by Rick Murcer
CHAPTER-26
Watching how Munoz moved, how he took control without appearing as if he had, Sophie found it plausible that this man, this inspector, was indeed as gifted as Manny suspected. The more insane the circumstances, the more Munoz slowed things down; and it didn’t get much crazier than this. His mannerisms were extremely Manny-like, maybe better.
The inspector pointed to the raft, directing three of the blues to bring it all the way up to the beach. Sophie held her breath as she got a closer examination of the dead man and woman fastened to the bottom of the rubber boat.
What kind of sick bitch dreams up this stuff?
After all that she’d seen during her time as a cop, that question was still valid in her mind. She was starting to believe that maybe these unsubs weren’t really people at all. The Underworld had to be missing a few demons.
Each of the two victims had an incision under their ribs. Just like the others. Obviously the same killer had been at work, with a different twist.
Despite the fact that seagulls had been picking at the victims, their bodies were relatively intact. The man was missing an eye, and the woman’s lower lip was virtually gone. Once Sophie got past the other missing chunks of flesh over the pair’s arms, faces, and legs, they resembled actual humans.
Outrageous as it seemed, she felt a calm come over her while she began to compartmentalize the situation in the way Manny had taught her. It wasn’t easy, ever, but she’d developed a better understanding of what it meant to remove the emotion and start looking at the facts and details.
For a stint, at first, Sophie had thought her long-time friend had shown her how to develop this ability to solve murders more quickly. To make sure no detail was lost because of the physical appearance of the crime scene.
Maybe that had been true to some extent, but she realized Manny had been trying to protect her, to save whatever sanity she had left. She loved him for it, but . . .
Holding Dean’s hand, she stole another look at Manny. The torment in his eyes was almost unfair. That single look, one she’d perhaps never truly noticed before, revealed to her an epiphany that was almost overwhelming.
For Manny, it wasn’t simply that someone had committed a crime and had to be put away before they could do it again. It was more. This man, this profiler extraordinaire, truly cared for these victims. He’d never met them, never spoken with them, but he was heartbroken over the fact that he’d never have the chance. He hated that this killer had taken something from the world that wasn’t his to take.
She bit her lip in frustration at her own lack of understanding.
Damn. No wonder the man never got a good night’s sleep.
She sought his face again, and the look of anguish was gone. Just like that. It was replaced with sky-blue pools of determination. Add in a purposeful hand through his blond hair and Manny Williams was in full BAU gear.
A sudden sadness captured her heart.
His vacation was over.
There was only so much unopened alcohol one could expose an alcoholic to before the addiction was all that mattered. Manny was no alcoholic, but instead was driven by something entirely different. Was empathy an addiction? She supposed anything could be.
Manny had told her something once after they’d overeaten in celebration of ending a case, when she’d joked about getting fat right there on the spot. He said there wasn’t anything truly evil in itself. The way that particular object or obsession was used dictated its potential. Food was good. Too much food, not so good. A measure of sympathy was great. A boatload of that empathy could cause a madness she doubted she could truly understand.
The workaholic Guardian of the Universe, who was her closest friend, was no exception when it came to his vocation and purpose and how it related to addiction. She sighed softly.
Turning her back on the boat, the ocean, and even Dean, she walked directly to Manny gripping his arm with both hands.
“Can I have a word with your hot ass?”
His eyes fixed on hers, and if she’d had a scrotum, it would have grown rigid in a microsecond.
The chill assured that.
“Not now, Sophie.”
“Yeah now. You owe me.”
“Huh? For what?”
“’Cause I’ve been your friend for twelve years and that ain’t easy. So get your ass over to my office,” she said, nodding away from the group of cops and the BAU.
“Yes, you have. And I love you for that. But we’re staying right here.”
Manny’s voice carried that quality he invoked when it was truly time to listen. She wasn’t sure it was intentional, but the effect was impossible to ignore.
Holding his hand, Chloe stood silent, expressionless, reflecting nothing, but Sophie was sure she felt everything Manny was suffering.
“I need to speak to you all,” said Manny.
Sophie watched Alex, Barb, Dean, and Munoz step through a few feet of sand, drawing closer and eventually forming a tight circle. Sophie thought the action resembled a noose tightening around someone’s neck.
Resemble, hell . . . it was a noose. The question was whose.
“I spoke to the inspector after he arrived, and I’m afraid I have a little more work to do here,” he glanced at Chloe.
The fiery redhead’s countenance remained expressionless. Sophie was impressed. She was thinking of kicking Manny’s ass for Chloe.
“Since yesterday, Munoz’s people, and with the help of the FBI’s databases, have identified several possible unsubs who live on the island. He’s asked me to interview them, and I’ve agreed.”
The waves lapped slowly to shore, the only exception to the silence in the circle. Sophie wasn’t sure what everyone else was thinking, but the voice in her heart was screaming.
Enough was enough.
She began to speak, resisted, and then settled down the way Manny had taught her. He deserved to be heard, then she could run the throwing star up his rectum.
“Why in hell can’t you just leave it alone? You’ve done your part.”
