by Rick Murcer
“No doubt you are not singing my praises, but you know what they say; a prophet is without honor in his own home. Maybe you can appreciate some of my genius now.” Argyle flaunted a triumphant, but charming smile. “Maybe you, Detective, the rest of Lansing law enforcement, and certainly the FBI will think twice before disregarding research like mine as, how did Chief Crosby put it, ‘ridiculous ranting’. He even suggested that I was the one who needed my head shrunk.” His eyes blazed with hatred.
Corner reached over and paused the whirring player. “What the hell is he talking about?”
He looked at Sophie and back to Corner. “Is that what this whole thing’s about?” whispered Manny.
“What?” demanded Corner.
Manny said a one-syllable expletive not used in church. “I said I’d tell you, so here goes. About five years ago, Argyle set up a meeting with prison leaders, two other shrinks, Drs. Martin and Orcutt, and invited police chiefs from most of Michigan’s largest police departments to discuss a new therapy he was sure would work. He said it would fly in the face of traditional dogma, but he was convinced it would break new trails in treating prisoners with certain disorders.”
“Specifically, DID, or Dissociative Identity Disorder,” chimed in Sophie. “He thought if you could treat and eventually control each distinctive personality or behavioral pattern, you could ‘cure’ the subject.” She shook her head. “I just said that and it sounded nuts.”
Frowning, Manny continued. “He said that convention taught if you addressed the subject’s problems and traumatic experiences, got them out in the open, the rest of the other behaviors and personalities, so to speak, would disappear or at least be significantly diminished. That people wouldn’t need to ‘hide’ in other parts of their psyche. Argyle disagreed, sighting the lack of success of those traditional therapies.
“Martin and Orcutt agreed that if you treat the “other” personality, it would give credence to its existence and consequently, make it stronger. In short, his colleagues thought he was crazy.”
Corner’s face twisted with irritation. “So let me guess, he thought someone like Peppercorn, who didn’t recall any violent acts or behaviors because he hid in the ‘other’ personality, could be cured by this new approach.”
Manny nodded. “He wanted permission to work his theory on Peppercorn, to locate, or draw him out, and treat the other personality. He said that Peppercorn had a particular type of DID, something about people who suddenly find themselves in another place or time and can’t remember how they got there. He called it dissociative fugue…or something like that.”
“I’m no psychologist, but that sounds dangerous. Messing with someone’s reality, I mean,” responded Corner.
“The big wigs from the prison, and a certain police chief, did too, and flat out denied his request. The other two professional shrinks at the meeting believed Argyle was way out there, whacked, and that it would only mess up Peppercorn more. That police chief was our very own grouchy-assed Gavin Crosby,” said Sophie.
“Gavin wasn’t real tactful,” admitted Manny. “He went completely off on Argyle. He told him that he thought he was a ranting lunatic, and wondered if he had gotten his degrees from some witch doctor school in Dipshit, Africa. He told him they have enough troubles with psychos on the street without him creating one.”
“So what happened?” asked Corner.
“Argyle picked up his files and started to leave. Then he dropped everything and ran toward Gavin, taking a swing at him in the process. He missed, but the riot was on. I grabbed Argyle and a couple of others got a grip on Gavin. Things settled down and Argyle called Gavin an imbecile, then left,” explained Manny.
“But the doc got two weeks off without pay and was given a warning that if anything like that happened again, he would lose his job and his license to practice in Michigan,” said Sophie. “If I remember right, the company that agreed to publish his first research manuscript found out about his little meltdown and cancelled the deal.”
“So, if we put two and two together, he went on this killing spree and somehow recruited Peppercorn to help, because he thought you all played a part in ruining his career, right?” said Corner.
“Could be,” agreed Manny.
“There’s something else,” said Manny. “Eight weeks ago, Dr. Martin’s wife was brutally murdered in her bedroom while Martin was away at a conference in Detroit. We thought she was a random victim. But it looks like Argyle got a piece of that one, too.”
