Caribbean Moon (A Manny Williams Thriller, Book One)

by Murcer, Rick

  Agent Corner relayed that his staff in Miami had tried to contact Dr. Argyle about Peppercorn’s profile, but he was out of town. His receptionist said she would contact him as soon as possible.

  Corner looked at Manny. “Detective Williams?”

  Manny let out a breath and began. “I think Peppercorn, if it is Peppercorn, is worse than we thought. He likes to wait until his victims are awake and then watches them die.”

  Silent revulsion rippled through the room.

  “I don’t know if it’s a power game or some kind of God syndrome, but the killer watches the light go out. He may think he’s catching some part of their essence, their soul or spirit.”

  “How do you know that?” demanded Richardson.

  His acrimonious tone barely registered with Manny.

  “If you look at the close-up head photos of the victims, each one has a pattern of faint bruises along the crown of the head. They were made with the killer’s other hand. The pattern is consistent with someone holding their heads still.”

  “That bruising could have happened at a different time during the assault,” countered Richardson.

  “Maybe, but I don’t think so. There would have been no reason to hold their head still if they were already out. Besides, the bruising is blurred, like it took him a minute to get control of each victim.”

  Richardson glared at Manny, but said nothing.

  “His fingers and hands are like those you would associate with someone at least six-four. Like agent Tucker said, he is incredibly strong. It takes serious strength to kill the way he kills.”

  “His height would lend credence to your theory that he may be the same man you saw,” stated Agent Corner.

  Manny nodded.

  “Anything else?”

  “Yeah, one more thing.” Manny turned to Agent Tucker. “Did you find any spots on the bed that may have been makeup or looked like makeup?”

  Tucker looked at Alex, then back to Manny and shrugged. “Yes. We assumed it was Liz’s. But we swabbed it and sent it to the lab anyway. Why?”

  “I think he may use disguises. It could be just enough makeup to alter his skin tone or maybe to change his whole look. I’m not sure. But I noticed a small, tan blotch near the foot of the bed and it seemed out of place.”

  Uneasy silence filled the room. If Manny were right, they not only had an intelligent homicidal lunatic on their hands, but one who could change his appearance. No one wanted to add chameleon to this killer’s skill set.

  Corner finally broke the silence. “We are going to change some things. I want to have six teams of two on watch at all times. When I say watch, I mean strolling around the decks, scoping out the casino, checking out the bars, and attending dinner in the main dining rooms. I want a team as near to every kind of passenger activity as possible.

  “If they’re tall, I want a picture of them. Anything or anyone that looks remotely unusual is to be documented and photographed.”

  Captain Serafini cleared his throat to speak, then didn’t. Instead, he turned toward an arched armoire that matched the color of the oval conference table. He pulled out a key from his short, white uniform jacket and unlocked the large door. Reaching in, he pulled out eight holstered Glock 19, 9mmhandguns. Each weapon was a polished-smoke color and fitted with a fifteen-shot clip.

  The captain’s piercing eyes were alive as he addressed the mixed crew around the table. “I trust that each of you know how to use these and use them safely. I am taking a calculated risk in handing out these weapons.” He tilted his head like Clint Eastwood in a Dirty Harry movie. “Desperate measures for a desperate time. I am pledged to protect my passengers and crew, and I will not allow this heathen to kill again. Agent Corner and I have consulted on this and believe it to be prudent.”

  He threw a quick side glance toward the FBI agent. Corner was looking at the guns and said nothing.

  “I know that you all will do what is necessary if the situation presents itself.”

  The captain handed a firearm to each one of the seven cops plus an extra clip. The last one sat on the table like a lonely statue in a deserted park.

  Manny leaped to his feet. “Damn. Where is Detective Perez?”

  CHAPTER-48

  Fearing the worst, Manny raced through the narrow hall of Deck Six, making a beeline toward Christine Perez’s stateroom. His lungs were ablaze, but the only thing that mattered, that was important, was getting there. He prayed they hadn’t been outplayed again.