Sophie snapped her head around. She didn’t expect the source of the comment to be who it was.
Manny looked at Barb with the unwavering expression of softness and determination that was his trademark. To Barb’s credit, her expression didn’t waver either.
“Good question Barb, and I’ll answer it.”
He walked over to the raft and the two bodies, pointing at the scene with a long finger.
“This wasn’t random. The killer did this with a purpose. The MO was the same, but why put them in a boat and anchor them just off this beach? This time of the morning? Why not in the jungle where all of the others were found?”
“Hey. You’re always saying we can’t put logic to illogical situations,” said Sophie, feeling the edge fall from her frustration. The man was going to tell them why, and she knew she wasn’t going to like it.
“True, I do. But we also know killers like this man have their own lucidity, their own set of rules or twisted logic that, in the end, identifies what they’re truly about. This spree killer has evolved into something else entirely, in my opinion. He’s gone completely against what is comfortable and expected for the kind of killer we profiled yesterday.”
“How?” asked Dean.
Manny shifted his feet in the sand and nodded. “He seemed content to work in the comfort of the dark and leave the bodies in more remote places. Even the first victim found on the altar at San Gervasio was placed on the ruins in the very back of the property. Now he takes the time to risk someone seeing him actually put the bodies on public display like this.”
“Did anyone? You know, see anything?” asked Alex.
“My people are still canvasing the area, but nothing so far,” said Munoz. “He may have come from the north, which is still fairly remote. We are checking out every possibility. He is, however, very clever.”
“You didn’t answer my question,” said Barb.
The sigh Manny released, int
entional or not, gave Sophie another peek into the torture inside Manny.
At that moment, her heart broke for him. He truly was haunted by his obedience to the demons only he could see.
Chloe moved closer to him. She had seen it too.
“Remember I said this display of the bodies was intentional? That his logic was his own?” asked Manny.
“Yes,” said Barb. “We all heard that.”
“I believe his intention was for us, the BAU or maybe just one of us, to see the bodies first.”
CHAPTER-27
Josh Corner sat at the antique mahogany table his wife had just finished restoring, eating his onion bagel, sipping his chai tea, and scrolling through the pictures on his phone of his two sons and his pregnant wife as they enjoyed the previous afternoon in the park at the end of their street. There was even a couple of silly selfies, one with each of his boys that caused him to laugh for the umpteenth time.
Charlie and Jake were now seven and six, growing like weeds and changing daily.
He took another long draw from his cup.
Once, several years ago, he had a t-shirt made from a picture of them. Both boys laughing like kids do at that age. Odd as it seemed, that shirt had brought some order to his chaotic existence.
“Time for another one,” he whispered, scrolling to the next shot. Josh supposed he’d better do it soon. It wouldn’t be cool in a year or so; his boys would most certainly remind him of that.
Touching the screen, he went to the next album and continued to treasure the pictures that stopped time and forbade the future to make an appearance. Each shot gave him another thankful reason that he’d listened to his “Manny” voice and taken the day off. The world had turned another revolution without him and all was well. Imagine that.
The vibration and synchronized sound that alerted him of a new text disturbed his thoughts.
Without looking at the source, he turned the phone on its face and finished his bagel. It was most certainly another day where his services would be required, but not just yet. A good bagel was hard to find, and he would enjoy this one until the savory end.
Five minutes later, he flipped the phone over and saw that Manny had texted him. He read the two-liner, frowned, read it again, and sensed his feel-good morning begin the process of totally disappearing.
Josh. I need some info and help with a couple of things.
Call me when you get this.
What the hell does he need my help for? I haven’t even sent him Munoz’s info yet.
“Shit. Munoz,” he said softly.
The man couldn’t wait one damn day? Hadn’t he asked the inspector to leave Manny and his BAU alone for one day, at least? Hadn’t Munoz said yes?
Josh slowly shook his head. Hell, maybe Munoz hadn’t agreed. The more he recalled their conversation, he was sure the inspector never said any such thing.
Reaching over to the other side of the table, he turned Tim Ellis’s latest Parish and Richards novel on his iPad over in his hands. He’d enjoyed much of it last night before he fell asleep in his chair. He’d fulfilled part of the promise to himself. He wondered when he’d have an opportunity to finish the story.
Placing the iPad face down, he studied Manny’s message a second time.
He knew the unrelenting sense of near desperation that sometimes accompanies cases like the one haunting Munoz. In fact, there were times, especially pre-Manny, that he would have taken almost any other resource than what the Bureau offered.
If he’d done the math correctly and this killer was a true spree killer, then there were probably six bodies instead of four by now, or there would be shortly.
A tinge of guilt tapped him on the shoulder. He’d delayed talking to Manny so the man could keep crazy at bay, but Munoz had acted to save lives. Maybe Munoz was right in his decision.
Shaking off the thought, he hit Manny’s number on the speed dial and waited. Maybe this had nothing to do with the crimes in Cozumel. Maybe his friends needed another couple of days to rest up.
“Yeah, and maybe the earth is flat,” he whispered.
