by Rick Murcer
“First, Sir, I’d like to express my condolences. Paddie Harris was a fine detective and a better man.”
“And how would you know that?” he snapped.
Kelly Gold continued to gaze at the ground. “Well, he sort of took me in and gave me pointers and answered questions when no one else would take the time.”
“That’d be Paddie all right. But you didn’t come to me just for that, did ya?”
“No Sir. I wanted to let you know that we’ve begun a citywide search, trying to match any building with the picture the FBI sent. The people in the lab tried to enhance it, but were not too successful. Still, it’s a little better.”
“Let me get this right. We’re going door-to-door in all of Galway and surrounding villages to see if we can locate Argyle and hope that Haley Rose is still alive? What kind of rubbish is that? It’d take a month of Sundays to—”
“No Sir, that’s not exactly what we’re doing. I took the liberty of doing a demographic search using new software specific to this kind of thing. In this case, it takes all registered information from every building located in the Galway Bay area and allows us to do a search on specific or unusual traits of each building. Since less than ten percent of all of the buildings in Ireland have cellars and basements, we were able to narrow the search parameters to those buildings, Sir.”
“Very good, but how do you know she was in a cellar? She could have been in a room with blankets over the damned windows for all we know.”
“I don’t think so, Sir. The enhanced photos did show a faint pattern of foundational rocks; at least, that’s my best guess.”
“So, you started with those areas?”
“Yes. I think that Shop Street, over O’Brien’s Bridge, on the south side of the Corrib River will be a good place to start. Some of those buildings may have what we’re looking for.”
“And if they don’t?”
“We’ll go farther up Market and then—”
His phone rang, and he held up his hand to quiet young Kelly Gold. “Shannon here. I see. Yes. I’m on my way . . . and don’t touch a damned thing until I get there. Is that clear enough for ya?”
He flipped the phone shut and pulled open the door. “It appears you were right, and they’ve found the building, near the river, where the picture of Haley Rose was taken. I’m off.” He pulled open the car door, hesitated, and then scratched his head. “All right. That was good work. You can ride along, but don’t make me regret this, Gold.”
“Thank you, Detective Shannon . . . and I won’t make you regret taking me with you.”
“We’ll see.”
Once in the car, they raced along Dock Street, lights flashing and siren blaring.
“Sir, if I might ask . . . how do they know it was the right building?”
“The chair was still there, for one thing, but it seems that Argyle’s in love with head games, and he’s left a calling card.”
Chapter-52
The noise from the engine was minimized by the design of the plane, but not completely mitigated, and that was all right with him. Maybe the ambient sound would block out the voices that begged to be heard somewhere deep in a conscience that he chose to bury, and allow him to get a tighter grip on where this was all headed.
Peering into the tiny restroom’s mirror, he splashed some cold water on his face and stared. He wanted to smile at himself, to grin one of those shit-eating grins that people always flashed when they knew something extraordinary, except he didn’t feel like it. At least not now, but maybe those good feelings, that sense of satisfaction that Dr. Argyle had told him about, would still come.
Once this was over, his problems would be too. When Williams and the rest were in the ground, he’d take the next step of his life’s journey and just move on like nothing had ever happened. And why not? He’d earned everything he’d ever gotten in this life, so taking the next step was natural. He’d just needed a little boost and Argyle had promised to provide it, as long as he did his part.
Drying the drops from his face, he felt a little better, like he’d made the right call and joined the right side—for a change.
There came a hard knock on the narrow metal door, and he jumped. “Hey. You die in there? My bladder’s a lot smaller than yours, and I can’t wait anymore.”
“Who says?”
“Who says what?”
“That your bladder is smaller than mine?”
“Okay. Are you one of those ‘gotta pee every hour’ people? And why am I having a conversation with you standing outside the plane’s bathroom?”
“That’s a great question for your therapist.”
“My what? That’s it. Come out or I start shooting. My damn eyes are turning yellow.”
“Be right out.”
He took one more lasting look at the man in the mirror, and this time the smile came. All that he was about to be involved in was going to be worth it. No more second thoughts, no more doubts, only finishing what he began, and nothing was going to prevent that now. Nothing.
He stepped out of the latrine and smiled.
“About time. I was going to have to grab a coffee cup, or maybe your water bottle.”
“I’m sorry, but it’s all yours now, Sophie, all yours.”
Chapter-53
“About freaking time,” Chloe whispered under her breath as the 757 skidded onto the runway at Dublin International Airport. Her senses were so heightened that she swore she could smell the burning rubber from the jet’s tires as they left their black inscription on the thick concrete. Along with that was the sound inside the cabin. It seemed that everyone was screaming in a riot of confusion instead of speaking in a normal conversational voice. Adrenaline rushes always had that effect on her and just thinking about what Argyle could be up to made each rush more intense. It really didn’t help to hear what Manny and the others thought about Argyle having helpers. The son of a bitch was clever and oh so persuasive; her Mum was an example of that, but to think he could influence someone to the extent that Manny suggested was hard to get her mind around. Manny had a sixth sense about these kinds of things, and it would be foolish to ignore his hypothesis. Except she wasn’t concerned with any potential lackeys, not now. Her mind was occupied with nothing but the safety of her mother.