Josh Corner reached for the PLAY button. “Let’s see if confession is good for the soul.”
The screen sprang back to life. “Well, I hope you and Detective Lee have clued the FBI in on my past. Everything you have deduced is probably true. Bravo!”
Argyle’s face remained controlled and stoic. “But you were all wrong. Dead wrong. I treated Peppercorn the way I wanted, and it led to my first meeting with Eli Jenkins. Fascinating man.”
“Each time Peppercorn came in, I would hypnotize him and converse with the complex and very intelligent Mr. Jenkins. I was impressed with his freedom from guilt and remorse, his sense of power. He cared for nothing but what he wanted. While it flew against everything I had ever believed, I started to see the simple, magnificent truth in it. Only the strong should survive. Everyone else should serve the exceptional among us. Don’t you think?”
“Sick bitch,” muttered Manny.
“Come, come, come. You didn’t think I would give up trying to prove my theory, did you? Genius is so overlooked.” He cackled, raising the hair on Manny’s neck. He was crazy.
“After a year, I realized that Jenkins was the sane one. He had opened my eyes. His philosophy was brilliant and simple. I found myself wanting to be like him. No, more than like him, I wanted to be superior to him. With my training and greater intellect, I knew it would be just a matter of time before he’d do whatever I wanted. Anything at all. We had hundreds of sessions and progress was slow, but eventually I was able to control his actions, while I continued to grow in my new convictions.”
Argyle’s dark eyes peered past the TV and seemed to drive straight through Manny’s soul. “It was unfortunate that Jenkins had to die, but it was all part of the plan. He accepted and even embraced it. He knew that his death was required to accomplish a higher purpose--my purpose. Jenkins thought of me as a father, and sons will do anything to please good old dad.”
His laugh turned wild, almost out of control. It was unsettling how he reeled it back in.
“So there you have it. I won’t bore you with any more details. I don’t want to spoil all of our fun. But not to worry, Detective Williams, I’ll leave calling cards, from time to time, just to let you know I’m still out here. We must meet again because, quite simply, all scores are not yet even.”
The doctor was in love with the platform he had created. Manny suspected he knew what was coming next, and he was right.
“Oh, by the way, how is Dr. Martin doing after the unfortunate and untimely demise of his older, but lovely wife? I’d bet he’s not doing that well. The sniveling wimp will probably just shrivel up and die. Poor baby. The incompetent moron couldn’t even wipe his ass without her telling him how. Send my regards.”
Argyle’s face turned calm. “There is one more thing; I have left another little present for you. A clue, if you will. Can you find it? No, not the good Detective’s eyes; that would be far too easy. By the way, do you think her children would want them back?”
The screen went blank. Dr. Fredrick Argyle, alias who-ever-he-wanted-to-be, was over and out.
Manny rolled his eyes to the ceiling and then promptly smashed the player with a driving punch.
“Easy there, big boy, we might need that disc for evidence,” said Corner.
“Sorry.” He hit again and the tray popped open, displaying the disc. “How’s that?”
“Show off,” said Sophie.
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CHAPTER-80
The tall ma
n with the hands of a professional basketball player gave his passport to the security agent at the main terminal of Queen Beatrice airport in Oranjestad, Aruba and waited.
The small, dark-complexioned guard studied his face, then the photo. He repeated the process two more times, then handed the passport back.
“Did you have a good time on our humble island, Mr. Ellis?”
“I had a splendid time. They don’t call it “One Happy Island” for nothing,” he responded.
The guard moved his head up and down with such energy that Ellis thought he looked like one of those idiot bobblehead dolls.
“Have a good flight to New York, and come back soon.”
Ellis moved leisurely through the final gate to the waiting area. He touched his short, strawberry blond hair and tugged at his cleanly trimmed beard.