The phone rang twice, then Manny answered.
“What kept you?”
“I was getting some more beauty sleep.”
“You’re going to need it,” said Manny.
Josh could almost see the grin on his face.
“Yep, especially at seven ten in the morning,” said Josh. He exhaled. “What’s up, Manny?”
“You probably know. Thanks for trying to give us a day without the sick part of the world getting in the way, but it didn’t work out so well.”
“Munoz?”
“Yes. He’s pretty persistent.”
“What happened?”
“We did a profile for him yesterday and thought we were finished. We had a wonderful dinner last night and expected today to be a beach-pool-margarita day.”
“And?” asked Josh, cringing.
“The two bodies in the raft outside our resort sort of changed our plans.”
“Manny, you can—”
“You know better than that. I, we, can’t just let this go. I think the message of where, how, and when the bodies were dumped is intended for us, the BAU, or at least for the cops . . . maybe. The way he did it suggests that. Or he’s just a daring dumbass that might go to the next level of his devolvement. Either way, I need some background checks on a list we’ve compiled. And something else.”
“I’m already reaching for the travel bag. I’ll bring the sunblock.”
“Thank you, Josh. One more thing. We didn’t bring any weapons.”
“Shit, Manny. Are you going to need them?”
“Maybe,” said Manny quietly.
Josh felt like he’d been punched in the stomach. Once again, this escape was turning into a workaholic’s dream. And becoming dangerous as well. Just damn great. No more vacations for any of them . . . ever. At least not with Manny.
On top of that, Chloe, not to mention Sophie, would probably shoot him and Manny and Munoz with one of the Glocks or Berettas he was bringing. He didn’t blame them.
“I’ll handle it.”
“Thanks. See you in a few hours.”
Manny hung up and left Josh staring at the phone.
“No rest for the weary,” he muttered, dropping the phone on the table.
Sliding the chair back, he started toward the bedroom where his wife slept, then stopped, turned back to the phone, and dialed another number.
“Are you ready to go?”
“Now? Yes sir, Agent Corner.”
“Meet me at the airport in one hour. We’re going to Cozumel.”
“Yes sir, I’ll be there. Cozumel to boot? Oh, hell yes.”
Josh hung up, knowing she’d be there before him.
“Welcome to your first ride with the BAU, Belle Simmons,” he said softly.
CHAPTER-27
“No , Miss Franson, we didn’t find the car or the man who attacked Stacie yet. But we will.”
The handsome young officer was holding his hat in his hand as Haley Rose held Ian on her hip in the hospital’s waiting room. The sound of his voice was almost reassuring. Almost. But she’d been around a block or two herself and knew most of the cases like this one, where the attacker actually got away at the scene, were never solved.
“Thanks officer. I hope ya do. He sounds like a real winner, he does.”
“Yes ma’am, he does. Stacie was able to give us more information about him, and she saw enough to do a sketch for our police artist. The fact that Jen got a look at him will also assist the artist.”
“Do they ever really help, the sketch drawings?” she asked, shifting Ian to her other side.
The officer smiled. If she didn’t know better, she’d say he was a tad flirty. She’d had worse things happen to her in the States.
“Surprisingly, it does. Someone will say that looks like my Uncle Fred or Cousin June. It’s enough to at least look into a possible suspect, and sometimes it pans out.”
“Then it’d be worth the effort, I suppose. Can she . . . is she . . . Stacie, I mean, ready to dig into that?”
“She’s a resilient girl, so I’d say yes. She’s described him and with Jen’s input, they should come up with a good composite. Stacie mentioned this morning that he had a smell about him, sort of like fish, so maybe he works in a butcher shop or does something in the fish business. She also said he had an accent. She wasn’t sure what kind of accent, but we can help her with that too.”
Haley Rose nodded, and then held the young cop’s eyes in her own. “Did he”
“No. He didn’t rape her. He only touched her because she didn’t want to give up the car, she thinks. That’s when he threw a couple of punches.” The cop held her gaze. “It could have been worse, Miss Franson, much worse.”
She shuddered. Lord have mercy, that might have been Jen just as well as Stacie Wells. This situation reminded her that no matter what a parent or grandparent did, you couldn’t be there every moment. Visions of Chloe being shot those years ago in New York and Meav escaping Argyle with her life danced into view, as if to confirm her thoughts.
As if she needed any reminders.
“That’s not the last of the questions we have, Officer . . . ahh . . . Shaw.”
Haley Rose and Officer Shaw turned to see Jen standing behind them, arms folded, eyes red, but the tears long gone. Replaced by a determined look far too old for a young woman to carry.
Shaw looked at Haley Rose and then back to Jen, his eyes darting to the floor, his hat turning circles in his hands. He then looked back to Jen, a rehearsed smile attempting to cover his discomfort at what may come next.
“What other questions, Jen?”
“Well, the first one is: why do you think this guy drove by our house?”
“That is a good question, and I think it was simply random. Stacie only lives three blocks from you, and this guy was in the neighborhood.”
Haley Rose felt her own indignation rise. Her Irish temper tugged at her mouth.
