Caribbean Moon

by Rick Murcer

  “And the light goes on,” said Sophie.

  Alex didn’t respond. He was already rotating the small particle of detritus, which he had removed from the floor. Back and forth, in front of his spectacled eyes, with ninety-degree twists like it was pure gold.

  The minute shaving was semi-clear and appeared to be made of a waxy material. The reflection from the bright bathroom light gave it a smooth glossy sheen. To Manny, it could’ve been a thin fragment from a crayon, or maybe even a transparent bar of soap.

  “Okay, what is it?” Manny asked.

  “I’m pretty sure it’s good old CNH(2nh2).”

  “What are you talking about?” asked Sophie.

  Max Tucker had joined the gathering near the cramped room. “It’s paraffin wax. It’s used for a ton of things, like sealing boxes, waterproofing corrugated material, pharmaceutical supplies, and even make-up. But it’s used mostly for candle making.”

  “It looks like a shaving from a clear candle or a block of wax. See how it’s curled? Someone put a sharp, serrated blade to a block of wax, or more likely, a candle,” explained Alex.

  “But we aren’t supposed to have candles on a cruise ship because of the fire hazard thing, right?” asked Sophie.

  “That’s right, so what’s it doing here? Detective Perez had no candles in her baggage and these rooms are cleaned thoroughly after each cruise,” chimed in Agent Corner.

  Manny put his hand on Alex’s shoulder. “Okay. Someone had an illegal candle in this room, or the shaving stuck to someone’s clothes, or maybe the cleaning people missed it. Why show us this, what’s the point?”

  Alex was running his hand gently over the large, bordered mirror. He pulled his hand away and smiled a crooked grin. It reminded Manny of Sylvester the Cat after he’d popped Tweety Bird in his mouth.

  “I’ll show you, smart-ass; Sophie, out of the shower. Chop. Chop.”

  “What?”

  “Just do it, girl. Out. Now.”

  “Damn. Okay. Okay.” Sophie saluted and did what he asked.

  Manny watched the CSI reach in and turn the faucet toward “H.” Hot water cascaded from the chrome spout.

  Alex shooed Sophie out of the room, and he stepped through the door right behind her. He pulled the door shut.

  “Let’s give it a few minutes. The steam will stick to everything except the wax I felt on the mirror. If I’m right, the killer…”

  Manny finished the sentence, “…left a message just for us.”

  ******************

  CHAPTER-55

  MISERY, MISERY, MISERY

  WHAT SHALL YOU DO?

  DEATH RIDES THIS SHIP

  NOT FOR STILLS, NASH AND YOUNG

  BUT FOR WHOM?

  A baseball bat swung by Babe Ruth couldn’t have jarred Manny any harder. He read the poem again. The crude rhyme screaming from the steamy mirror was as chilling as any January night. It couldn’t have been more brash if it had been a neon sign flashing its message on the Strip in Las Vegas. But the warning also carried a sense of prophecy that felt as real as the ship under foot. He felt his body sway without really moving, like he was about to have an out-of-body-experience.

  He read the terrifying message again.

  “What in God’s name?” asked Agent Corner. His voice dripped with incredulity.

  Manny regained his composure. “This whole thing isn’t about random rapes and murders. He wants us. Anyone that’s from Lansing law enforcement is a target. He’s telling us that Gavin Crosby or his family is next.” Manny’s eyes closed in frustration. “This thing has been a set up since San Juan. Maybe since those murders back home in April and May.”

  “But why?” Sophie asked with more than a trace of anxiety. “How would he know we would be here?”

  “Probably from the wedding announcement--or he knows us. But we can figure that out later, right now we need to call both Crosby cabins and make sure they’re all right.”

  “I’ll call Mike and Lex.” Sophie was already dialing the wall phone and Manny switched it to speaker mode. He watched the phone as the first ring to the young Crosby’s cabin pulsated through the handset. No one breathed. It was so quiet in the cabin that everyone could hear the dull drone of each precisely spaced chime. As the third ring began, Manny started for the door.

