Caribbean Moon (A Manny Williams Thriller, Book One)

by Murcer, Rick

  Corner gently placed his hand on Manny’s arm, “Manny, Max is inside going over the room. You’ll just be in his way. Besides, what good would it do?”

  The reality of what Corner said began to sink into another level. A sorrowful welling grew from the depths of Manny’s gut, and he blinked away tears.

  She had been just twenty-five years old, and now it was over. Not only over, but she had been treated like some meaningless piece of trash. And what about Mike? What could ever heal the scars that Lexy’s murder had caused?

  “Do Gavin and Stella know?” he whispered.

  “Yeah, they do. Gavin is the one who thought there might be something wrong. When they didn’t answer the phone or the door, he came to my room.”

  “Where are they?”

  “Sophie’s with them in the infirmary. They’re doing as well as can be expected. The Doc gave them a sedative and they’re resting, but they won’t leave Mike’s side.”

  Alex spoke through the silence. “I know you want to see them, but let them rest awhile and talk to them later. Besides, we need you on this.”

  Standing by the door, head bowed, he sought desperately to push the “on” button for detective mode and to leave personal feelings fighting for another time.

  It was so hard. These murders were personal. The killer had seen to that. He clenched his teeth, removed his hand from the handle, and wiped his eyes. “How did this happen? We called them and they were fine.”

  “We think he may have been in the room with them when Sophie called,” said Corner.

  “Why would you think that?”

  “A witness saw a man leaving their room no more than thirty minutes after we called. To have time to do what he did, he was probably there. I assume he was holding them at gunpoint. There was a small circular bruise on Mike’s head, consistent with a gun barrel, indicating that the killer was pressing the weapon hard against his head.”

  The notion struck Manny that they all, himself included, seemed to be rats in a complex maze trying to find their way to some gratifying conclusion. Maybe that’s what the killer was trying to promote: more confusion and no clear path to the end, just oblique teasing that led to nowhere and everywhere.

  The shadows that separated “special detective” from “heartbroken friend” further dissipated as Manny’s anger and sorrow began to recede. For now, he needed to focus on catching this lunatic asshole. He was ready.

  “Where is this witness?”

  Agent Corner turned toward the stateroom only a few steps across the hall.

  “It’s time you met Mr. John Eberle.”

  CHAPTER-65

  Shaking the elderly man’s boney hand, Manny sized up the one who said he saw Mike’s attacker, Lexy’s killer. Eberle returned the scrutiny with an even gaze of his own, and Manny thought that was good. He might be advanced in years, but Manny suspected Eberle had all of his marbles, and for that, he was grateful. Sound mind equaled solid description.

  “I want you to tell Detective Williams what you told us,” said Agent Corner. He turned toward the captain and Richardson. “But first, the good Captain and Chief Richardson have agreed that it is time to go room-to-room and see what we can see. Right?”

  The doubtful look sprouting on the two cruise-ship employees confirmed to Manny what the discussion had been about just before he had arrived.

  They didn’t want to panic or inconvenience the rest of their guests, but Agent Corner was no longer concerned with that line of thinking. Manny could tell from the inflection in his voice that he flat out didn’t care. They had a killer, a monster to catch.

  Manny, Corner, and Eberle stood outside the old man’s cabin as the others disappeared down the hall to mobilize the search. The witness glanced nervously toward one end of the hallway and then back. He reminded Manny of a grade-school kid checking to make sure no cars were coming before he crossed the street.

  Eberle shifted his weight nervously. His knee joint cracked and sounded like a small-caliber gunshot.

  Manny said. “That was a good one.”

  Eberle bowed his head and snorted a small laugh. “Almost as loud as those farts I get after eatin’ a couple of those hotdogs with the extra sauerkraut.”

  “That’ll do it,” smiled Manny. Eberle was a good man. He felt a little better.

  The three settled into a comfortable silence before Manny broke it.

  “John, what did you see?”

