by Rick Murcer
“I know they will, but these pictures are so—”
“Listen. You’ve got five or six hours before you get to Dublin, and we’ll be leaving within a few hours, but meanwhile, there’s not a damn thing you can do until, physically, you get there. We know it, and worse, Argyle knows it. He’d like nothing better than to drive you crazy, yes?”
Manny was right. He did want to drive her crazy. “Yes.”
“You have to do your best to put your emotions aside and—”
There was a ripple of static as her phone went dead. “Manny? Manny?” More deafening silence, then came the most wonderful sound she had ever heard.
“Yes, I’m here, we don’t have the best connection. Anyway, did you hear what I said?”
“Most of it. I know that’s the best way to deal with this, but I’m not you.”
“But you can be. You have to slow down and think like a cop. You have to forward those pictures, stop whining, and then tell me what you think.”
“Whining? What? And what the hell do you mean tell you what I think?” Her accent, which she thought was long gone, came thundering back with her anger and frustration. “Ya can’t talk to me like that, ya know.”
“That’s the cop I recognize,” he said softly.
She bowed her head. He’d helped her get off herself and on to what was important in one sentence. Full of surprises, he was. “Bastard. You made your point. I’ll call you back.”
Clicking the send button, she forwarded the e-mail to his smartphone, hoping it would get there, then dialed his number again.
“I don’t have the e-mailed pictures yet, but talk to me. What do we know for sure?” asked Manny.
Looking out the window, she concentrated on just exactly what Manny had asked. “Okay, Chloe girl, think,” she whispered to herself.
Sitting up straighter, she began. “All right. The first picture clearly means she’s alive, otherwise there was no purpose in sending it, so that means he had something to say, a lesson to teach, perhaps?”
“Good. I agree with all of that. What else?”
“Well, the second picture is taken in front of the south side of the castle and the sun’s angle isn’t too high, so the picture was taken in the morning.”
“It could’ve been taken any morning, right?”
Chloe looked closer and saw the date stamped in the corner of the image. “No. It was taken this morning. Since Ireland is five hours behind the East Coast, it was taken at 10:23 this morning.”
“Excellent, now what about the other picture? Is there a date stamp on that one?”
Shit! She felt like such a rookie, but Manny knew how stressed she was and was working her back to some semblance of sanity. She really had never met anyone like him.
“It was taken about three hours later.” More static, but she could still what he said next.
“Given how long it would have taken them to leave the castle and get to wherever she’s being held, what could have gone on to help us create a timeline?”
“The castle’s about thirty minutes away from the B&B, but that doesn’t mean anything unless they came back to it. Say they left, came to town, then he took her someplace remote. I don’t know, Manny, I need more info, but he couldn’t be more than ninety minutes or so, in any direction.”
“Maybe. But let’s not just look at the physical things, Chloe. What’s his reason, his purpose? What does the Good Doctor want out of all of this?”
Chloe bit her lip. She knew, didn’t she? His narcissism would only allow for one thing—this has to be all about him, his plan, and one key element.
“He wants you.”
“Yes, but not just me. He wants all of us.”
Chapter-45
Jen slammed her suitcase to the floor of the cruise line’s cement concourse, folded her arms, like Louise used to do when Pissy was her middle name, and stared directly into his face, never budging her fiery gaze. “This is crap . . . no, wait, this is . . . this is . . . SHIT, Dad. I’ve been waiting for this forever and now we can’t do it?”
Manny stepped closer to his daughter, her eyes still holding his, and this time it was her look, not her mother’s, that made him cringe on the inside. He briefly thought how much easier this would be with a son. “Honey, I have no choice.”
“Oh, bull crap! You’re Manny Williams; you always have a choice. You could do this cruise with me or chase after some twisted pervert in Ireland. You get to choose, I don’t.”