  “Yes?” filtered through the speaker when Mike Crosby answered. The released collective breaths sounded like a gust of wind.

  “Mike, this is Sophie. Listen, don’t ask why, just make sure your door is locked and chained. I need to call your dad and then I’ll stop by to explain. Okay?”

  The hesitation in Mike’s voice was obvious, “Ummm…Okay. You...ahh...don’t need to come down to explain. You can tell us at dinner.”

  “No problem. I can come to your room in a few.”

  “Lex and I are kind of busy, you know?”

  “Well okay then. You call Manny or I when you’re ready to talk, got it?”

  “I will.” Mike hung up the phone.

  Sophie covered her mouth and snickered. “Sorry Manny. Mike said to visit later or he’d call. They were--busy.”

  “Yeah, I got that. Speaker phone, you know. Call Gavin and Stella.”

  She wasted no time dialing Gavin’s room. After the fourth ring, Manny didn’t wait and headed out the door, running to the stairwell that led to the seventh floor, fighting every uprising fear sent his way.

  This was a nightmare coming to fruition right before his eyes. It felt like some concocted story from a vivid hard crime novel. Except in real life, killers don’t expose part of their hand, but this one had, at least that’s how it looked.

  Was he that sure of himself? That confident?

  The murders weren’t some kind of random, homicidal rampage by a deranged sociopath. But the assaults had been driven by vengeance, the worst kind of motive.

  As he hopped up the stairs, Manny tried to sort through years of arrests and investigations. He mentally reviewed specific threats from punks and pros alike, but it was hard to concentrate on that just now. He boss, his friend, could be in grave danger.

  Manny reached the top of the stairs and rushed toward Gavin and Stella’s stateroom. As he approached their room, he couldn’t stop the dread that was beginning to draw a sickening portrait of its own. He hoped that they had figured this one out in time.

  CHAPTER-56

  The barrel of the .38 Smith and Wesson formed a small circuitous imprint in the back of Mike Crosby’s head, and the man-mountain knew it hurt like hell. He pressed harder. Mike groaned.

  The new groom’s hand shook as he fought for sufficient composure to hang up the phone on the waiting cradle, trying not to let it tumble to the floor. The killer smiled as Mike was able, somehow, to complete his mission. There was no way that the Crosby’s kid had ever before experienced the fear now running through his body.

  No daddy around to take away the bad man?

  Mike’s trepidation excited the killer. “Some hero cop you turned out to be,” he taunted, slapping the back of his head.

  This had been a bold undertaking, even for him, perhaps marginally risky, but he reveled in it. The pathetic task force was now on full alert. Obviously, they had found his special memo. That’s why that little oriental bitch had called. He wondered if Williams was the one to figure it out. He would ask him when the time came.

  All part of the quest, if they were able to keep up, and frankly, he was surprised they had gotten this far. Although it did make things more vivid, more deadly.

  I’m right under your dismal noses and still you run around like chickens with your heads cut off.

  “You did well. Very well. If you would have said one wrong word to that oriental bitch detective…well, I would have hated, but certainly not hesitated, to splatter your slutty new wife’s brains all over this room.”

  He allowed Mike to glance into the large mirror and see the center of the bed. Lexy was bound around her ankles and wrists with gray duct tape and her body bent i
n a slight reverse “C.” A smaller piece of tape covered her tremulous mouth. She was dressed only in a white sheer-lace bra and panties, looking like the low-class whore she was. Tears shone in her large eyes.

  Mike spoke to his captor. “Why are you doing this? What do you want?”

  The killer didn’t answer. Instead, he pulled his gun-wielding hand back and smashed the revolver against Mike’s head with the force of a jackhammer. The sound was sickening, like dispatching a jack-o-lantern with a bat. Young Crosby slammed against the protruding closet and crumpled to the floor, blood streaming from the long, deep gash gouged into his left temple. His lean body shuddered spasmodically, and then grew still. The big man watched with fascination and then laughed out loud, turning toward Lexy. “I don’t think he’ll be playing with us anymore today. What do you think?”

