by Rick Murcer
In that one touch and second look, she’d sensed something else from Ennis. This crazed man didn’t just care for her, good God, he still loved her.
Stuffing the phones in his jacket, he pointed to the door.
“Now before anyone else shows up, get your asses out the door and down to the elevator.”
He moved the gun closer to Jen’s face. “No funny business by either of ya, got it? I’ll not hesitate to put a bullet into the wee one there or you, little missy. Do as I say, we’ll be fine.”
“Don’t hurt them. We’ll do what ya want,” said Haley Rose, keeping her wits as best she could.
“Wise choice, girl. Now get that brat and let’s go.”
She reached over and lifted Ian’s car seat with her right arm and turned toward the door, Jen a step in front of her.
“Easy does it,” said Ennis, a strange calmness in his voice.
The four of them moved down the hallway, and to Haley Rose’s relief, there was no one between them and the elevator. Ennis Preston would not hesitate to kill again, of that she had no doubt.
Each step was torture. While it was true that no one else was in danger at the moment, what of the three of them?
Just as they reached the elevator doors, a frantic scream interrupted the stillness.
“Well, I guess someone met your dead cop friend,” he said, hitting the button that would take them to the parking garage.
The door opened almost immediately, and the four of them were soon in the parking garage. Three stalls over was Manny and Chloe’s SUV.
He began to herd them toward the truck. “We’re going to take your SUV, and you two are going to ride in the front. Little Ian and I will be keepin’ each other company in the rear.”
“I think—”
Before Jen could finish her thought, Ennis had her by the hair, pulling her close to his face. “Shuddup. I don’t care what you think. Just get your ass in the truck or, I swear, they’ll find your damned body right in this spot.”
Without so much as an afterthought, Haley Rose reached out and grabbed Ennis’s hand. “If ya touch her again, Ennis, I’ll not be going another step with ya.”
He looked at Haley Rose, then to Jen, then back to Haley Rose.
Slowly, he released Jen and pulled his hand away from her. “I didn’t come here to hurt no one, but nothing is going to stop me from what I came here to do. I’ve waited too long for that.”
“Thank you, Ennis.”
He pointed to the SUV. “Get in and don’t trouble me more.”
“We will.”
Haley Rose locked Ian in the back in his car seat; he was still sleeping like the world hadn’t changed.
She heard Jen click her seat belt and then stole a glance at Ennis. He was watching her. No, more like inhaling her.
“So why are ya doing this, Ennis?”
He responded with a quick frown that evolved into an incredulous articulation.
“Why? You don’t know? You haven’t figured it out? We have to go home, Haley Rose. We have to go home.”
CHAPTER-37
Belle Simmons shifted her feet and leaned against the door frame leading into the interrogation room in the basement of the old building. She was growing accustomed to the musty, dank odor that seemed to ooze from the very foundation itself.
She’d seen a couple of dungeon-like rooms in her time, usually in some rural police station that was far past its prime. But this place went to the top of the class. Maybe it was the spider the size of Wrigley Field that hung from the corner. Or perhaps the scorpion peeking in and out of the crack in the cement flooring, mere feet away. It was funny how she could look at dead bodies and not even think of losing her composure or appetite, but things that crawl and go bump in the night creeped her out.
Well, not really that funny.
While the surroundings were not five-star, the company was.
Through the first three interviews, she and Chloe had sat in the next room, microphone and PA system working quite well, and listened to Manny and, to some extent, Sophie, talk with potential suspects. Manny treated them as if they were friends attending a church picnic or people he’d met at the local restaurant for dinner. Pleasant conversations. Not grilling them or overt attempts at seeking a confession. Just talking . . . and profiling.
Each body movement, each expression, every intonation while the suspects answered calculated questions had been catalogued either with a pen or filed away in the complex mind that belonged to Manny Williams.
Belle had a few thoughts of her own to go along with first impressions, as did Chloe. And these were good thoughts and impressions, yet she doubted that Manny had missed anything they had to offer. That’s why Chloe had decided to go back to the hotel and call her family. She knew the drill.
Sophie’s observations would most assuredly complete the picture. Manny and Sophie were a team for the ages. But no one caught everything.
“I can see those wheels turning. It’s music to my ears.”
She bowed her head, smiled, and then looked up toward the entryway from the stairwell. Manny Williams stood there, head tilted, a mellow, almost contented look on his handsome face.
Handsome didn’t really cover it.
Those blue eyes and chiseled chin were riveting enough, but that wasn’t all.
Some people are great looking on the outside, yet it was rare to encounter those special folks who glowed from the inside as well. He was a good man. Tortured and carrying some anger, but a good man nonetheless.
“I suppose I was thinking pretty hard. I didn’t know it was that loud.”
“Sophie says that sometimes. I say use whatever works. We need some magic on this one.”
“You don’t think the first three are in the magic-making business?” she asked, shifting away from the knee that would forever give her a reason to hurt.
He shook his head as a frown replaced the mellow demeanor. “I don’t. They all fit the profile and, if we discount the nervousness, answered the questions reasonably well.”