  A glance over his left shoulder confirmed that Sophie was only a few yards behind, with the others at her heels. Good partners were hard to find.

  He picked up the pace, hoping Perez was all right and that he was simply overreacting.

  But something had happened, hadn’t it? Something horrible.

  The premonition haunting Manny wouldn’t leave, wouldn’t pay the bill and check out.

  Damn it. Why didn’t they react sooner? There is no way she would be that late for the meeting.

  He quickened his gait again and was now motoring at a full sprint. He passed 6546 and was just paces away from Perez’s cabin.

  After a few more strides, he pulled the Glock from its holster and flipped the safety to off, hoping he didn’t need it, but feeling he would.

  Manny slid to a stop and began hammering the door. “Detective Perez? Detective? “No answer. “Christina. This is Manny Williams. Open the door.”

  Silence was the only sound, and his anguish spiraled higher. The others pulled up quick behind him, and Sophie immediately began pounding on the door as well, yelling Christina’s name even louder. A few onlookers peeked from cabin doors to see what the ruckus was about, but Josh told them to get back inside. The guests quickly obeyed jumping back into their rooms.

  “We need to get in there, now,” Manny urged. “Sophie, find a room steward and . . .”

  Richardson cut him off. “Relax, I have a key.”

  Manny whirled around in time to see the chief fingering a worn, black ring teeming with silver and gold keys. Attached to the very bottom of the oval menagerie was a white card equipped with a black magnetic strip. It was hard to miss Richardson’s slight look of triumph.

  “I am the head of security and have a master key or card for every door on the ship. Every door.” Richardson eyed Manny and said, “You don’t even know if anything is wrong. Maybe she lost track of time and is tanning on the deck.”

  “C’mon, Chief. That’s bullshit, and you know it. She’s not the type to forget or blow off a meeting, just open the damn door,” Manny demanded.

  “Now, Chief,” ordered Corner.

  Richardson rolled his eyes. “All right, all right. Just hold on to your weenies.” He reached for the key slot, card in hand.

  “I got your weenie,” muttered Sophie.

  Manny bumped her and motioned for her to move to the other side of the door.

  “Okay. I get it. But when this is over, I’m going to kick the living shit out of him,” she whispered. “Twice.”

  Sophie and Corner drew newly acquired weapons and took positions at different angles pointing to Perez’s cabin.

  Richardson grasped the handle, slid the card in the slot, and pushed the door inward.

  CHAPTER-49

  The heavy door hung open, and Manny not only saw the darkness, but it whispered to him to come in, to take a chance. No guts no glory. He burst into the room, Corner and Sophie on his heels, and not surprisingly, Richardson bringing up the rear. Each had their 9mm pistols raised to a readied, ninety-degree angle, prepared for anything.

  The room was as silent as a fog-shrouded graveyard after the witching hour. The thick curtains were drawn taut, forcing the room to embrace the dark. Manny nodded, and Sophie flipped both light switches. The brass overhead fixture flickered into life, simultaneously with the bathroom lamp. He waited motionlessly for his eyes to adjust. He could swear he heard each officer’s stammering heartbeat.

  Richardson emerged from the tiny bathr
oom shaking his head. Manny moved to the closed drapes and tore them open. There was no sign of the San Juan detective. He cautiously stepped through the deck door and peered over the railing, not sure what he was searching for, but covering every possibility. He saw only more sun, ship, and deep ocean.

  Stepping back to the crowded cabin, he noticed Perez’s suitcase lay open, resting on the front edge of the bed. There were a few personal items laid out in an orderly fashion near the pillows. Running shoes, makeup bag, toothpaste and brush, red large-toothed comb, and the dark-leather Smith and Wesson shoulder holster for her service revolver formed a silent brigade of useless witnesses to the whereabouts of the woman who set them there. Her Sun and Fun card, just like in the Casnovsky’s room, rested on the cabinet.