  Lexy tried to scream through the sticky gag, but nothing except muffled spasms of fear leaked from her mouth. He watched her eyes widen even more as she saw that her wimp-ass husband stayed down. Her bronzed body quaked with anguish and panic she obviously had no idea how to control.

  He stood near the queen bed and ordered her to stop making noises. She did.

  Sitting on the edge of the bed, he began to slowly run his hand along her shapely leg. Beginning north of her silver ankle bracelet, he slowly maneuvered up her calf, past her smooth knee, and eventually massaged soft, fleshy thigh. The hand’s journey had purpose, meaning. His action exhibited an intimacy that was far past his preference in the normal world. But this was his normal world, wasn’t it? No sense in splitting hairs, not now.

  His awakening was clear, and Lexy’s body stiffened as she made extraordinary efforts to move away from his advances. “Careful, you might hurt my feelings and you wouldn’t want to do that, would you?” She shook her head, reminding him of the Martin woman. Ahh, good times.

  He explored her rigid face like a lighthouse searching for a troubled ship. Steady. Relentless.

  After his right hand reached the top of her thigh, he stopped short of where body and leg became one, just short. The young bride glowed, and he could smell her unique odor while it mingled with the scent of melon body lotion. He closed his eyes in appreciation. There was nothing that matched the sweet smell of pure fear. Especially fear he called his own.

  Labored breaths escaped Lexy’s nostrils as her chest began a rapid rise and fall, too rapid. He knew what was happening and wanted to see it play out. He had to see her asthma attack run its course.

  Her eyes grew even wider while she struggled to capture precious air. The new bride struggled like a fish out of water.

  Lexy thrashed around on the bed still harder, but he steadied her, eyes never leaving her face. They couldn’t. Eventually, she stopped moving. Her pretty features had taken on an ominous blue tint. Lexy’s eyes moved to a glassy sheen, like reflections off a clear mountain lake, and then fluttered shut.

  Rage exploded from within him, and he tore the tape from her mouth. Her lips were deep blue. Damn it. The little bitch couldn’t die. Not yet.

  Bending his head to her chest, he ripped the bra from her full bosom and listened. Lexy caught a breath from somewhere and--yes! There it was; a faint, but steady heartbeat hollow to his ear. It had almost gone too far. Almost.

  He nuzzled Lexy and touched her breasts. The pleasure would still be his. The opportunity remained perfect and there was no reason to lose the moment.

  Stepping from the bed, he lifted Mike Crosby from the scarlet drenched floor and propped him on the loveseat facing the bed. Mike would be his silent, but appreciative, audience, his own special observer.

  No reason to lose the moment at all.

  CHAPTER-57

  The icy-cold beer winked at Gavin from the small patio table, and he didn’t ignore the provocative invite. “This beats the hell out of murder scenes and dead bodies,” he pointed out to Stella while they sat quietly on the small terrace just off their stateroom.

  “I believe you’re right on that one,” she said as they both marveled at the purple and orange beginnings of a Southern Caribbean sunset.

  He had just returned from walking Louise and Barbara to their rooms, and made them promise to keep the doors locked at all times, telling them to make sure they fastened the safety chains. He didn’t have to tell them twice.

  Michigan rarely displayed these kinds of sunsets, and he couldn’t help enjoying it just a little. That demented, murdering bastard wasn’t going to ruin everything. The killer had made shambles out of what should have been one of the most joyous weeks of he and Stella’s life. But Gavin could, and would, steal back some of the hijacked happiness. The sunset was a great beginning. So was his wife.

  Still, he'd never be able to imagine this week without thinking of Liz’s and Lynn’s horrible deaths. Somber convictions of guilt traveled through him like pulses of physical pain except there was no pill to help dull the throbbing reminder of friends lost. Maybe Lynn and Liz would still be alive if he hadn’t invited them on this damned cruise. Maybe it was his fault they were dead. He struggled against ill-willed postures that wanted a pound of flesh.

  His flesh.

