by Rick Murcer
Mary turned to the other assistant, nodded, and grabbed the front end of the gurney. As she brushed by him, she looked backed, then stopped. This time there was no stopping the tears. “I don’t give a flyin unicorn’s ass what you think about my sense of justice. If you get the chance to shoot this one, do it. And more than once.”
The CSIs disappeared through the door.
Letting loose a pent-up breath, he realized that some of Mary’s thoughts echoed his own—the killer had done this before. He’d planned every detail, even the staging of the body. Kathryn’s head had faced the door, so that when anyone walked into the room, her blank, endless stare was the first thing seen.
The horror of that gaze would be perpetually etched in anyone’s mind who saw it: in this case, her best friend Meav Franson. Meav was holding her own, but things would get worse before they got better, especially when he and Paddie went to question the family. Never a nice time in circumstances like this.
He trudged slowly back into the room, looking for anything that would help him get the investigation rolling. Shannon stopped at Kathryn’s bookshelf, running his fingers along the top of the hard-covered classics. David Copperfield, The Christmas Carol, and even Stephen King’s Dark Tower series sat in a neat row. She had been a heavy reader, rare these days.
He shuffled to the window and took in the cloudy, overcast morning sky; secretly hoping it would supernaturally bend near to him and whisper the killer’s name. It didn’t happen. He did see Paddie’s slender build coming down the narrow street, heading back to this apartment. Maybe he had something, but probably not; it was rare that info from canvassing broke a case.
Obscure movement in the upper right corner of the window, just behind the teal and red dream catcher, caused him to focus on the tiny spider scurrying up the wooden frame. He moved closer to get a better look and scowled at the faint metallic odor.
Brushing the dream catcher aside to get a better whiff, he immediately felt something moist on the bottom of the wire holding it in place. He gawked at the red streak on his hand. Blood.
He turned the dream catcher over.
The three-word message sent a chill coursing through his short frame.
MORE TO COME.
Chapter-11
“I don’t know how this could happen in Galway,” shivered Haley Rose. “Kathryn was so full of life and wouldn’t hurt a flea, she wouldn’t.”
Argyle could hear the pain and disbelief in her words.
She spiked a fleeting look his way as he sat in the comfort of the overstuffed chair in the B&B’s lounge, then she fixed her eyes on the floor, staring at something only Haley Rose could see.
“I can’t imagine how you must be feeling. I know people say they can, but I think not,” he soothed. He stood up, placing his large hand on her shoulder. “Ms. Franson. Is there anything I can do?”
She turned her head, and Argyle’s pulse beat a little faster. She really did have beautiful eyes. Burning emeralds. When the time was right, she would be all his, his way, and she’d be the very best of his lovers.
He couldn’t help thinking, if he was able to express any true emotions, how she’d be someone that he might get pleasure from spending time with . . . but that could never come to fruition, could it?
Instead, his mind shifted to Manny Williams, someone he truly looked forward to spending some quality time with. Plenty of quality time. He felt his blood moving faster at the thought of dispensing a day or two, showing the detective real pain. Who knew, maybe even three days.
“That’s so kind of you, Fredrick, but no. You’re a guest here, and you need not take on my concerns.”
He reached for her hand. “I was hoping that I had become more than a guest.”
She searched his face. “Perhaps, after ten days, you are. But things are a wee bit more complicated now, aren’t they?”
“I believe that’s true.”
Much more than you could ever imagine, my lovely.
“I’m sorry you didn’t get to the castle this morning.”
“It wouldn’t have been the same without my personal guide, would it now? Another time?”
She gave him a thin but emotional smile. “I’d like that.”
“How is Meav doing?”
“She’s asleep in her room. The doctor gave her something to help calm her, but if I were a bettin’ woman, I’d say she’ll never get over seeing her friend like that. I’m not sure anyone would.”
He nodded. “The mind is capable of wondrous things. Maybe she’ll adjust better than you think.”
The doorbell chimed, and he watched Haley Rose rise from the chair. She straightened her blouse and jeans with her hands, combing her hand through her hair. She was very attractive, and once again, he reflected about their time to come. Nothing short of amazing—he’d make sure of that.
Moving toward the door, Haley Rose said, “That’d be the sergeant detectives. They have some questions for us, me, I guess.”
“I’m sure. I’ll leave you three alone, but I would like to meet them first, if that’s okay with you. I’ve never met an Irish detective.”
“I don’t see why not.”
She moved off to the front room and returned moments later with a short, well-built man, his hair thinning, his features round but pleasant. The second man was slight with shocking-red hair and glasses as thick as soda bottles. Talk about an odd couple.
Argyle stuck out his hand. “I’m Fredrick and a guest here at the Bayside.”
“Nice to make your acquaintance, Fredrick. I’m Detective Steve Shannon and this is my partner, Detective Paddie Harris. I see that you’re American and a tall one at that.”
“Guilty as charged. I’ve wanted to visit your island for years, and I’ve finally made it here.”
Shannon looked at him the way detectives do when they size up a potential suspect. He felt the scan from head to toe and marveled at how some things were universal: like how transparent dumb-shit cops were on both sides of the Atlantic.