“I made a couple notes on the second man, Gregory Goodhall, after you asked him about the beach.”
“You mean if he’d visited any one of them frequently?”
“Yes. Right after he said he’d never gone to the beach and Sophie had asked him why he didn’t like women in bikinis,” she said.
Manny smiled. “She isn’t as subtle as she could be, but the honest reaction in a person’s face after being asked a question like that can tell a small tale. After a few small tales, we can start to piece a bigger one.”
“That’s true, shock factor and all. But I was wondering if he had issues with going to the beach because of his sunburn worries or that he didn’t want anyone to see him with just beach clothes.”
Manny raised his eyebrows. “That’s a good point. We didn’t see him walk with any kind of issues, but if he was concentrating, he might have been able to control a problem with his right leg. So you could be right. He agreed to give us a medical background from his doctor, so we’ll see what that might tell us.”
“The other two?” she asked, studying his face.
“I think not. Chad Parsons, the associate professor, claims he was out of town until last night and the museum’s assistant manager, Adrian Vogan, has been researching another dig site near Tulum and has witnesses to that fact. We’ll check them out more thoroughly, but neither seems like our guy, at least yet. Their answers were straight. Their body language and micro expressions seemed honest.”
Belle felt the pain in her knee remind her that she was putting too much pressure on it and shifted again. Then it was her turn to smile at Manny.
“Yes. My knee hurts and causes me to limp every so often. I’ll tell you about it sometime.”
“When you’re ready. You did a good job of not showing the problem at the airport, so I’m assuming it has something to do with your normal range of motion.”
“Yes. And why do I feel like my physical condition
is the last thing on your mind?”
“Because it is. Chloe was shot, Alex is trying to find time to have Luke Skywalker’s prototype cyborg hand attached, Dean has wardrobe issues, and Sophie, Josh, and I are nut cases. We’ve all got some issue.
“The thing is, we’ve got another kidnap victim out there, and I’m trying to sort out the best way to find her before she becomes victim number seven. That’s where you come in. You’re bright, observant, understand what this gig entails, and we need all of those things. But none of that is your best attribute.”
Felling a little uneasy, Belle walked closer to Manny and stood two feet in front of him, arms folded, exposing more of her thoughts than she would have believed possible. People are almost always comfortable with what they know about themselves, but when another begins to dig into that Pandora’s Box, shit hits the fan. Manny Williams had dug deep.
“Which is?”
“Look, Belle. The one thing that makes you perfect for this job is that you won’t quit. You see what most profilers see, but many stop, consciously or unconsciously, because glimpses into people’s minds and motivations scare them. I don’t get that from you.”
“Go on,” she said.
He nodded. “We dance with demons. You, however, aren’t going to let that get in the way of doing the right thing. The BAU is nothing more than a group of slightly dysfunctional do-gooders who won’t quit. You’re only going to add to that persona.”
“You got that from two hours of working together?”
Agent Williams shook his head. “No. I got if from about five minutes of working with you. You didn’t panic at the airport and saw clearly what to do next. In my experience, that can’t be taught.”
“So I passed the first test?”
“And lived. Remember what I said about dancing with demons? You don’t have your dance card filled yet, but you will.”
He glanced at his watch and then motioned to the door. “We’ll have time for more of this later, but come join Sophie and me in the room for the next three interviews. You have to earn your paycheck.”
She felt her pulse jump. “So training is over?”
“Mostly. Think of the rest as on-the-job education.”
“Wow. Talk about government cutbacks.”
“That’s another conversation entirely. After you.”
He motioned for her to enter the IR. She did, and he followed.
She sat down at the eight-foot table and opened the file Manny had slid in front of her. The bright white paper disclosed a list of three men, their pictures, and a brief bio including the circumstances as to how they became permanent residents of Cozumel, even though they were U.S. citizens.
There was nothing unusual about any of them or where they worked except they were all involved in the Mayan culture at different levels and professions. The third man on the list, Jacob Fish, had written a book from his dissertation regarding Mayan sacrificial customs.
That fact was compelling, but she supposed no more than the other’s special assets that brought them to this BAU inquisition. Still.
“Anything get your attention?” asked Manny.
“It all does, but the book writer is going to be a good interview, I’d guess.”
“I think you’re right.”
Just then, Sophie plopped down into the third chair.
“Hey, did you miss me?”
“You’re hard not to miss, sort of,” said Manny.
“Damn. That hurt, Williams, sort of.”
“Well, I missed you,” said Belle.
“Oh. I’m going to like her,” said Sophie, flashing a grin.
“Did you talk to Dean and Alex?”
“Yep. They have a couple of things to finish but want to meet right after the last interview. They have some stuff they want to run by us.”
“Did they mention what?”
“Something about hanky-panky and body fluids in the back of the car. I cut Dean off right there. TMI is my MO, not his.”
Manny frowned, and she found herself following suit. “That could complicate things,” she said.
