Caribbean Fire

by Rick Murcer

  “No, I don’t. He might want us to think that way so we stick with the premise he was sacrificing to be blessed each morning. But I saw something else at the first murder scene that didn’t really make sense to me.”

  “Which was?” said Sophie.

  “There was a small, block stone that showed an image of one of the major Mayan gods, who doubled as the god of war. That should never be in the location it was in, given the type of altar this one was intended to be. I believe our killer put the carving in that spot in the wall. I think he actually took out a stone and replaced it with that one. The scrapings around the stone look fresh, and the stone looks a trifle newer,” said Manny.

  “Is that what got your attention when you asked for Alex’s magnifying glass?” asked Dean.

  “It was.”

  “Why would he do that?” asked Sophie.

  “You tell me.”

  Sophie’s wheels were always turning, but this time they were racing. Her eyes darted around the table, and then she settled on Manny.

  “Okay. A god-of-war offering might indicate the killer was at war with someone and might want to be blessed in that war. That concept’s not far from some of the practices in Asian cultures,” she said.

  “What else?” asked Manny.

  “The fact that he spent time putting the stone where it was means he probably knew it would be seen . . . or else he’s really new at this and simply screwed up.”

  “Since that one was his first murder and the other victims were found in less conspicuous locations, I vote for mistake,” said Chloe.

  “I’m not sure yet, but it could be,” said Manny.

  “If that first one was a screw-up, and he’s maintained his pattern since then, it means he’s far more comfortable in the private surrounding than in a public setting,” said Sophie.

  “That could be a reflection of his personality, so it adds to the puzzle,” said Manny. “But let’s go back to the war concept. Why do wars happen?”

  “Because politicians feel safe in those damned chairs and thousand-dollar suits and can send grunts to do their dirty work,” said Sophie.

  “That’s partly true, but politics aside, wars are fought because someone perceived a wrongdoing from another party, right?” said Manny.

  “True. So this is a war?” asked Chloe.

  “I don’t know. It’s worth consideration though. He could simply be another deranged killer that has his own reasons. The key will be if the Mexican police can find a link to the victims. Plus there are two more inconsistences that get my attention.”

  “Do tell,” said Alex.

  “The photos with the feathers in them . . . the feathers are different colors and lengths. That could be significant in terms of where they came from and what they were used for,” answered Manny.

  “Munoz’s people should be able to do the legwork and find out who makes the feathers. That should be easy,” said Alex.

  “They will, I’m sure. The other situation that seems odd to me is: why do two of the victims have Mayan jewelry around their necks and the others do not? Why not garnish them all the same way? Anyone who goes to this length, in their warped thinking, would likely do something like that to each victim.”

  “A different message for these two?” asked Sophie.

  “Maybe. I’ll make sure Munoz’s people analyze the necklaces and their intent, if he’s not already on it.”

  Manny finished off the tea and closed the file, but his mind was restless, like they’d missed something. He wondered again about the way the killer had deviated from his pattern with the jewelry. It didn’t fit. Sophie interrupted his thinking.

  “Wait, I know that look. You think those inconsistencies are intentional, don’t you?” asked Sophie.

  She was right on again. “It could be. Of course, that begs the question why. Someone this meticulous doesn’t make mistakes like that. He must have a reason. Maybe even to persuade us to chase our tails some. I’ll throw it into the report to Munoz, but I think we’re ready to get him a profile.”

  “So let’s get this right. We have a man with ridiculous knowledge of the Mayan tradition, who may not be that big, sort of young, may have had a limp or some shit, makes mistakes on purpose, and randomly kills people because he’s at war with them? Right?”

  Manny laughed. “You’re pretty much right on, but I’ll add a few more details based on what you’ve all deduced.”

  He glanced around the table and started to thank everyone, but before he did, he was struck with something Sophie said. He swore under his breath.

  “What?” asked Dean.