  Eberle hesitated. Whatever he had seen had frightened him. Manny noticed the military tattoo on the old man’s forearm. Eberle was a veteran, and Manny bet he had served in Viet Nam. Vets from that war didn’t scare easily. Most of them had seen far too many inhuman acts to be alarmed by anything on a cruise ship.

  “I’ll tell you again, if it’ll help. Those are good kids. They always said hey and had a smile for this old man, a real one.”

  Then Eberle launched into his story for the second time. He paused when he spoke of the blood on the big man’s arm and shirt. He was obviously affected by it, but more by its source. He finished his account of his meeting with the killer and took in a shaky breath.

  “I could see his wheels turnin’. I thought he was going to punch my ticket. It scared the hell out of me.”

  Manny nodded and said nothing.

  “Ya know. It was almost like he wanted me to tell you what I saw. I think that’s the only reason I’m talkin’ to you now.”

  “You could be right.”

  Manny asked a couple of clarifying questions about the killer’s height and build, then a couple more about his attire. Eberle answered without hesitation. That was good.

  His pulse quickened as a small ember of hope began to glow in his otherwise pensive thoughts. Most cases are broken wide open because someone saw something and was brave enough to come forward. Manny thought this could be the break they needed. Desperately needed. “Are you willing to look at photos of men on the ship when they're ready?”

  Eberle nodded.

  The two cops shook the gentleman’s hand, and Manny thanked him for his bravado. John Eberle, with fading brown eyes, gazed at the two men. Their witness had something else to say.

  “You know, Detectives, I started cruisin’ after my wife passed with the thought of tellin’ her about them when I got home. I know she’s dead and it sounds goofy, but it’s true. She loved the only one she got to go on, and it does my heart good to think, just maybe, she can hear my old chatterin’ about the latest cruise and get somethin’ out of it, you know?” His voice trailed to a soughing murmur as he searched Corner’s face and then Manny’s. “Does that make me crazy?”

  “John, that’s about the sanest thing I’ve heard on this cruise.” Manny answered, putting his hand on the old man’s shoulder.

  Eberle gave him a grateful smile. “I just wanted you to know that even though I talk to my dead wife, I saw what I saw.”

  The old man looked down at the floor and then back to Manny. “I hope you get this devil. Anyone that would hurt a smart young couple like that needs to find his place in hell real fast.”

  “He will, trust me.” Manny saw the trepidation and sadness in the old man’s eyes, and it mated with his own grief. Sorrow has no generation or gender gap, Manny thought. It exists completely without prejudice.

  CHAPTER-66

  Josh Corner sat on the edge of his loveseat, dressed only in red boxers, and greedily gulped the last morsel of New York strip swimming in a generous pool of steak sauce. He had forgotten to eat all day and now, at 9 p.m., he had finally gotten to enjoy a cruise ship meal.

  He wasn’t sure if it was because he was so hungry or that the food was really that good, but it tasted like the best meal he had ever eaten. Maybe it was.

  Staring at the empty platter, he thought—just for a second—against licking it, then did it anyway. Next, he lifted the two pieces of raspberry cheesecake from the tray and dug in. Moments later, the desserts were a memory and so was Josh Corner’s hunger.

  A shower
and a good meal were just what he needed. He stretched back on the bed and closed his eyes to absorb the last couple of hours.

  Captain Serafini had called and said there were no suites available for the rest of Lansing’s finest. The cruise was unusually full. He apologized and offered more security guards for each room.

  Corner thanked him and hung up the phone believing the extra security wouldn’t be necessary because the killer had already made good on his promise. The Crosbys had indeed heard the bell toll. Their lives would never be the same. But more guards couldn’t hurt.

  Richardson had stopped by his cabin to tell him that they had no luck going door-to-door. There were just too many cabins with no one home, reminding Corner that this was a cruise ship and people had things to do, bars to frequent, shows to attend, and sun to worship.