She whirled around and swiped at tears that belonged to him. His heart was breaking, but sometimes the right thing was the hardest thing. His daughter knew that all too well. She’d seen more in her short years than most see in a lifetime, but had been more than a Spartan through all of it.
His voice grew softer. “You will always be my number one woman, my concern, my reason for living. Always.”
“It doesn’t feel like it now,” she said, her resolve beginning to evaporate.
“It’s true. So to protect you, I’ve got to do what I can to rid this world of Argyle. He’d like nothing more than to watch us suffer and eventually die in some horrible way. He made that promise, but I can’t let him keep it. I know where he is, and I have to go get him.”
Jen was burning a hole in the floor, no longer crying, but still not looking at him.
“Besides, how much fun would this cruise be for you if I were constantly worrying about everyone being in danger?”
“I get that, Dad, I’m the one who named you the Guardian of the Universe, and I’m proud of you, but I wanted this for us—maybe more for you.”
Manny rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”
She gave him a tired smile. “Okay, probably not, but it sounded good.”
Sophie came up the escalator flanked by two female Feds who were going to escort Jen to the FBI’s other Gulfstream V and take her back to Lansing. She stopped twenty feet away, motioning to the agents to wait and pretended to look at something on her right shoe. The woman had issues, but was a great cop and a special friend.
Manny moved even closer to his daughter, reaching out his hand. “I’ve talked to Gavin and Mike Crosby; they’re going to take turns staying with you at our place, so you don’t have to stay with your uncle. Plus, Sampson will be happy to see you.”
She sighed. “That’ll be cool. I miss him.” Jen showed a brave, tight-lipped grin. “I guess I should be grateful for what I have; that’s what Mom always said, right?”
He nodded. “Your mom was always good about that stuff.”
She reached out for his hand and then wrapped her arms around his neck. She held on tight.
“I’m going to make this up to you when I get back, I swear. Please understand that, but I can’t let him leave Ireland, unless it’s in custody or in a body bag, okay?” he whispered, hoping no one else heard the unsteadiness of his voice.
“I know, Dad, but that’s what scares me the most.” She held on even tighter. “What if you don’t come back?”
His held her tighter as he realized what she was really worried about.
Some super cop.
Manny held her out at arm’s length and showed her a confident face any politician would’ve been proud of. “Nothing will ever stop me from coming back to you, understand?”
“I do, Dad, I do. But what if Argyle has different plans?”
Chapter-46
As Argyle descended the creaking wooden planks serving as steps, he was greeted with the almost-overpowering odor of the dank basement. It reminded him of the one under the house where he grew up in rural Michigan. Musty and moldy. But this one was magnified even more by the ancient, crumbling stones that masqueraded as support for the structure.
It had been difficult to find just the right setting for this part of his preparation, but patience and persistence had led him here.
The only homes and edifices with cellars and basements in Ireland were built long ago, and many of those buildings had what basically served as a walk-in level. But t
his one had fit the bill nicely, and it offered other benefits that he would take further advantage of when the time was right. Not to mention the rent for a month was very reasonable.
Unfortunately, the landlord wouldn’t get to spend it.
After reaching the bottom of the stairs, he heard it. He stood in silence and listened; it pierced the dark again. The whimpering and the muffled sobbing seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere in the still blackness. He reached for the light switch, and the soft glow of the lone bulb hanging in the middle of the room brought life to an otherwise dead world—and to his newest plaything.
He could see Haley Rose stiffen as he approached her, his footsteps echoing throughout the make-shift dungeon. She was tied to an old padded, high-back kitchen chair, with duct tape covering her mouth. He left her eyes free because in this windowless basement, what did it matter? The chloroform had performed its usual magic, and she had no idea where she was. There were a few smudge marks on her jeans and blouse, but she looked no worse for wear.
She looks nothing like she will later.
Striding close, he touched her shoulder and felt her jerk away from him. He grabbed her strawberry-red hair and held her head still, touching her shoulder again, then released his grip. Moving around to where she could see him, he opened his hand and showed her the squashed raft spider that had been crawling on her neck. Her eyes grew wide.