“I certainly hope you’re enjoying your visit, Fredrick,” said Shannon.
Harris simply grinned and nodded.
I’m going to enjoy it more than you, my fine detectives . . . much more.
“Thank you. I have, up until this morning, at least. So tragic.”
“Yes. Tragic.”
Shannon tried to hide his inquisitive tone but failed. Argyle laughed on the inside.
Could this one be smarter than most?
“Well, I’ll leave you three to your business.” He turned to Haley Rose. “I’m going for a walk. Maybe we can work something out for lunch, if you’re up to it.”
“Thank you, Fredrick. Maybe. One never knows.”
“I’ve said that very thing, often.”
As he exited the lounge, he felt Shannon’s stare stab him in the back. He smiled. This man would be interesting to watch, but he wondered how the detective would handle his next present.
Not all presents are gifts.
Chapter-12
Manny settled into the conference room’s contoured leather chair with Alex on his left, Sophie to his right. The flustered look on Destina’s face had said more than any words. Added to Richardson’s murder, the fourth killing of a Carousel security employee verified what they were all thinking, but really hoped wasn’t true: the staff had become a target, and for no apparent reason. But that’s why they were here, to connect the dots, if they could. He felt some of the old familiar excitement coursing through his veins. Not quite like old times, but it was a start, and he was grateful. After losing Louise, he’d wondered more than once if he’d ever get any of his old fire back for anything.
Manny shifted his gaze to the two women at the opposite side of the table. They had to be the Miami Homicide detectives. The women represented a change in accepted norms, paradigms in action. Usually a case like this would be given to men, reflecting the old-school thinking that was fast being replaced with performance-based merit. It was good to see,
and it meant these two knew what they were doing. He had a feeling they would need all the good cops they could muster on this one.
Destina finished looking at the file in front of her, handed it to her assistant Ruby, and whispered something to her. Ruby flipped back her hair and gave her boss a dubious look, then motioned to Destina’s other assistant and they left the conference room.
Carousel’s security head stood. “Last night, we lost Chief Craig Richardson. He was the third victim in what looks to be an assault on my people, the security staff of this company. He was brutalized in a way that you only see in some screwed-up horror movie. Preliminary files of the murder scene—reports and pictures—are on the way for each of you. You’ll also be receiving the personnel file and whatever we have from the crime scene of the fourth victim in these attacks, Bryce Stafford. Like the others, he was found shot in his home, and the ouroboros was burned into his right foot.”
“I take it your staff didn’t think it was a good idea to show us the incomplete crime scene files,” said Manny.
“You noticed. No, they didn’t, for two reasons. You all worked with Richardson two years ago, and although you may not have had a high opinion of him, Agent Corner’s report left him in a good light, and you probably built relationships with him, at least on some level. The photos will—be difficult to take.”
“You’re right. We didn’t care for him at first. In fact, he pissed us off. But he came through when it counted. There’s no price tag you can put on that. And if you recall, we’ve seen hard-to-look-at files before,” said Manny.
“What’s the second reason?” asked Alex.
Destina glanced at the Miami PD detectives. “There’s some concern that if too many people have access to the information, something may leak, the way these things can, and cause problems in the investigation.”
“Yep. I can’t wait to post the reports to my Facebook, Twitter, and my own personal website. Then I’ll forward everything to all of my press contacts . . . which totals . . . oh, let me see . . . about zero,” responded Sophie, daggers flying from her eyes.
“Easy,” soothed Manny. Then he turned toward the Miami detectives. “Why would you think that could be a problem?”
The Miami detective to Manny’s left stood. She was a tall woman, a few pounds overweight with a dark tan. Her black hair had light streaks, and she was not the clothing aficionado Destina was. She was almost sloppy in appearance.
He could tell by the hard look on her face that she carried more angst than she wanted—or maybe it was carrying her. Either way, that’s not a good thing when the pressure was cranked up. Four dead in five days qualified for serious cranking material.
“My name is Marie Swifton. I’m the lead investigator on this case. This is Detective Allie Parkroy.”
The second detective nodded, her pale face more than grave. It didn’t appear either one of the locals was having much fun.
“We’re sticking with procedure, and frankly, this many people in the loop make us nervous as hell.”
“Agreed, but you didn’t answer my question.”
“I thought I did. Let me make it simple for you.”
“So, you think that just because we’re from Lansing, we need it simple?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“But that’s what you meant.”
Swifton’s face grew more stern. “I’ve watched more than one good investigation go up in smoke because someone said the wrong thing to someone close to them. I’m not going to put up with that here. Understand?”
“Perfectly. Detective, I want you to recognize that we’re here to help. Carousel and the FBI invited us down here to give you what we can, then in two days we’re leaving on a cruise, which I’m sure will be much more enjoyable than our first. Meanwhile, remember we’ve been through a few investigations ourselves, and we know what the hell we’re doing.”
Before she could respond, Josh walked to the head of the table and motioned for her to sit down. The hell flying from her eyes said more than any words, but sit she did.