  “I guess this throws your sunbathing on the deck theory down the toilet, eh Richardson?” said Sophie in a voice dripping with sweet sarcasm.

  Richardson’s look told her to get bent. She blew him a kiss.

  Sophie had regained her composure completely, and her acid tongue to boot. Manny was grateful. He needed her. All of her.

  “Maybe she locked herself out and had to find help getting into the room,” said Agent Corner.

  “I don’t think so. Her shoes are here, and why was the curtain closed?”

  At that instant, Agent Tucker and Alex arrived, both breathing like they would never catch their breath again.

  “If she’s not here, you four need to step out of there . . . maybe we can see something . . . that once resembled . . . a damn clue to . . . what may be going on here,” wheezed Agent Tucker, motioning as he spoke with his best “you just stepped all over the evidence, but I can’t breathe” hand signals.

  “Just a minute. We want to make sure everythin—” Manny’s response stuck in his throat. “hit,” he huffed, focusing intently at the empty holster. “Did she bring a weapon aboard, and if she did, where is it?”

  “I thought you couldn’t bring a gun on board under any circumstances,” said Sophie.

  “You can’t,” whined Richardson. “Only the security staff has access to firearms.”

  “I didn’t even know she had one. She didn’t turn any in when she boarded, so I thought she didn’t bring her piece. Even Tucker and I agreed to give up ours,” said Corner.

  “I bet it was her backup,” said Manny.

  Corner took charge. “I’ll have her paged. Williams and Lee start down that side of the hall and knock on every damn door. Richardson and I will take the other side. I want to know if anyone even though they saw or heard something out of the ordinary.”

  “Are you sure that’s a good idea? We don’t want to panic any more guests,” offered Richardson.

  ”We have a missing detective and five murders here, Chief. I don’t give a shit about panicking guests, not anymore.”

  Manny couldn’t help but see the venomous look spewing from Corner’s blue eyes, staying any other thought Richardson wanted to express. The man was in charge, and a little emotion at the right time was a good thing.

  Sophie nudged Manny as she headed out of the room. “I like him. He’s hot and bossy . . . like you.”

  “Thanks, I think.”

  After one last look around, Manny had started to follow the others to the door when he heard it. Stopping stiff in his tracks, he cocked his head and listened. There! Coming from the closet, the sound begged again.

  Indistinguishable, the echo was barely audible.

  He turned toward the closet and raised his gun.

  CHAPTER-50

  An unsavory chill ran the length of Manny’s spine while he backed away from the closet.

  What the hell?

  As he pointed the Glock and took another step back, his thoughts were scorched with burning possibilities, accompanied by all too familiar uneasiness.

  “Partner, move your ass. We have doors to—” Sophie never finished.

  He waved her toward him. The quizzical look on her face vanished when the light bulb switched on. She raised her gun, moved to the opposite side of the closet, paying attention to his lead, her demeanor alert and ready. By then, Corner and Richardson had come back to the room.

  “Did anyone check this closet?” Manny said to Sophie.

  She shook her head and shrugged. “Not me,” she whispered.

  The other two cops shook their heads.

  Incredible! In the heat of the pressure-crammed moment when they had entered Detective Perez’s cabin, everyone had assumed that someone else had secured the closet.

  It was the kind of thing that could get a cop hurt—or worse.

  Heart pounding in his ears, he motioned for Sophie to get into position. The door swung from left to right, and he wanted her to pull it open, while he readied his aim.

  Agent Corner squeezed past Sophie and stood a couple of feet behind Manny, gun ready. Corner’s forehead beaded with clear perspiration and not from the heat either. There was a trace of excitement in his youthful face.

  Manny glanced over to his partner, and she nodded her head. He wasn’t sure whose role in this mind-wrenching process was worse, hers or his, but knew she would do her part in flawless fashion. He prayed he would do his.

  Sophie let out a slow, bleeding breath and clasped the polished, pewter handle, eyes wide.