“Perhaps you would have preferred to let this eight-legged annoyance make a nest in your beautiful strands, yes?”
She stared at him, but gave him no satisfaction. “Come come, Ms. Franson. We’ve done things together, naughty things, I should say. You whispered sweet nothings in my ear, and you shared your very soul. For instance, how you like to have sex, which was very . . . satisfying, even for a man with my tastes. And, of course, telling me of your arachnophobia.”
He bent within inches of her face and inhaled that familiar scent of fear that had accompanied all of his previous dates. Somehow, coming from her, it felt less intoxicating. Another question for him to consider when this was over.
“Have you no response to my rescue?”
Haley Rose cocked her head to the right, a single tear meandering down her cheek, and looked at him with a gaze that would have broken a normal man’s heart. He blinked, but he wasn’t a normal man, far from it. Still, the look was a trifle disconcerting.
Standing, he looked down at her and grasped her head in both hands, almost gently. “I know that you are afraid, and somewhere in the back of that clever mind of yours, you know how this must end. Unfortunate, but I have to finish what I’ve started . . . and I will. Manny Williams, that Asian bitch, and those FBI dolts—yes, including your very attractive, but extremely annoying, daughter—will submit to the justice that is mine. But that won’t be any of your concern.”
The chair skidded an inch in his direction with a sound like fingernails on a chalkboard. The look in her eyes had changed to one of anger and, even in the dim light; he could see the determination in her face. He threw back his head in laughter. “A mother’s instinct. Interesting, given your position.”
She motioned for him with her head, and he knew instantly what she wanted.
He scowled. “That would be against my better judgment, but if you promise to not scream or cause me issues that would not be in your best interest, I’ll remove the tape for a few moments. Do we have a deal?”
She gave him a simple one-time nod, which possessed all the intent of a hard-nose prosecuting attorney.
Ripping the tape from her face, he stood poised to react to whatever path she chose to follow. For fifteen seconds or so, the only sound was her breathing, and her sole intent remained locked in Haley Rose’s own mind. Then she spoke.
“Why, Fredrick, why?” she whispered.
“That’s an all-encompassing question. But let’s just say that a man, Eli Jenkins, changed my life. He helped me realize that men like me are as near to gods as the rest of you will ever see. That makes the rules different for us. I fought for respect and got none, so I made my own rules, and I’ve gone beyond that. There are those who made a joke of my work. Gods are not to be questioned. There’s a price to pay for those who do, and pay they will.”
“Do ya understand how crazy that sounds, man?”
The old companion—rage—began to speak to him, and he wanted, maybe even needed, to listen. Closing his eyes, Argyle fought it off. Control was still as important as ever. Ripping her apart would only make the plan more difficult, and he wasn’t ready to see her leave this world just yet.
“Crazy is such a subjective term, my dear Ms. Franson, and isn’t relevant here.”
She nodded, her green eyes remaining steady. “If you value anything we’ve done, any of the time we’ve spent together, I ask that you leave my Chloe be. You can do anything you want to me; I’ll not make a sound, but leave her alone.”
It was his turn to cock his head. “You did bring out a certain appreciation in me, and I must admit, it is still a tad puzzling.”
He kneeled in front of her and placed the tape back over her mouth, brushing another spider from her breast. “Fret if you wish, Haley Rose Franson, but I will do whatever I want—to you and your daughter.”
Chapter-47
The Gulfstream V banked to the left, headed to Ireland, and Manny felt it gather more speed. That tiny, unsettled feeling in his stomach that accompanied every takeoff hadn’t quite subsided, but maybe it was more than the takeoff. Maybe it had to do with the other jet taking off in the other direction, towards Michigan.
