Emerald Moon

by Rick Murcer

  Manny stood. He felt his blood pressure rising and was trying to control the anger that had been welling up since they’d left Miami. It wasn’t working.

  He put both hands on the arms of Max’s chair and got an inch from his face. “All of this out of jealousy? You little weasel. You betrayed us for Argyle? How could you be that stupid to believe someone like him? You know men like him. They don’t care about anyone but themselves.”

  “Really? Just like you two? If you’d been any kind of cop, your wife would still be here, so don’t talk to me about someone like him. You’re worse.”

  It happened before he could stop it. Manny slapped him with his open hand, and Max’s head snapped to his right. Josh jumped up and ushered him away as Manny stared at his hand in disbelief.

  The former CSI smiled at Manny. “I guess I hit a nerve, Detective. One more thing, then I’m done talking. I want you all to rot in hell, and you’re going to get there before I do.”

  Chapter-62

  Sophie welled up with emotion as Chloe stood quietly in the confines of the first-floor living room of the B&B, hugging her young cousin with the determination of a sunrise. There was no sense—and more importantly, no reason—to attempt to stem the tide of cascading tears. Sophie thought that a good call on both their parts. She’d never been able to keep things inside either.

  The EMS team had deemed Meav fit. A little dehydrated, and she’d have some sore muscles in the morning, but the young are tremendously resilient—in lots of ways.

  Detective Clark stood to the side. Sophie turned in his direction. Clark was talking to the tall, good-looking constable who had found Meav.

  “Lucky, I was. I forgot my lantern and was searching for it in the car, then realized I’d put it on the rub-a-dub and came back to get it. I opened the door just as she slid down the chute. Scared the shit out of me at first,” he explained, glancing at Sophie’s chest in the process.

  She couldn’t resist. “So what’s a rub-a-dub, and what’s it got to do with my boobs?”

  Clark snorted while the tall officer smiled, never batting an eye. “You know, a washing machine, and I rather fancy Asian women that are . . . well-endowed.”

  “We’ll maintain our professionalism at all times, constable. Is that clear?” barked Clark.

  “Yes Sir. I guessed it would be rather rude not to answer her question is all,” he said. “I apologize, Detective Lee; it won’t happen again.”

  She looked him up and down, pulled out her card, and handed it to him. “Apology accepted. Call me, and you can make it up to me with dinner and whatever.”

  “Whatever?”

  “Damn, you Irish are slow. Do I have to explain it to you?”

  “Er, no. I think I get it.”

  “Good.”

  “Are you two finished? We’ve got work to do,” gritted Clark.

  Chloe came over, holding Meav’s hand. They both looked like they’d gone through hell one inch at a time, but Clark was right: they had work to do. She glanced at Clark, he nodded, and she motioned for Meav to sit down. Chloe sat close to her.

  “We’ve got to do this, cuz, and Chloe will help, but I need the whole story and we especially need to know what Argyle said. It may help us get to your aunt faster.”

  Sophie looked at Chloe. The special agent’s face was as stoic as ever. She had to be dying inside, but she was keeping it together for Meav. Nothing like a strong woman. She smiled to herself because Manny already knew that.

  “I’ll . . . I’ll do my best.”

  Clark turned on the recorder, and they listened intently as Meav went through the story from the moment she came home from shopping. Haley Rose was bound and gagged on the sofa, and the others were tied to the chairs in the other room. That’s when she heard Argyle call her name, and she ran away from him. The game was on, as he put it.

  She often slowed down to reflect on certain parts of the story, waiting until her tears stopped to continue. It took several minutes to plod through the part where Argyle was speaking through the laundry-chute door, and even longer when she got to where he murdered the three guests. Tough going for a young woman, but Sophie saw strength in her that was akin to Chloe’s. Sophie found herself hoping she’d get to meet Haley Rose. She’d bet her next tuck job that the woman was tough as nails.