Moving close to the exit door, she realized she was clenching the strap of her blue travel case so hard that her hand was beginning to ache. It was becoming more difficult to ignore the feeling in the pit of her stomach, the one she got when rational thought was replaced by an implacable anxiety.
Has Argyle already hurt Mum? And why can’t I reach Meav?
She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and focused. Jumping to conclusions not only clouded judgment, but it caused mistakes. She needed to be sharp because her Mum’s life depended on it.
If I could compartmentalize like Manny, it would make things easier. Another thing he could teach me.
The flight attendants had alerted the other passengers to remain seated until they were instructed otherwise. Chloe would be the first one off. She’d rent a car and do the two-hour drive to Galway and meet with the Detective in charge, a Steve Shannon, even though it was now 4:30 a.m. Josh thought they’d be in Galway an hour or so after her, and he had instructed her to wait—and to do nothing stupid. He’d said it twice. Her boss was smart, a real leader, and she suspected that he even knew there was a little magic going on between Manny and her, but if Josh hoped for one damned second she was going to sit on her hands and wait, well, he was full of shit.
The white metal door swung open, and Chloe practically sprinted through it and up the exit ramp, fully expecting to have to run a fast race to the rent-a-car center, some quarter-mile away. Instead, three uniformed Gardaí officers, looking serious like young constables do, blocked her way, standing arm-in-arm. Nothing like good-old Irish copper tradition.
“Excuse me, I’ve got to go.”
“Please wait,” said the constable in the middle.
“Wait? I think not.”
“Ms. Franson, please stand down.”
The request came from the man who had just exited the restroom located across the hall. It was hard to miss the badge hanging from his belt: a Galway detective’s badge.
He wasn’t fresh or new. His demeanor poked through the fortyish exterior, and it wasn’t one of promise and joy. More like: oh, woe is me.
Maybe she wasn’t reading him right, maybe he wasn’t a miserable human being who always looked like a pissy, eighty-year-old nun. But she knew better, didn’t she?
“You are Ms. Franson, correct?” said the detective.
Shit. He sounded like he looked. “Yes, that’d be me. And what’s going on here?”
“I’m Sergeant Detective Clark from the Galway Gardaí Station. Please follow me.”
“What’s going on? Is my mother all right? And where is my cousin Meav?”
“Just come with us, and I’ll fill you in on the flight to Galway.”
“What flight? And you didn’t answer my questions, Detective.”
“We’ve chartered a flight to Galway that will get you, and us, there in less than forty-five minutes, but we can’t waste any more time. So please follow me.”
He spun his round body on flat heels and headed for the concourse, the three constables falling in step behind him. He was obviously keeping something from her, driving her imagination to places it didn’t want to go. She didn’t move, trying to control her thoughts and fear. And God knew, they needed to be controlled or she just might faint away.
Focus, Chloe girl, focus.
“Clark!”
The detective stopped and moved slowly back to her, like a child who’d been caught stealing from his mother’s purse.
“Tell me.” She sounded braver than she felt. Far braver.
The detective puffed his cheeks and let out an exaggerated breath. “Your mum is still alive, we believe. Shannon and his crew have processed the place where the first picture of your mother was taken. They might still be there. That’s why we’ve got to cut through the rubbish and get you there.”
He turned and began walking, motioning for her to keep up. She did.
Without facing her he spoke again. “Argyle killed three elderly guests of the B&B and set them around the dining table like some damned freak show. The most disturbing thing I’ve ever seen.”
Chloe closed her eyes and recalled what he’d done to the two innocent women in Detroit and felt her stomach tighten more. She opened her eyes and peered directly into Clark’s squinty face. “You still didn’t tell me about Meav.”
To his credit, he didn’t shy away. “Your cousin is missing. She . . . she’s just gone. There were a couple stains of blood away from the others, and the lab is still working on identifying those. It seems she’s simply vanished.”
Chapter-54
Parking the squad car in front of the old, red-brick building, lights still flashing, Detective Shannon rambled to the open door near the round, turret section of the house that sat directly above the cellar door, typical for these structures. He noticed that the would-be storefront had once been a tiny café, now defunct and barren. The parallel between the empty cafe and where this investigation stood was inescapable—nothing but window dressing. But maybe there was something in this cellar that would change that. Perhaps Argyle had left more than he’d intended.
The smell of the old cellar was unique. There were the expected odors, but there was one that Shannon wasn’t prepared for, nor was partner Gold. After gagging, she covered her nose and mouth in reaction to the strong, metallic scent. He recognized it immediately, and why not? He’d become a reluctant companion to the smell of blood in the last two days, far too close for his liking—for the liking of anyone in his right mind.
