in these files that could cause a forensic expert like Dean to be reluctant to discuss the cases. Alex’s action had displayed some of that behavior as well, but Dean was hung up on something more plausible than the general distastefulness of the cases.

  “What is the driving force then?” asked Manny.

  Dean turned to glance at Alex, then he focused on Manny. “I’m not quite sure; there are circumstances and physical evidence that doesn’t seem to fit, based on what I understand about hot weather and physical evidence.”

  “I saw a couple of things too,” said Alex. “But our job is not to critique the Mexican police. We’re here to profile, right?”

  “We are. So let’s give them our best and get out of here. Right after we take a break,” said Manny.

  After a five-minute break, the five huddled around the table with full glasses of iced tea and a batch of sweet bisquets, still warm from the bakery. The heavenly aroma reminded Manny of how late in the day it was becoming—he was ready for an early dinner.

  He piled two more on his plate and pulled his notes to his right side.

  “Ready?”

  “Hell yes,” said Sophie. “You go first and we’ll fill in the blanks or whatever.”

  “Sounds good.”

  Exhaling, Manny began, although it felt extremely odd to profile a killer that he had no real opportunity to investigate, let alone bring to justice.

  “This killer is meticulous. He’s a male, between twenty-five and forty. Not tremendously big, but because of the way he pulled the hearts from the victims’ chests, he has strength in his hands. I’d say he works with them or has training that requires that kind of hand strength to compete.”

  “Like what?” asked Alex.

  “Maybe martial arts or something similar. There is another possibility, I guess. He could have spent some time in a wheelchair or on crutches. Those are specific conditions that could cause immense strength in hands and arms.”

  “That may fit with one thing I’ve seen in a couple of the photos,” said Dean.

  “You mean the way a couple of the footprints show a subtle pressure on the outside of his feet?” asked Manny.

  “Yeah, that utterly clear imprint near the foot of the first victim’s murder scene indicates that he could walk with an ever so slight limp,” answered Dean.

  “Or that he had some orthopedic problem with a knee or ankle,” said Alex.

  “So far we have a man of average- to below-average size, who has had or still has a problem with walking. Anything else with the physical?” asked Manny.

  “Yeah, maybe. The report on page five shows a couple of hair sample pictures. Although the DNA test had no hit, there is a difference between the victim’s hair and a few found at the scene,” said Dean.

  Everyone turned to the page Dean had mentioned, and Manny saw what he was speaking about immediately. Running his hand over the photos, he shook his head.

  Damn. I missed that one.

  “I don’t— Ohhh, you mean the two on the left are more curly or wavy?” said Chloe.

  “Yes. That’s not all. The color is not as dark, as black as the victim’s. That might mean the killer has a different genetic origin than the victim, who was born in Mexico. It’s not unheard of to have some genetic diversity in any closed population, but it could be something.”

  Alex leaned over, resting his prosthesis on his file. “So are you recommending a DNA test to determine the proper haplogroup?”

  “Yep.”

  “What the hell is that?” asked Sophie.

  “I’ll tell you,” Dean interjected. “Parents pass on certain genes to their kids. Within that genic make-up is a group of genes that can determine what ethnic group you may have originated from. You know, what area of the world your earliest ancestors came from.”

  “So there is a chance that I’m not Asian? You mean I could be like Scandinavian?” said Sophie, batting her eyes.

  Manny laughed out loud, joined by the others.

  “I’m not sure I’m ready for a short Scandinavian woman with dark hair and a smartass tongue who tosses throwing stars,” said Manny.

  “But you’re okay with an Asian woman who does, right?” said Sophie.

  “Only one Asian woman who does those things. I don’t think the law enforcement community could handle two,” said Manny with wink.

  “Yeah, and don’t forget it,” said Sophie.

  “At any rate, that might give us more insight to the physical appearance of the killer.”

  “So you think we can add Caucasian to the mix?” asked Chloe.

  “Yeah, I do,” said Dean. “It’s something more for them to look at.”

  “Anything else with the physical side of this killer?” asked Manny.

  He waited. The silence suggested it was time to move on.