  Sophie asked some questions, as did Clark and Chloe. They hung on every word as Clark made notes in his black planner. But it wasn’t just the words. Manny had taught her much about body language and facial expression. Meav was telling much more than what she’d been through, and Sophie hoped Chloe was seeing it too.

  When Meav had finished, Chloe got up, walked away, stared out the window toward Galway Bay for a few minutes, then came back to the group and sat down.

  “What are you thinking, girlfriend?” asked Sophie.

  “You first.”

  “I think he really didn’t say anything to give us a clue to where he was headed. It sounds like he got loud, then soft at random, even got pissy, when he couldn’t find Meav. But given the asshole’s penchant for games . . .”

  Chloe frowned. “Say you’re right. That he’s playing more games and that he’s forcing us to figure out what slant he wants to throw at us this time. It’s always something subtle, unless you count the maddening messages he loves to write in blood.”

  Sophie watched Chloe shiver as she hung on the word blood. Then Sophie’s mind ran a different direction. “Let’s go the other way. That he’s not playing us for a group of game-show contestants. Say he’s being straightforward. His ego might be winning the battle right now, and that means he doesn’t consider us a threat. Especially since Max is out of commission— sorry about that. I know you two were friends.”

  Raising her eyebrows, Chloe shrugged. “We were, and I don’t know where he went south, but he had something to do with this. That means he’s in the same class of shit as Argyle. I don’t need friends like that. But you’re right; I’m going to miss the old Max Tucker.”

  Nodding, Sophie laid her palms face up. “My underwear’s too tight, I need to get laid, and I want a shower. As distracting as all of that is, why can’t I figure out what the hell we’re missing?”

  “TMI, Detective. But I know what you mean. I don’t know. Maybe we should go back to the station and compare notes with Manny and the others and see if we can speed this up. I’m brain-dead trying to get my mind around all of it,” sighed Chloe.

  Clark scratched his chin. “You Americans are so odd, underwear and such, but that’s not a bad road to travel,” said Clark. “We might also have some information from the Interpol agents that we didn’t have before.”

  “Okay, let’s go back. We can get Meav something to eat on the way and see what’s up,” said Sophie with a sense of resignation—frustrating, but real.

  She headed for the door, walking past the tall constable, winking. She reached the hallway when her phone rang. “Hey, Manny. What’s shakin?” But all she got was static, then silence. Apparently poor cell phone reception in the lower floors of houses was common in Ireland too. She’d call him when she got outside.

  Turning to tell the others she was going ahead, she watched as Chloe pointed to an article of clothing hanging on the clothes wire.

  “Where did you get this sweater? You didn’t have it the last time I was here.” Chloe asked Meav.

  Meav shook her head. “It’s not mine. Must be Auntie Haley’s.”

  “Come on ladies, we can talk fashion stuff later.” Sophie put her hands on her hips. “I can’t believe that just came out of my mouth.”

  Chloe reached to feel the garment. “This isn’t hers. She doesn’t like going to the Aran Islands, especially the tiny one, Inisheer. She says it’s creepy. Besides, it’s not her size.”

  Sophie stepped next to Chloe, putting her hand on her arm. “Are you sure?”

  Chloe nodded.

  “Maybe a guest left it,” said Meav.

  “Mum would have sent it to them, wherever
they came from. And why is it the only one hanging up?”

  Sophie pulled the sweater from the hanger and turned it over. On the back, a perfect match to the tattoos adorning Argyle’s and Haley Rose’s ankles, was an ouroboros.

  Chapter-63

  “I never had you pegged for a mad man, but you are off your rocker, aren’t ya?” said Haley Rose as she leaned against the headboard of the small bed, hand and feet bound. Her quiet voice was filled with a rainbow of emotions, but the one that stood out to Argyle was disappointment—deep, unhindered disappointment.

  “Why, Ms. Franson, such strong words for a woman in your delicate position. But then again, you know no other way than to be direct—an admirable trait, just the same.”

  “You didn’t answer the question now, did ya? And as for being in a delicate situation, you’re going to kill me anyway.”