  “Damn it. I missed something,” said Manny, scanning the group. “These aren’t random murders at all. He knew each one of these people.”

  CHAPTER-22

  For the third time, Haley Rose reached for her phone to call Chloe. She was no cop, but she was smart enough to know that the theft of Stacie’s car and the subsequent drive-by of this house was no fluke. Fishy was fishy and, in her experience, usually led to more than an innocent coincidence. Things like that could be totally different than they appeared to be. She’d learned that lesson the hard way in Galway, more than once.

  Taking a long look at Jen holding Ian and kissing his neck, which caused him to belly laugh, she wondered again if her wisdom was sound. Maybe the drive-by was nothing after all—just some happenstance forcing her own mistrust to take control of her still bruised emotional state.

  After debating again whether to bother Chloe and eventually Manny, she put the cell phone in her pocket.

  Losing Gavin in Las Vegas those months ago hadn’t helped her outlook on life, and she had to throw that in the mix. They hadn’t actually been an item, but the man had been comfortable to be with. In her book, that was a building block for a serious relationship, something she didn’t have much luck with. Not even a secret kiss of the Blarney Stone had delivered on its promise.

  After all she’d been through, maybe she was still a smidgen distraught.

  Maybe not.

  The look in Jen’s eyes had been remarkably Manny-like. No fear, simply pain at what had happened to her friend. But there was something other than that. There was anger. It was simmering—no question—but well controlled.

  Jen’s complex emotional response had been the driving force for Haley Rose to pick up the phone in the first place. Yet, how could she bother them and most assuredly ruin their vacation with a few maybes and possibilities? They got so little time away together.

  But what if. . . .

  She ran her lip against her teeth. She couldn’t make this decision alone. She didn’t have to.

  “Jen. I’ve been stewing over this for too long and need your help. What do you want me to do, darlin’?”

  Jen stopped rocking Ian and turned toward Haley Rose. Her eyes were steady and her face relaxed.

  “Well, we called the LPD and told them what we saw. They said they’d send patrols every once in a while and put out an APB on the car. But we both know that’s because of Dad and Chloe, mostly. So maybe they think it’s no big deal.”

  “That’s probably the truth, girl.”

  Shifting Ian to her other hip, Jen kissed him again. He laughed again. “We can’t go see Stacie at the hospital until tomorrow, and it’s getting close to Ian’s bedtime anyway. Even if you call Dad or Chloe, when could they get here? Twelve or fifteen hours at least? Unless they get the BAU jet to go get them and bring them back, that’s still eight or nine hours, right?”

  “Aye, you’ve been thinking it through, I see.”

  “Just putting a little common sense to it, that’s all. The chance of this guy being, like, a problem for us is slim.”

  Jen bent down and stroked Sampson’s head. “I thinking messing with this version of the Big Dog wouldn’t be healthy for anyone either.”

  “Another good point,” agreed Haley Rose. This girl could go to work for law enforcement already.

  Striding across the floor, Jen handed Ian
to Haley Rose and then disappeared down the hall toward Manny and Chloe’s bedroom. She returned a minute later with something in each hand. Haley Rose felt her pulse climb and clutched Ian closer.

  Laying the items on the table, Jen stepped back and smiled. “We have these, just in case.”

  “It’s been a spell for me, Jennifer Williams. I’m not sure I can handle one.”

  Jen picked up the Berretta 92s and managed it like she was born with one in her hand. “Dad made sure I was an expert shot after we . . . we lost mom. I’ve got more training hours than most cops. I know how to use them. But you used to shoot, right?”

  “I did. It made me feel safer with Chloe, her cousin Meav, and me in the inn.”

  “It’s still the same, Granny. Point, click off the safety, and protect yourself.”

  Haley Rose glanced at the table and then back to Jen. It was impossible to stifle the smile that spread like morning sunlight across her face. The girl wasn’t going to have any trouble with unwanted advances from young men in college. Usually teenage girls have a measure of trepidation when it came to discussing issues like shooting someone to protect themselves.