  A couple of folks had mentioned to Richardson that they had seen a man like he described, but didn’t know where his cabin was. One woman, who traveled the excursion in Dominica where the tour guide was killed, said she had spoken with a tall, well-built man on the pier. She said his eyes bored right through her and made her feel uncomfortable. That he was creepy, but didn’t know where his room was.

  He reached for the second pillow and stuffed it under his head. The next thing to explore was the forensics reports, and they wouldn’t be back from the ERT lab for a few hours. So until then, he was going to get some sleep. At least try.

  He stretched out on the bed and his mind drifted back to Lexy’s face. He was helpless to stop it. She had been bitten almost beyond recognition and strangled so intently that her eyes were virtually blood-soaked. He had never seen petechial hemorrhaging like that before and didn’t want to see it again. He locked his hands behind his head and tried to concentrate on something else, anything else. Sometimes he hated this job. It did things to a man.

  Rolling over, he found himself hoping the others were having better luck trying to get some rest. A tiny smile forged its way to life at the thought of Manny Williams trying to shut down for a few hours. That was totally against his nature, but he knew the Lansing cop needed some time off, and he hoped Manny could get the Crosbys off his mind long enough to make it work. Now was the time, because the bases were covered until the next batter stepped to the plate.

  His eyes began to droop, and then he went out.

  *****

  Two hours after Agent Corner had fallen into a deep, exhausted sleep, the loud ringing woke him with a jerk. He instinctively reached for his gun, blinking himself awake.

  It took a few seconds to remember where he was and what the ringing meant. He stumbled from his bed and answered the phone on the fourth ring.

  “Hello,” he muttered. “This better be damned good.”

  At first, no one spoke. Quiet, distant breathing passed through the phone like a summer breeze.

  His pulse quickened, “Who is this? I hope this isn’t some asinine prank. I can trace this—”

  “Agent Corner?” The deep voice carried a heavy Latin accent, and he had heard it before. His antennas were on hardcore alert.

  “Yes. This is Agent Corner,” he responded calmly. “Who is this?”

  “I’m sorry to disturb you, but this is First Officer Pena, and we have received some faxed information for you. It is from your office in Miami and is marked urgent. Should I have it delivered right away?”

  He stared at the phone in frustration. His imagination had just taken a trip on the Good Ship Lollipop, and he had to bring her quickly back to the pier. He kicked himself for his lack of professional control.

  “Agent Corner?”

  “Yes, First Officer Pena, please have it brought to me at once. Thank you.”

  He hung up the phone and sat back on the bed. This was going to be another long night. He dialed room service and ordered a pot of vanilla bean espresso and four bowls of chocolate melting cake.

  He reached for the phone again and dialed Manny’s room.

  A long night indeed.

  CHAPTER-67

  The CD player blasted out a classic rock tune that seemed appropriate ambiance for the killer’s mood. Steppenwolf hammered a driving beat as the lyrics coursed through the cabin.

  A true nature’s child . . . Born to be wild, Born to be wild.

  The partially eaten BLT and large dill pickle offered an interesting mingle with the rest of the aromas spattered across the room. Shoe polish, menthol shaving cream, and spicy aftershave contributed to the hodge-podge of odors.

  But the imposing figure that was Eli Jenkins hardly noticed as his thoughts ran deep. He was gripped with a single purpose.

  Dressed in a black tank top, his stout legs were covered in full-length army fatigues. His high-top boots gleamed like buffed obsidian. The laces were in perfect tension, and the length of each lace between the eyelets was precise.

  Small, dark patches of shoe polish gathered below each eye. Jenkins’s freshly shaved head and face glowed as steady streams of light reflected against congregating perspiration. No demon born from hell ever looked more frightening.

  But there was no arrogant smile pursing his lips. No expression inhabited his black, unforgiving eyes. He was all business. It was as it should be. The time had finally arrived. And he was ready. Everyone was born to a purpose, and what came next was the very reason he had come into existence.