  He brought himself up to his full height, sizing up the woman who seemed to be without fear, and even more interestingly, who was trying to put him on the defense. He felt that faint tremor of appreciation vibrate somewhere deep. This woman was different than all the rest, to be sure.

  “You’ve no doubt heard the old adage that claims a man is truly insane if he believes he’s not, no matter what his actions may dictate, but I will take it a step further. I maintain there is no insane or sane. We are simply who we are. Natural selection says so. I’ve only realized my place in this flawed, guilt-laden world to which you all conform because you fail to see it for what it is.”

  “Aye, and what would that world be?”

  Moving closer, Argyle sat on the edge of the bed. “An endless collage of philosophies, religions, and politics all designed to hide truths people refuse to see; hope that they’ve conjured in their delusional minds; promises derived from others to make everything all right; and of course, a moral standard to which no one can adhere, at least not completely. Don’t kill, but kill in the name of some asinine purpose; don’t steal, but charge the masses obscene amounts of money for medicine; don’t lust, but sex seems to make the world go around.”

  He leaned ever closer, drawing in her breath, her scent. He liked it. “I’ve no such boundaries. I’ve realized who I am, what purpose men like myself serve. We have no restrictions, no moral compass, and no guilt. I’ve discovered that the weak are here to serve me and my needs, whatever they might be. I’m as near to a god as you will ever see.”

  “You’ve said that before. Aren’t gods supposed to be compassionate?”

  “As you’ve gathered, I’m not that kind of god. Of course, there are men like Manny Williams who disagree with me. They live in some fantasy realm that says others are more important than themselves and exist to guard the universe, to protect the masses— but they can’t. The difference between him and me is comparable to apes and humans: one can never control the other.”

  Her eyes grew intense; he even sensed anger. Amazing!

  “Okay, ya answered my question; you’re completely daft. But before you send me on my way, I need you to explain love to me, at least how you see it. You owe me that.”

  Jumping to the floor, he did a quick spin, grabbed a fake microphone from the air and began to sing.

  “What’s love got to do with it? What’s love but a sweet old fashioned notion . . .”

  Then, tossing away the unseen mic, he had her throat in his hand, eyes inches apart. She didn’t flinch.

  You’ll flinch soon enough, but impressive just the same.

  “I owe you nothing, except the privilege of dying at my hand,” he whispered. “Love? Really? You want to know about a perceived emotion that people use to manipulate one another?”

  “Yes.”

  He ran his hand along her soft neck; he liked that too. “It serves no purpose. It’s something people talk themselves into. It’s not real.”

  Her green eyes grew soft, compelling, even to him. “You’re wrong, Dr. Fredrick Argyle. I loved you.”

  Sliding his hand from her neck, he tilted his head and followed the tear that had begun a tantalizing trek down her cheek. No one had ever told him that before, especially someone like Haley Rose Franson. That unexplainable appreciation clutched at his insides again—this time stronger than ever—then it disappeared.

  Standing, he took her hand once again. “I think perhaps you’re correct. I may owe you something. I’ll make it quick, when the time comes. But make no mistake; you’re going to die tonight.”

  Chapter-64

  “You all right?” asked Josh. He’d pulled Manny out of the conference room and into the dimly lit hallway leading to the main floor of the Gardaí offices.

  Manny caught the incredulous look in Josh’s eyes fade to something else: almost . . . laughter.

  “What the hell’s so funny? I just slapped a man that was a big part of what we did, and he’s obviously lost his damned mind to boot.”

  “Yes. Yes, you did. I’m not so sure he’s lost his mind as much as he let a lifetime of resentment and frustration build up, causing him to make a few asshole choices. That’ll be up to the courts when we get him home. And don’t get me wrong. I liked Max, but there’s no excuse for him to go where he went. That makes him a step above a piss ant to me.”

  “No excuse for me either. Hitting people who are handcuffed to chairs isn’t exactly on my resume of accomplishments.”

  Josh’s smile got wider. “It was loud too.”