  Not with this one. Yet, preparing to shoot someone was a far cry from pulling the trigger, she suspected.

  Still, she felt a surge of pride accompanied with a twinge of sadness. Growing up faster than one needed to grow up was always a crap shoot. Yet, Jen seemed to accept the realm of being the child of a gifted cop. Maybe she was even destined to follow him into the world of protecting universes and fighting evil forces bent on having their way.

  Shifting the now sleeping Ian over her shoulder, Haley Rose reached for one of the weapons and was surprised how comfortable it felt in her hand.

  “Okay, young one, your logic is good. Between Sampson, you, and me, we’ll make it a day to regret if anyone tries to make life tough for us.”

  “I’m sure he won’t, but it never hurts to be ready, like Dad says.”

  “Your dad’s right. So let’s put this wee one to bed, finish baking those cookies, and order a pizza. I’m hungry, and my sweet tooth is yelling for a fix,” said Haley Rose.

  Jen’s face was fairly beaming. “Don’t forget that butter pecan ice cream,” she said, laughing.

  “Oh my, yes. We’ll be fat but happy and sassy, don’t ya know.”

  With that, Haley Rose took Ian into his room, and Jen called the number to order pizza.

  “It’ll be a good night,” Haley Rose whispered to young Ian, gently settling him in his crib.

  **********

  He stood behind the large lilac bush, wringing his hands. The fragrance was one he knew well and, he had to admit, one of his favorites, even though it had been years since he’d actually enjoyed the presence of a live Lilac. It was just one more reason to believe God had intended him and Haley Rose to be together.

  It had taken some effort to get this close to her, especially since the teenager had no doubt called the police after he took her friend’s car. He hadn’t really meant to rough the girl up, but she wasn’t cooperating and that damn pepper spray only served to piss him off.

  Kids needed a good smacking around from time to time anyway. That’s what his papa had said. He was no worse for wear, was he?

  Moving a step to his left, he got a better view of the kitchen window and Haley Rose standing there with that teenage brat and the baby over her shoulder. He thought his heart might burst. Each time he saw her, his love for her seemed to grow in ways he hardly understood.

  Absence truly did make the heart fonder.

  Watching until she disappeared and the young one closed the curtains, he moved from the backyard to the street two houses down and climbed into the four-wheel-drive truck he’d relieved from another idiot who had far too much handed to him.

  Turning on the radio, he found a station that was speaking of lost loves and songs dedicated to them.

  How appropriate. But his love, their love, wouldn’t be lost much longer, now would it?

  “No, sweet Haley Rose. Not much longer at all,” he whispered.

  CHAPTER-2

  3

  “Great. Just when I thought we were getting our collective asses out of here,” said Sophie, sitting back into her chair.

  “We’ll be gone soon,” said Manny.

  He reached over and squeezed Chloe’s hand. “We’ve still got time to hit the pool or beach, and I can still see you in one of those awesome swimsuits.”

  “Lucky you,” she said with a wry smile.

  Manny’s anticipation climbed another level. He wondered if she would always have that effect on him. He hoped so.

  “I think I can safely speak for all of the heathen men in this room that I’d like to see all of our women in a bathing suit at the beach,” said Dean.

  Panning the room, Manny couldn’t help feeling like he’d struck gold when it came to his BAU members who doubled as his close friends. Dedication was an understated word when applied to this group.

  “Agreed. So let’s wrap this up. To do that we need to look at the unsub’s motivation.”

  “I thought we did,” said Sophie.

  “Partially. We need to look at the rest of his thought agenda. Wars aren’t waged against random foes, like Sophie’s statement indicated. Wars typically are waged against a particular target, a population or a segment of people, for instance.”

  “So his selection of victims isn’t based as much on opportunity as selection? That’s certainly not unheard of. We’ve experienced those types of killers before,” said Chloe.