He wondered how long it would be before they found the real Mason Ellis. Ellis had thought he was meeting his new lover for a forbidden rendezvous, that the free trip to Aruba, and his hotel stay, was an appreciation gift. In a way, it was.
What a pathetic fag. In the end, he had cried like a baby. The real Ellis had possessed the same look all of Argyle’s conquests had, the one asking how they could be so stupid.
It had taken him a few days to find Ellis a few months prior. He had needed to find a queer who looked enough like himself to make it work. It was easier than he thought it would be. He even had a few to choose from. The internet is a wonderful thing.
Argyle had put Ellis’s body in one of the hidden caves on the northeast part of the island. He wondered what the cave explorers would think of that discovery.
Shifting his carry-on bag to his left hand, he continued his stroll down the center of the terminal like a peacock in heat. No reason to hide. It was handled.
He sat down on the airport bench and loosened a lazy yawn. It had been too easy. He had proved his theory that most cops couldn’t catch a damned cold.
Jenkins had been right from the beginning. People like himself were superior beings. They didn’t have to adhere to the rules like the rest. Still, he had to be careful because people like Detective Williams disagreed with his newfound philosophy.
His smile diminished as he dwelled on Detective Manfred Robert Williams.
The man was fairly intelligent and could prove to be a worthy adversary, especially with a little help from the clowns at the FBI. If there was such a thing as a worthy adversary for Dr. Fredrick Argyle, that is. Time would tell.
The flight would have him in the U.S. a full six hours before the dolts found his disc. It gave him plenty of time to be at his next appointment. A lifetime really.
He had a surprise for Dr. JT Orcutt, late of Lansing, Michigan, and currently of Rochester, New York. He was pretty sure that Orcutt’s Horoscope had no idea what his real future held.
CHAPTER-81
The rest of the cruise proved to be calm and uneventful. Richardson’s crew searched every room and any nook or cranny, but Argyle was off the ship. Sophie suggested that he had left them in Aruba and, somehow, gotten a flight out. Manny and Josh agreed and alerted Aruba’s police force. They wouldn’t find him, but they had to make sure. At any rate, Richardson’s people discovered what Manny already knew; Argyle was gone.
The FBI contacted Dr. Orcutt in New York and warned him of Argyle, and his new-found religion. Corner sent agents out from the field office to offer protection to Orcutt and his family and hoped it would be enough.
Louise called her brother in Lansing, and he took Jennifer to his place until they returned. The LPD would make sure there was a round-the-clock vigil on her brother’s house. No need to take unnecessary risks now. Argyle had said it himself, the score wasn’t settled.
At about four a.m., on the last night before the Ocean Duchess docked in San Juan, Manny walked the ship alone.
Before he had left the room, he watched Louise in silent adoration, remembering the Supper Club dinner they had experienced just hours before. He recalled how the scarlet stained glass dome, at the ship’s very highest point, kept the Caribbean weather at bay and isolated from the guests. How it had cast a searching red glow across the table’s white, Egyptian cotton tablecloth. The effect was borderline enchanting while it blended perfectly with Louise’s gown.
The stuffed flounder and T-bone meals had been extraordinary. The impeccable service was even better. Not to mention the Crème Brulee.
He touched her face as sweeping thoughts of how the band had started its set with Jazz Master Paul Hardcastle’s Lost in Space. He had whisked her to the small, intimate dance floor, despite some minor objections. The dance was as magical as any they’d ever dared.
But that hadn’t been the most emotional part of the night, not by any stretch of the imagination. When they had returned to the room, and after they had made love, Louise had gotten up, went directly to the dresser, and pulled out a white envelope and handed it to him. It had the name of her doctor stamped in the corner and remained sealed. He knew exactly what the woman of his life wanted, what to do. He asked her if she was sure. She nodded as her eyes moistened, and he never hesitated, tearing the envelope open.
He read the letter, and then read it again.