  “Jerk off. Again, why is that so damned funny?”

  “You know, Williams, sometimes you amaze me in a different way. You’re still the best profiler I’ve ever seen, but you’re blind to yourself. I guess maybe we all are, but you might be king in that arena too.”

  “Well, why don’t you turn on the freaking light so I can see what the hell you mean?”

  Josh shook his head. “Do you think you’re immune from the shit you’ve gone through the last year? You compartmentalize, rationalize, ignore, and push away situations that might help you get to the next step in life because you think what happened is a special hell built just for you.”

  His agent friend licked his lips the way people do when confrontation is necessary, but they’d rather be doing just about anything else. Manny found himself, once again, admiring the trait in Josh that allowed him to do whatever it took, but at the same time, was fighting to avoid where this conversation was going.

  “You do know the five steps of grief, right?”

  “Is that a trick question? Damn right, I know. I only got about a million pamphlets telling me how I should act and what I should feel from the funeral home and from people who were trying to help after Louise died.”

  “I saw you in denial. I saw you go through the depression thing, even show signs of acceptance.”

  “Yeah, well, not everyone goes through all of those stages.”

  “Let me finish. What I never saw was your anger. You never got pissed, no out-and-out rage. Until now. I know you think you’re not built that way, but we all are.”

  “I’m not angry. A little frustrated, and what Max said was designed to get a rise out of me . . . mission accomplished there, that’s all.”

  “Really? I think you’re full of shit. I can see the volcano boiling, and you’re just too bullheaded to deal with it.”

  Running his hand through his hair, he turned away from Josh, but he couldn’t stem the tide of truth. He clenched his fists, gritting his teeth to help stave off this forbidden journey, this reality that wanted to chew him up and spit him out, driving him crazy in the process. He was not going to go down this road until he was ready.

  A few moments later, the impulse to go berserk subsided, and he was able to turn back to his well-meaning friend. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, and if you think me slapping Max was a sign that I’m ready to blow a gasket and get out all of that pent-up emotion you believe I have stored, well . . . you should stick to running this unit and let the profilers do what they do. And we should be concentrating on finding Argyle, not this shrink session.”r />
  Nodding, Josh smiled that shit-eating grin he was becoming famous for. “Okay, stubborn peckerhead, have it your way. But I’m right. It’s going to hit you and I want to be there to watch, then gloat. It’ll be quiet, like two ships passing in the night, then . . .”

  Ship?

  “Wait! What did you say?”

  “The part about you being a stubborn dick?”

  “Bite me. No, the ship part. Remember when Clark said something about Argyle not using a note in the bottle trick?”

  “No, not really; that’s your job.”

  Manny pulled out his phone and called Sophie. “Hey Manny. What’s shak—,” then nothing but static.

  He dialed three more times. “Dial Chloe. I have to know if there’s something in the room where Argyle was staying.”

  Josh pulled out his smartphone and began dialing.

  Manny kept dialing too. Two minutes of pure torture later, Sophie answered. “Manny? What’s going on? I see you dialed fifteen times. We found something—”

  “Tell me later. I need you to take Chloe to Argyle’s room and tell me if there’s a bottle with sand or a ship in a bottle, anything like that, and I need you to do it now.”

  “But we think we found—”

  “Now! You can tell me what you found while you sprint your ass off to that room.”

  “Damn! You’re a bossy pri—” The phone went dead again.

  Squeezing the phone in frustration, he dialed again. He was greeted with a weak, separated ring, then nothing.

  Then Josh began to speak. “Chloe? Are you there? Good. What do you see?”

  A moment later, Josh glanced at Manny. “Does that mean anything to you?”

  Manny watched with anxious anticipation. He didn’t know why or how he knew, but this was what they’d been waiting for the last two years—something Argyle hadn’t counted on, at least not this quickly.

  “Okay. Got it. Get your asses back here, now. We’ve got to move.” Josh hung up and grabbed Manny’s arm. By the look on the Fed’s face, things were heating up.