  “Most spree killers are motivated by bloodlust. Serial killers usually have a type of victim in mind, but their logic can be so twisted that it’s impossible to discover the reasons for their actions entirely,” said Manny.

  “I see what you’re saying. This guy is cutting two paths that don’t usually fit together,” said Sophie.

  “Right. Spree killing is not serial killing in most instances. But through the god-of-war carving and the succinct pattern he uses, even though this has happened very quickly, I think he’s targeted his victims and there’s a common denominator.”

  “There doesn’t seem to be any mutual demographic that I can see. Other than living on Cozumel,” said Alex. “Two of the victims weren’t even born in Mexico.”

  “That’s true, but there’s something that connects them,” said Manny.

  He hesitated, wanting to take this angle much further, but the red flag—time—kept grabbing his attention.

  He glanced at his watch. Three hours thirty-five minutes. It was time to wrap this up.

  We’re here for a profile, and that’s it, Williams.

  Pulling the phone out of his island shirt, he dialed Munoz.

  The phone barely had a chance to ring before he heard Munoz’s voice.

  “Inspector. We’re ready,” he said. Then he put the phone in his pocket.

  “That’s it? We don’t dig deeper? You know, like where this guy might find these people and all of that other stuff?” asked Sophie.

  “We’ve done our part. We’re not the investigators; we’re giving Munoz another tool to work with. Finding the link with these people is not our job. And honestly, as much as this case intrigues me, I’m on vacation and want to feel what that’s like.”

  “Good God. The world just may have stopped spinning,” said Alex, grinning.

  Manny got the message and returned the grin. “Isn’t that a song or something? Listen. I can do this. You all just have to help me through the door when we’re done, okay?”

  The door opened, and Munoz, followed by two other men and one woman, approached the table.

  “You and your people have seen into the crystal ball, Agent Williams?” asked Munoz.

  “Perhaps some. This killer is unique with how he operates, but we think we can help you narrow the path to find him.”

  Munoz spoke Spanish to his associates, and they immediately took out notepads and pens.

  “Please share with us.
”

  “He’s between twenty-five and forty. Not a large man, but has strong hands and arms. That makes us believe he may have had or still has some orthopedic problems, based on the footprint pictures. He’s extremely meticulous and knows the Mayan culture like few do. He could be an expert or an amateur expert. I’d check places like the college science departments. You have museums; maybe he works in one. Of course, he could be here on vacation or could have come in from the mainland each day, but I believe, because of the way he knows the island, he lives here.”

  “I suspected some of this. His knowledge is extraordinary,” said Munoz, nodding.

  Reaching to the file of the first victim, Manny pointed at the image there.

  “It appears that he changed out one of the carvings at the altar of the first victim, and it shows the god of war instead of the plain stone that should be there. That could make this apparent spree action more like a war. Not a typical spree killer, but one who has a target group.”

  “Who knows the reasons for this kind of psychological snap? But something set him off, and he has his own logic for picking his victims. We believe that means there’s a link between the victims, and you’ll have to discover that link in order to get to him, I suspect.”

  “You have no idea what that link could be?” asked Munoz.

  Manny shook his head. “I think you’ll have to dig into the background of each of the victims for that. You have the tools. I can even call Josh Corner and have him get the research team in Quantico involved. Not sure it will help, but it might.”

  “Thank you. That would be helpful. Anything else?”

  Scanning the group, Manny exhaled, running his hand through his hair.

  “I think he’s Caucasian. Not native. He is obviously deeply entrenched in the idea of the Mayan culture. Almost obsessed. I believe if someone were exposed to the island’s purposes and past, they wouldn’t be as devoted to the ways and precision of the sacrifices. Fertility prayers and offerings are a mile away from the ravages of war. I also believe him to be a bit of an introvert based on the possible leg issues. Most folks with physical ailments are not happy to be seen in public. That means, in my estimation, he doesn’t exactly fit the typical outgoing personality that many of these killers learn to adopt.”