  “This man is bright. He understands timing. The reports say the police are still checking for any video evidence of the kidnappings, but he seems to avoid public and private surveillance cameras and congested areas. That makes him an opportunist or a well-organized unsub. Even though the police haven’t found a link with the victims yet, there could be one.”

  “Tell me why you think that, over just random kidnappings,” said Chloe.

  Manny felt the enthusiasm build as the killer’s puzzling motivation became clearer.

  “His methods are very precise. Each incision, each placement of the bowls where he burned the hearts, every knot he used to tie the hands and feet were virtually identical. It is as if he practiced and practiced so that when the time came, emotion wouldn’t play a role in his decision to kill these folks. Even his kidnapping method was identical, with the exception of Samuel Rozen’s.”

  “You mean with the way he subdued them or how he isolated them?” asked Sophie, her eyes intense.

  Manny nodded. “Yes, both of those. He didn’t use chloroform, according to the toxicology report; instead he used bromoform, which is a little more harsh but easier to find outside the U.S.”

  “Hell, if he were bright enough, he could have created his own concoction,” Alex added. “To do that, he would have had to know the victim’s weight so he knew how many parts per million to mix in the solution.”

  “Not to mention access to the chemicals and a place to create it,” said Dean.

  “The potential to do that, mix the bromoform, makes this killer one smart cookie,” said Alex, leaning back with a scowl. “And that makes me nervous.”

  “Remember, we’re talking possibilities here. Having said that, I’m sixty-forty this sicko is bright enough to blend the bromoform correctly. That adds another layer to this one, but also could narrow down the search parameters,” said Manny.

  “An academic?” asked Chloe.

  “Possibly. There are a lot of bright people out there and the Internet is the giver of all knowledge. Let’s keep going though. I want to continue to focus on his precision,” said Manny.

  “Yeah, good idea. I hear the pool calling my name,” said Sophie.

  “Me too. The markings and the irritation on the nose and mouth of each victim shows me he probably used the same cloth to cover each victim’s face,” said Manny.

  “That would indicate he was comfortable and feels safe keeping everything to the same pattern,” said Chloe. “So I’m aboard with all of that. He’s a total creature of routine.”

  “As they say, you can write it down. As if we needed more proof, he kept the rituals the sam
e. And though it’s almost impossible to tell the exact moment of death, each one of these folks died within a few moments of the incision,” said Manny.

  “The blood curation analysis around the wounds says you’re spot-on with that,” said Alex.

  “None of that indicates a relationship to the victims. It just shows he killed them the same way,” said Chloe.

  “You’re right,” said Manny. “He could simply be looking to act out.”

  After taking another swallow from his tea, Manny reached out and pulled one of the reference books Munoz had provided.

  “I looked up some of the ritualistic processes he uses, and this man seems to be completely in tune with those methods associated with Mayan sacrifice. Right down to the ceremonial burning of the heart. He knows exactly what he’s doing. As much as he tried, he’s still not perfectly consistent with all of the victim’s circumstances.”

  “Like what?” asked Sophie.

  “Fair question, so let’s look closer. There are some minor inconsistences, like body position and the fact he was more physical with the men. For another example, the locations of each murder are remote parts of the island but not so far off the beaten path that they weren’t inaccessible. It looks like he was trying to hide them. The exception seemed to involve the first murder in San Gervasio. That’s a pretty public arena.”

  “Could it be he was not hiding the bodies so much as hiding what he was doing?” asked Chloe.

  “That’s a great point,” said Manny. “None of the bodies took more than five hours to locate, if the time of deaths are correct. And each was found in the morning hours, which on the surface might indicate he was offering the sacrifices to a particular god.”

  “How does the time matter?” asked Dean.

  “Well, if he were offering his worship to the fertility goddess Ixchel, there wouldn’t be a particular time and most certainly not human sacrifice. If these were sunrise offerings, he would have been making his sacrifices to the Mayan sun god, Kinich Ahau.”

  “But you don’t think that was it,” said Alex.

  Manny shook his head. He was always surprised at how discussing details of cases cleared the muddy waters swirling in his head. There was odd magic at work to be sure.