  They pressed in, but Gavin dismissed them almost as soon as they appeared. That unconscionable sociopath killed Liz and Lynn, not he.

  He understood crimes of passion, at least some; they were as old as Cain and Abel. People sometimes snapped. But planned homicides that made Vlad the Impaler look like Gandhi were another story. Those killers held no regard for human life and he didn’t get that part. They just took what they wanted. Maybe what they needed.

  Getting older had some perks, but the idea that aging was golden was fantasy. Maybe he was just getting too old for this crap. The stress was more intense and God knew he couldn’t take the physical part anymore.

  The old days were better. Not nearly as many sickos, gangs, and not as much senseless stuff. Maybe it was those damn video games, like some people thought.

  At least there was comfort in the fact that his three folks were working these murders, especially Manny. He hated that the boy never learned to relax much, that he was a bona fide, card-carrying workaholic, at times. Gavin was glad this was one of those times.

  Stella reached for his hand. “Penny for your thoughts?”

  “Only a penny?” He smiled at his wife of thirty-four years. She had a couple more wrinkles and maybe five more pounds than the day they were married, and her hair was more white than blonde these days, but she still looked damn good.

  She had put up with an inordinate amount of junk being the wife of a cop, then Police Chief. Life as a cop’s wife was tough enough but throw in the politics, and, well, there had to be a special place in heaven for her.

  “I was just thinking how things have changed over the years. How many more psychos are running around than before. How violent our society has become. There just isn’t any respect for human life anymore.”

  “And how glad you are to be married to me, right?”

  “That too,” he laughed.

  Stella’s gaze was like steel and he knew she was reading the rest of the story on his face like a newspaper headline.

  “Don’t worry, honey. I know that this isn’t what we bargained for with Mike’s wedding week, but it is what it is. It’s not your fault.”

  Nodding, he felt the gratitude that can only come from a marriage like theirs. She always seemed to know what he was really thinking. Sometimes that was a pain in the ass, but not today.

  The beauty of their surroundings brought about another observation; the dichotomy between God’s natural beauty and the hideous ugliness epitomized by these murders. Amazing that both could exist in the same world. He’d been a cop for thirty-five years and still wasn’t sure how to get his mind around that concept.

  The knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. He would never have heard it if they hadn’t propped open the balcony door.

  Never giving fate a thought, he got up from the chair; beer in hand, walked to, and
then pulled open the cabin door.

  It, fate that is, can be, and often is, a two-edged sword. Sometimes it labors for you, and you win the lotto or capture the heart of the only lover you ever pined for.

  Other times, it takes your soul and rips it into so many miserable pieces. It has no allies or enemies, it just is.

  Gavin Crosby stared into the intense eyes of fate and instantly wished it had been an ally.

  CHAPTER-58

  The door swung open, and Manny recorded the despondency on Gavin’s jowly face. For one fleeting instant, he could have been Methuselah’s older brother. He’d never seen that look from his boss before. He was pretty sure he didn’t want to see it again. Manny felt Gavin’s heart sink.

  “What is it? What’s wrong Manny?” Dread vibrated through his gruff voice. “Has he done it again, the killer I mean?”

  Manny shook his head. “No, at least not yet.” He looked his boss square in the face. “But we have a warning that he’s going to kill again. He left a poem on the mirror of Detective Perez’s bathroom. Alex found a sliver of wax on the floor and figured out the rest from there. All we had to do was steam up the bathroom mirror. The message was, ahh…” Manny’s eyes dropped to the floor as he studied his sandals.

  “This guy’s no Robert Frost so spit it out. What did it say, the poem?”

  Hesitating, he slowly reached into the front pocket of his khaki shorts and pulled out a piece of paper with the Carousel crest stamped in the corner.

  The note still reeked from the smell of the black felt pen.

  Gavin read the big block letters and his face drained of color, “Did you talk to Mike and...”

  “Mike and Lexy are fine. Sophie called to check on them and she spoke to Mike. I tried to call you and Stella, but you didn’t answer.”

  “I turned the ringer down last night when we went to bed and forgot to turn it up.”