It had been almost a year since he and Jen had been apart for more than a day, maybe only half a day, and he felt like he’d lost his right arm. In the end, she had recognized the common sense of the trip home, but that didn’t mean she had to like it. Hell, he didn’t like it either. He ran his hand through his hair. She was going to be safer there, especially with Argyle across the ocean. Despite the nagging voice that said to be aware of Argyle’s true intent—which was to destroy the Williams family totally—he knew, deep down, that the psycho was ready for the final confrontation, and this setup was about Manny. That fact did little to settle his nerves because Argyle was always a step ahead, maybe two.
The plane shuddered as it continued to rise to cruising altitude of 40,500 feet. Amazing for a plane this size. The pilot had said they were going to turn on the afterburners and get to almost 800 miles per hour, and since the plane’s range was fourteen hours, there’d be no need to stop in Iceland to refuel. All good things, but seven hours was still seven hours; for Chloe, it had to feel like a lifetime.
Chloe. He couldn’t imagine the thoughts going through her mind. Her anxiety had to be tearing her apart. He did understand the magnitude of helplessness and frustration after losing Louise so unexpectedly, but to have to dwell on what Argyle might do had to be torture on a different level. Chloe was a profiler; she knew the possibilities. That could only serve to drive her torment into the stratosphere.
His mind’s eye went to her face, the curves of her body, her quick wit. He chewed the inside of his cheek. He wanted to tell her it would be all right and, in his most secret of thoughts, hold her until it was. But neither scenario was likely, and worse, he didn’t seem to have a say in either one. He couldn’t think about all of that now. Instead, the cops on this plane needed to talk about what to expect when they got to Ireland. All the way from jurisdictional concerns to the real problem: what the hell was Argyle really up to?
Glancing around the cabin, it dawned on him how quiet it was. Josh was standing near the rear exit of the plane, talking in hushed tones to a caller on his satellite phone. It had been a real Houdini act to get the OPR to allow Josh to fly to Ireland with the Hayes investigation pending, but what was he going to do, stay in Ireland?
Max and Alex sat in the two seats to Manny’s left, talking in low voices. God only knew what forensic theories they were contemplating. Maybe God was the only one who understood.
Sophie
Lee sat across from him, sprawled out in the large, padded bench that seemed to dwarf her. It reminded him of the old Lily Tomlin routine where the comedian played a tiny girl in a huge rocking chair. He’d bet, however, that Lily Tomlin wasn’t listening to Metallica through a pink iPod and bobbing her head to a beat that no one else wanted to hear. She caught his gaze and winked. She was a crazy woman, no detractors on that one. But he was glad she was crazy on his side.
After reaching for his phone at least a dozen times in the last thirty minutes, he finally opened it and toggled back and forth between the pictures Chloe had sent him. These pictures had also been forwarded to anyone in law enforcement who could put a helpful slant on them, including the detective in Ireland, Steve Shannon, and his folks. Hopefully, someone over there might have a clue where the first picture had been taken.
The location of the second one, in front of Dunguaire Castle, was obvious, but Argyle never did anything without intent to confuse or taunt him and the Feds. What were they were missing in that one? Manny strained his eyes and continued to pass his index finger over both photos. Ten minutes later, he slapped the screen in frustration. The display flickered and then came back to life.
“Careful, Big Boy, I can’t get you another one until we get back to Lansing. If you break it, it’ll come out of your pay . . . and I’ll have to kick your ass.”
He rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger as Sophie climbed into the seat beside him, putting her small hand in his. “You know, the last time you sat beside me on a plane, Gavin was just shot and it felt like Pandora’s Box had just opened, and she was pissed.”
“Yeah, well I’m just chock-full of good karma.”
“Yes, yes you are.”
She slapped him on the arm. “I still owe you for the little dunk-tank thing you pulled on the ship . . . you know, the damned cruise I didn’t get to finish? Hell, I didn’t even get to start it, so I’d be watching my ass if I were you. But that’s not why I came over here. I know that look, Williams. What’s up?”