  It’s not often one is allowed the opportunity to do what I am going to do next.

  He would no longer have to shroud his intent with disguise and deceit. He had remained hidden for all of these months, and now it was near the appointed time to inform the world what Eli Jenkins was about.

  They would discover that God wasn’t found in an ancient, 5,000-year-old book, but in raw, unrestrained power. His kind of power.

  The license to give and take life made gods, not notions of love, sacrifice, and kindness. He had seen the effect of his actions in the faces of his victims when they left this world. That was real power.

  The black diving watch on his wrist said it was 10:59. Right on schedule.

  Pulling the backpack over to his side, he checked and rechecked its contents. Once satisfied, he zipped it and placed it on the floor next to the bed.

  The opened balcony door allowed the night’s humidity to enter. The smell of the ocean was strong as he listened to the breaking waves keep steady time against the cruise ship’s hull.

  This is all for me, this stage, this audience. I won’t disappoint.

  After ten minutes, he pulled the door shut, turned down the music, plugged in special earphones, and flipped off the room’s lights.

  Jenkins stood staring out the window, as still as a rock. Just a few hours to go and the prize would be his. No one could stop him or what was predestined.

  He felt like a child on his birthday.

  As he closed his eyes and relaxed his body, he heard it. At some indefinable time between the world of the unconscious and the conscious, the voice spoke.

  For one brief, uneasy—maybe even sickening—moment, he heard Robert Peppercorn’s plea for freedom, for deliverance.

  With a sharp flex of Jenkins’s will, Peppercorn disappeared like a wisp of smoke.

  Jenkins had worked too hard to allow that wormy, feeble-willed punk back in control. Hell would freeze over first. He smiled again. He knew a little about hell.

  CHAPTER-68

  After hanging up the phone, Manny pulled on shorts and a red tee shirt. He shuffled to the room’s loveseat and tried to stuff his wide feet into his sandals. They wouldn’t go. Trying again, he bent the toenail on his big toe back far enough to get his attention. He scowled and looked down, finally realizing that Louise’s pink-flowered flip-flops weren’t going to stretch nearly enough for his EEEE wide, size ten-and-one-half feet. A tired grin broadened his unshaven face. They wouldn’t go very well with the rest of his outfit anyway.

  He continued to rub the sleep out of his eyes while he located his watch and wallet. Corner had let him know that more information had c
ome in from Miami, and his presence was requested to go over the fine print. He also had said they would be staying in their original rooms, but with more security. Manny was grateful, but wasn’t sure it was a problem anymore. Josh had agreed, but had taken the liberty of doubling up the security in the infirmary. No more trouble for Gavin’s family. They’d been scorched enough.

  The Crosbys. He was trying to be a good cop, to get the personal out of the way and focus on the investigation. But how could he really? He knew that the unspeakable pain of the past few hours could never leave.

  But exhaustion has no allegiance or emotion. Proving an ally this time, Manny had actually slept some. A couple hours were better than none.

  A few moments later, his sandals firmly in place, he stepped through the cabin door, making sure it locked, nodded at the two security guards, and headed to Corner’s room. Grogginess was now a memory, and the thought of possible new leads hastened his step.

  Corner was waiting for him, espresso in hand. Manny gratefully accepted the coffee and sat down on the loveseat. A thick file of faxed documents sat on the round table and glared ominously at him. He returned the glare. It wasn’t the first time that the evidence displayed reluctance, even disdain, at the prospect of speaking to him. In the end, though, the words and photos would converse with him. They always did.

  “Well, at least you look awake. No super model, but awake.”

  “Almost, and bite me,” Manny said, returning the agent’s grin.

  “Those your kids?”

  Corner glanced at the faded picture of two grinning toddlers pressed in the middle of his tee and smiled an unguarded, affectionate grin.

  “Charlie and Jake. Four and three. Best time in the whole world.” Corner’s smile was replaced with a shake of his head. “I don’t see them enough. You know how this career thing is.”