“It could. We’ll see. Anything else, Sophie?”
Agent Lee didn’t answer, but instead pulled a small object from her purse and placed it on the table. It looked similar to a petrified doughnut.
“What’s this?” she asked.
“After I talked to Dean, I stopped by this authentic Mayan/Mexican/Aztec shop and bought this statue thing. Dean collects this stuff. The guy told me it was an authentic Mayan war mace. Just slip a handle on this puppy and bam.”
“And why did you bring it here?” asked Manny.
“I want to make sure I didn’t get ripped off. These guys know what the hell they’re looking at, right?”
“You’re going to ask suspects to authenticate your souvenir?”
“Yep. I figure they’ll all know.”
Then Belle watched Sophie bring out another object, appearing to be identical to the other on the table.
“You bought two?” asked Belle.
“Not exactly. This one is a fake.”
“Ahh. Good call. You’re going to test the suspects to see what they know,” said Belle.
“Smart woman you are.”
“I see your point, but they’re all experts, right? That shouldn’t be much of a test,” said Belle.
“True. I don’t want to just see what they know, but all of the other stuff it takes to ID one of these things. You know, like how they ID them, not just if they can.” Sophie leaned back in her chair and looked at Manny. “What do you think, Williams?”
Belle watched as he ran his hand through his hair, closed the folder, and promptly swore.
“Damn it. I should have thought of this sooner.”
“You mean this artifact thing?” asked Sophie.
He shook his head. “No. Well, in a manner, I suppose. There is another way to narrow down this search.”
CHAPTER-38
“I was hoping to do this another way, in the proper fashion that is demanded, but this will have to do.”
He lowered his upper body toward the woman lying on the floor of the abandoned shack near the edge of the forest on San Gervasio’s north side.
Her pretty face was quiet, serene even, with the gag draped across her mouth. She hadn’t awakened from the last dose of happy gas solution, but she would shortly.
Touching her hair, he wondered if, at any time, she’d suspected that she was to be his diversion from the rest of the reality he’d created. His truly final act of sacrifice. But situations had changed. The police were actually sniffing down a rabbit hole that could possibly be a problem for him.
Possibly.
He knew the authorities would be almost desperate to find him. Too bad the police had not been as diligent those months ago when he’d needed them.
He was keenly aware of chance and variables. Anyone doing what he did for a living knew of those principles. Yet, with his meticulous preparation, he’d narrowed down the effect those circumstances could possibly render.
“To find me, you’ll have to be smarter,” he whispered.
Leaning closer still, he reveled in her scent. He hadn’t intended to linger over her, he simply found himself enjoying being that close. Intimate.
Intimate was such an overused term, yet wasn’t that what each of these encounters had been?
Hate, like love, carried its own brand of intimacy, as did life and death.
His smile grew; he knew them all quite well.
Standing, he picked up her legs and dragged her to the other end of the shack, glanced outside, waited, looked again, and then pulled her to the crumbling stoop, the decaying wood giving off another hard-to-forget aroma as he positioned her toward the early afternoon sun.
Soon he’d be away from all of this, but not before this semi-ritual was performed. It would cast more doubt on his true mission.
Reaching into the Velcro pocket of his khaki shorts, he pulled out the ancient ceremoni
al knife, turning the blade over in his hand, caressing the jade handle. He closed his eyes and repeated his caress. The knife was fine to his touch, and even finer to his purpose. But there was no more time. There were places to be and stories to tell.
Reaching quickly, he cut the tape from her tanned wrists and did the same for her ankles. She would at least be free from the physical bonds when he slit her throat, if not from the cumbersome bonds of the mind and spirit.
Raising the knife to her neck, he hesitated. He then bent over her, trying to feel her breath. She’d been out too long. She should have been—.
The next instant, her head rose up and smashed against his mouth, sending the blade flying and him back on his haunches then completely through the door onto his back, sprites of color pirouetting in his vision. Something warm ran down his chin and onto his shirt, and he struggled to regain his balance and clear the cobwebs. Even before he truly realized he was doing it, his instinct took over, and he reached for the woman . . . and missed. He lunged again, this time finding her hand in the blurred light. He yanked with the strength he had left and felt her reel in his direction. Then the hand was out of his grip. Before he could get to her again, he felt her foot crash into his chest. He yelped with pain, rolling on his side, clutching for air that seemed to be as elusive as his intended victim.
Finally, he was able to gulp at the moist air and rise from the warped floor as quickly as his rubbery legs would allow.
His mind clearing, he jumped through the door onto the stoop, the wood protesting under his feet. He looked to the left. Nothing. He spun to the right, again nothing. His eyes darted to the path that circled the cabin, and he rushed around it.
There was still no sign of her.
Desperation reached for his stomach and clenched tightly as he began running down the path. “No. No. No! This can’t be happening.” Where the undergrowth began constricting in size, he heard the faint sound of leaves rustling straight ahead of him. He ran as fast as he was able and reached the end of the trail and the beginning of the two-lane dirt track where his SUV remained.