Louise’s eyes scanned his face, hoping to get a sense of what Manny had seen. He looked down at the print again then turned the letter toward Louise, pointing to the last line.
“…imaging error, no unusual readings. No carcinoma detected.”
Her reaction was amazing. Almost as amazing as his.
They had climbed the bed and danced. Then they simply jumped up and down until his calves hurt and her squealing evolved to a squeak.
He had pulled her close and they stood in the middle of the bed holding each other. Quietly, thankfully.
Was there anything like being rescued from the dragon?
Louise being cancer-free was the best news he had ever read, and he prayed no more of those trials were on the horizon.
He bowed his head and listened to the calming, rhythmic collision of perpetual waves. But not calming enough to quell the storm brewing in him. The old saying about taking the good with the bad came to him, causing some of his euphoria to dissipate. Louise was safe, but Argyle was still out there. And with more than a vendetta to satisfy.
Manny turned the corner of the dimly lit deck and looked at where the shadow-drenched lifeboats rested in silence. They looked like helmets belonging to giant, long-extinct warriors.
His feet were on auto pilot and the slow saunter stopped at lifeboat sixteen.
He closed his eyes and concentrated on bringing Liz’s laugh alive, just one more time. For a brief, exhilarating second, he thought he heard it. Then it was gone like a blink of an eye. He made a silent vow. He would see Argyle in chains or a casket. He preferred the casket.
Going back to Deck Six, he used the master key he still had to let himself in Lexy and Mike’s room. By then, the sun’s early morning gold was tiptoeing into the room. He was almost overpowered with the sense of death. He shuddered, stood straight, and renewed his vow.
****************
Manny and Louise were greeted at the door of their modest ranch in South Lansing by Louise’s brother, a rambunctious black Lab, and an even more energetic teenager. (How was it possible to be more enthusiastic than a black Lab?) It was good to be home. Really good.
“What’d ya bring me? Like, I’ve got to know. Now,” demanded Jennifer.
Sampson picked up on her excitement and let loose an ear splitting bark.
Eyes twinkling, Louise hauled a jewelry case from her bag and handed it to her daughter. The diamond studded set of moon and star earrings caused Jennifer to squeal again. The earrings were her favorite all-time shapes; at least for this month.
“Manny?”
“Louise?” he mocked, turning her way.
He felt his legs go weak. Three black rose petals lay in his wife’s hand.
“It was in my bag. I-I-I don’t know how…”
Underneath the petals was a one-line note, neatly printed in black ink. “One never knows, detective.”
Pulling his wife and daughter close, he crushed the petals in his hand.
Thank you so much for reading my book!! Please go to www.rickmurcer.com to visit me.
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Below are the first four chapters of Deceitful Moon…another Manny Williams thriller.
I hope you enjoy it.
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DECEITFUL MOON
Available in May, 2011
CHAPTER-1
“Hey Manny, hear the one about the pig, the priest, and the chicken?”
Detective Manny Williams rolled his eyes and turned toward Sophie Lee, his partner. She was slouched in her chair, looking at the screen of her laptop, wearing that smart-ass look she wore when she was bored. The diminutive, American-Chinese cop reminded him of his fifteen year-old daughter when she moped around the house complaining there was nothing to do. Manny would point out her room needed cleaning, but apparently that wasn’t something to do.
“No Sophie, I haven’t. And would it matter?”
“Nope. I’m going to tell you anyway.”
“Am I going to laugh?”
“Don’t know. I just need to tell it.”
“How are you coming on that report?”
“Don’t change the subject. You’re not gettin’ out of it that easy. Besides, I don’t do B&E reports.”
“You do now; at least until someone in our fair city decides murder is their God-given right.”
“Whatever.” Sophie sighed.
Manny knew how she felt. Once you worked homicide, nothing else came close. There was no substitute for putting a murderer away, the chase. It was like comparing Boone’s Farm to Dom Perignon…and this busy work was driving them both insane.