“The FBI was invited in, then we assessed the situation and decided it crossed more than one federal jurisdictional line, so we—meaning me—will take charge of this investigation.” He frowned at the Miami detective. “If you or your partner has a problem with that, I’ll talk to your captain, and we’ll get someone else in here who wants to play nice. Did you get that?”
Swifton searched the table and said nothing.
“I’ll take that as a yes. Enough of the pissing matches. Let’s get moving.”
“For those of you who don’t know, Max Tucker is our CSI and forensic expert, and he’ll be going over some of the details of the first two murders and what little info we have on Richardson’s murder.”
The thin African American waved his hand, and then reached into his pocket and gave himself a shot from his asthma inhaler.
Manny grinned. Déjà vu all over again. Max’s mannerisms also reminded Manny of just how good a scientist Max was and how well Alex and Max had worked together.
“This is Special Agent Chloe Franson. She’s from Ireland and has unique experience in several areas, including International Terrorism and in our Behavioral Analysis Unit. She’ll fill us in on what the ouroboros may mean, or what it may not.”
Trying not to look at her as she pushed her chair away and moved beside Josh was like trying to avoid seconds on a cruise ship buffet. Manny felt his heart do that funny flip thing again as he watched how she carried herself, hair moving in a rhythm that was hers alone. He felt himself grow warmer. Then pushed it to another place . . . almost.
He felt Sophie looking at him, and he turned in her direction. She winked and gave him a nudge with her elbow. He shook his head and opened his notebook.
Just a couple of days. I can handle being this close to her for two days, right?
But there was a part of him that didn’t want it to be gone in two days, maybe not in twenty years.
“The significance of the ouroboros in Celtic culture has some extreme and not so extreme symbolism,” said Chloe.
Her Irish heritage was more pronounced, at least to his ear, and was an incredibly pleasing sound.
I’m in trouble again.
Manny let out a breath and shifted his concentration to the case, praying it would work.
Chloe reorganized her notes and then slid pictures of the ouroboros brand on the first victim to everyone around the table.
Her green eyes scanned the room, briefly stopping at Manny, then continued. “The symbol, at least the one the killer is burning on the victims, probably has something to do with rebirth of some kind, a transformation to another step in life. Once the adder snake bites its own tail, like this one, it can mean a new circle of life is evolving. It also could represent . . . well, have some parallel with simultaneous phallic and feminine representation.”
“Okay then. So is the killer trying to say that he or she is becoming something new?” asked Sophie.
“It could be. They may fancy themselves as maturing into their rightful place and all that comes with the new them,” answered Chloe.
Manny frowned. “Maybe. But why this particular character? It could mean all the things Chloe mentioned, and a few more. And why a Celtic symbol? Why not something a little less cryptic?”
“Both good questions. The shooter could have some Celtic connection, but that doesn’t seem likely. Probably more likely something the killer’s read about and then adopted as his own talisman,” said Chloe.
Alex leaned over the table. “What the hell do you mean cryptic? Isn’t it pretty straight forward?”
Manny ran his hand through his hair and glanced at Chloe. She nodded.
“Since this symbol could represent numerous things, I think this guy is looking to see if we can figure it out, like a chess match.”
“Shit,” breathed Alex.
“Double shit,” swore Sophie. “This psycho isn’t done yet, is he?”
“I
don’t think so, but we still have a lot of information to go over. Who knows? He might have completed what he set out to do,” shrugged Manny.
“You don’t sound too convinced,” said Josh.
“I’m not,” said Manny.
“Me neither,” agreed Chloe.
“I think Manny and Chloe are right,” nodded Destina. “We need to compare the other files and see if we see anything else.”
The heavy conference room door opened, and Destina’s two assistants entered carrying sets of files for everyone. The security chief motioned for them to pass the files out to everyone.
“Agent Corner. I know this is your investigation, and we’re here for anything you need, but before we open these files, I’d like Max to share what he’s discovered,” said Destina.
“Okay by me. We, Max, didn’t have a chance to share the info with Miami PD or the Lansing folks.” He looked at Manny and shrugged.
Manny nodded. They really hadn’t had an opportunity to talk.
Max stood where he was, removed his jacket, and placed it carefully on the back of the chair like Manny had seen him do so many times before.
He cleared his throat and pushed up the wire-rimmed glasses on his wide nose. “I had ballistics run certain sections of the first two murder-scene bullets through high, microscopic magnifications not typical for this procedure. We usually use a stereomicroscope that magnifies at a maximum of fifty times. We cranked it up to a hundred times, cleared up the image, and then ran it again.”
Max put both hands on the table. “We got a match from an unsolved murder in Orlando from over two years ago.”
Chapter-13
He turned the key and the Boss 302 engine under the hood of his black Mustang roared to life. He hit the button that slid back the sunroof and felt the immediate effect of Miami’s summer sun on his handsome face. But that’s how he liked it: hot and steamy. It reminded him of his wife. Her image rode the waves of his thoughts, and he felt himself becoming excited. No one had ever done to him what she did. She made him . . . crazy.