  Manny flexed his left hand and brought it slowly to his waiting right hand, his gun hand. He remembered his academy instructions—two hands were better than one. He had to be steady. They might only get one chance at this.

  Sophie and he had routinely done this dozens of times before. But this time was different.

  He tried to quiet the cacophony running amok in his head. It worked, a little. Catching Sophie’s eyes with his, he nodded ever so slightly.

  Sophie pulled open the door without a hint of hesitation.

  “Freeze!!” yelled Manny.

  The air came alive with the fetid odor of fresh blood. Instantly, he wanted the truth before him to be an illusion. But it wasn’t an illusion.

  Dropping his arms, he realized he wouldn’t need the gun for this one, none of them would. His heart was already coming apart.

  Agent Corner gasped an involuntary, shocked breath.

  “Oh my God,” escaped Sophie’s mouth.

  Detective Perez hung from the crossbar of the closet, secured with a white, nylon rope that ran under her arms. Gray duct tape stretched across her swollen mouth. A black rose extended up from under the rope with the petals touching her bloody left cheek.

  Crimson trails ran down her face and covered her naked chest. Bite marks jacketed her face and breasts; part of her right ear was missing.

  Only that wasn’t the worst, not this time.

  Manny’s gaze had settled on her face, hoping to see some flicker of light in her eyes.

  But that wasn’t going to happen. Christina Perez’s beautiful, hazel eyes were no longer there.

  CHAPTER-51

  The US Coast Guard Medevac helicopter became a small, opaque speck as Manny watched it race north through the cloudless Caribbean sky. Forty or fifty rubbernecking passengers stood behind the restraining ropes, each one positive they knew the inside skinny behind the helicopter’s appearance. The official word was a heart attack involving one of the elderly guests. He wished that had been it, with all of his heart.

  Detective Perez was alive—barely. She had lost a lot of blood and was in critical condition. Luckily, she had blood type O-positive, the most common human blood type, and Dr. Kristoff was able to administer transfusions while Captain Serafini put in the call for the chopper. The doctor’s fast work had probably saved her life, for now. He prayed she would make it, and prayer couldn’t hurt. He was at least sure of that much.

  Manny didn’t recall seeing anyone—still breathing that is—as wrecked as Perez. Her skin, the non-mutilated part, matched the white terrycloth robe that he tore from the top of the opened closet to cover her disfigured body. And what could match the spectacle of her empty eye sockets?

&nb
sp; Her chances were not good, but she was a fighter, and fighters hung in there. He had seen it before. There was no way of measuring the human will to survive. Some seemed hell-bent and unusually determined to see their families or even to tend to something unfinished. Some didn’t.

  On top of that, it was fairly obvious that she had been the target for a terrible message, a dare. The killer was trying to say something, but so far, it escaped Manny.

  Looking to the cloudless sky, he gritted his teeth. He wanted the memory of Detective Perez’s closet to disappear, eternally erased. But he knew those stubborn images lived a life of their own. When they decided to stay, they caused many a cop to drink too much or swallow too many pills. But he’d never thought that way. He only thought of making the killer pay.

  The investigator in Manny Williams shifted into full gear, and the questions rushed him like waves to the beach.

  Why leave her alive? Why was the murdering piece of garbage changing the pattern? She was messed up, very messed up. But not to the extent of the other three women, except for the eyes. Was he interrupted? That didn’t seem likely. He wouldn’t have had time to put her in the closet the way he did. He purposely stopped the maiming short of killing her. To what end? Was he attempting to prove he could do whatever, whenever he wanted?

  Dr. Kristoff was positive she hadn’t been raped. There was no tearing of the vaginal tissue and no bruising around the thighs. He admitted that his examination was hurried and he had her life to worry about. The rape kit results would confirm or deny the doctor’s suspicions.

  These creeps often escalated their perverted rituals to the next level, and Peppercorn’s “dating” habits had been way out there, but Manny wondered for the hundredth time if Peppercorn could be responsible for this kind of maiming.