As he stepped closer to the center of the room, the smell grew perceptibly stronger. The CSU and the first constables on the scene were carrying white masks in their hands—not a good sign when the folks in the CSU are bothered by the odor. But for some reason, he was past it, at least this time. He was much more concerned with the now brightly lit area spotlighting the chair that Haley Rose had been taped to. The chair looked different than it had in the picture, and it wasn’t hard to see why. It had been drenched with blood, apparently in an attempt to accomplish some kind of artistic effect. Argyle hadn’t written in the blood this time, but instead had left a portable DVD player on the seat cushion. On the top of the DVD player was a two-word note: “PLAY ME.”
As he bent closer, he recalled a section of the report written by Detective Manny Williams that related how Argyle occasionally thought of himself as an artist, and that he would sometimes bask in his own creativity, like these narcissistic wankers are prone to do. This was one of those times.
Below the two words PLAY ME were three letters and then a combination of three letters and two digits. C-H-K and 4-2-S-H-O.
Brian McBride, the CSU’s lead investigator, shuffled over to him, his footsteps echoing throughout the small room, followed by Detective Gold, who had regained her composure.
“I’m sorry we keep meeting under these circumstances, Sergeant Detective.”
He nodded. “The nature of our chosen profession, I suppose. What can you tell me about what’s gone on here?”
“I wish I could tell you more. Except for the blood and the DVD player, there’s not much, so far. One of the constables is trying to track down the owner of the building. Hopefully, that will shed some light.”
McBride cleared his throat and tugged at the latex glove on his right hand. “The blood appears to be human. We’ll do a DNA analysis, but it makes sense that he brought it from the B&B . . . unless there’s another poor bastard’s body we’ve not located as of yet. If it did come from the victims at Haley Rose’s place, then he would have had to get it here fairly quickly or store it in a container that would retard the separation that blood naturally goes through as the red blood cells settle away from the plasma—”
“In God’s English, McBride. I don’t have all damned day,” said Shannon.
“Sorry. He would have had to get here within an hour or so for the degradation to be consistent with what we’re seeing. However, there isn’t any way to tell how the environment of the basement may have affected its current condition.”
“Make sure I get a report. That’ll make more sense to me.” He leaned over the DVD player again. “What of this? It’s not rigged to blow us to Kingdom Come or any other such nonsense, is it?”
“We don’t think so, it appears pretty harmless. And before you ask, we’re not sure what the letters and numbers mean.”
Gold frowned. “If he likes games, the way his profile says, these could be a clue to where he’s going, or where he is, Sir.”
“I get that too, Gold. We’ll have to get our people with some linguistics training to take a look. Let’s get someone on that right away, McBride.”
“We’re on it.”
He stood up and motioned to the two CSI techs and three constables still in the basement. “I want this place cleared out before we listen to what Argyle has to say. Gold and McBride can stay, and I want one constable to guard the stairs, but the rest of you, out. You can’t be too careful; besides, whatever he’s going to crow about shouldn’t be blabbed all over the department before we get out of this room.”
Two minutes later, he glanced at the other three faces huddled around the chair as his anticipation rose a couple of notches while he prepared to push the play button. Maybe they will get something they could use.
“Ready?”
The others nodded. Shannon pushed the button and . . . nothing happened. He pushed it again with the same result.
“What the bloody hell?”
“Maybe the batteries are drained,” said McBride.
“What do you think, Gold?” He did a double take as he noticed the troubled look on her face.
“What?”
“You’re probably right, but I’ve been thin
king about those letters and numbers. They could be—”
Before she could finish, Shannon made the last mistake of his life. He flipped the cover opened and immediately inhaled the faint scent of almonds as a thin mist filled the air instantly.
Shannon’s military training rushed to the forefront as the poison filtered into his nostrils. Pushing Gold toward the door with all of his might, he screamed, “Get out! It’s potassium cyanide. The son of a bitch—”
McBride and the constable dropped to their knees and began to convulse, clawing at their throats. Shannon’s lungs turned to fire as he fell backwards. A few seconds later, he clutched his chest and felt the darkness cradle him like a loving mother. He wondered who would take care of his dog. Then he died.
Chapter-55
Manny leaned against the cool wall inside the small terminal of Galway’s airport, his eyes following the small, wooden arches striping the brightly lit ceiling, and waited for Sophie to materialize from the lady’s room. He hadn’t heard her heave any gut-wrenching gurgles for a couple of minutes so she must be recovering from the landing experience. The FBI pilots were talented, but the short length of the runway forced even the best air jockeys to pay attention. Good thing too. Given Sophie’s phobia for landings, it was a perfect storm for her nauseated state. There were only a few things that could stifle the flow of less-than-politically-correct words that rolled endlessly from her tongue, but a shaky landing stood unchallenged at the top of the list.
Three minutes later, she emerged, her face wearing a shade of pale that he couldn’t recall seeing, maybe ever. Dabbing at the moisture on her forehead, she appeared to be hanging in there.
“Are you done with the puking thing?”
“Man, I hope so. Just as long as I don’t think about the smell, I’ll be all right. It took me five minutes to get breakfast off my shoes, and never mind the socks. I had to throw them in the trash. That started the fat chick puking, so I had to join her, again. I think there might be something to that group-dependency crap you were talking about last year.”
