by Rick Murcer
CHAPTER-3
After brewing another decaf mocha latte, Chloe Williams set the cup on the kitchen table and sat down. Ten seconds later, she stood, far too nervous to stay in one spot for very long.
Reaching for her cell, she turned it over in her hands and then, for the fiftieth time, checked to see if Manny had texted or called and wondered if, for some ungodly reason, the phone hadn’t let her know.
She was quickly struck with the notion that she’d lived just fine for the first twenty-five years of her life without a cell phone. Now she spent more time paying attention to the damn thing than Manny. Well, not quite, but it was close.
She smiled. She’d have to fix that, particularly considering the events of the last five months. She’d found love. True love. Gotten married to the hottest FBI agent in the Bureau and was now pregnant with his child. Pretty cool.
Her smile faded. It hadn’t been that simple.
Marriage to death-watch, and the eventual miracle-like resurrection of her new husband, wasn’t exactly what she’d envisioned when she and Manny had gotten married in San Juan. She had gone from experiencing a special wedding night with the most intriguing man on the planet to utter hell for a full six weeks.
She’d never forget watching him in that hospital room the day they let him come home—putting on his shoes and then doing his version of the happy dance when he thought was alone.
The smile returned.
The only thing moving faster than his feet had been the beating of her heart. Never before had she believed relief and love so closely related.
There were times she suspected that God had a sense of humor she failed to understand. Giving her Manny, then almost taking him away with a blade to the chest, then bringing him back to her had almost driven her crazy. But maybe the idea was to appreciate him more. She hadn’t believed that possible, but like her mom, Haley Rose Franson, had always said, you don’t know about the fruit until you taste it.
“Enough of that fruit,” she murmured.
She stared at the phone again, slowly moving her head. Earlier that morning, Manny had talked to her concerning the fact that Argyle’s grave had been tampered with and his body was now missing. She’d moved closer to him as they lay in bed, resting her head on his thick chest, listening to his strong heart. Manny’s heartbeat always helped to calm her, and she had done her best to ensure her dread hadn’t given her away as they talked regarding the potential reasons that the psychopath’s body was AWOL. Some of those possibilities, no matter how unlikely, terrified her.
She sipped from her cup. Trying to hide emotions from a man like Manny was like the sun not rising each morning. Her blond-haired, blue-eyed husband was without doubt the most gifted profiler she’d seen. His innate ability to see what others couldn’t was the reason they’d cornered Argyle in her hometown of Galway, Ireland, in the first place.
Doctor Fredrick Argyle.
Had there ever been a man that fit the term “demonic evil” better than he? It hadn’t been just his sick, yet brilliant mind; it was also his charm that had draped even her mother under his spell. Argyle’s power to manipulate others to do his bidding was uncanny.
His training as a psychologist had given him incredible insight to the human condition, even a degree of mind control, and he’d used it. That’s what Manny had suspected had happened at the grave site.
Argyle must have recruited a lackey with untold loyalty to mind-screw the Feds, and Manny, one last time. And why not? The Good Doctor hadn’t left a detail unconsidered while he was alive. Her husband and she had agreed that he hadn’t in death either. Manny had smiled at her, given her one of those long kisses that pulled her feet from the ground, and said this had to be Argyle’s final trick. What could be left?
Then he went out the front door to meet the rest of the BAU unit at the cemetery.
Chloe twirled her red hair in her finger as she recalled her husband’s exit. The problem was that Manny wasn’t the only profiler in the house. The look in his eyes and the way he’d moved his hands told her that he wasn’t convinced in the least that this was Argyle’s last stunt. She wasn’t at all sure she knew what the hell that meant.
She tried to sit down again. Got up, again, and then entered the foyer with the full-length mirror. She touched her belly, and the grin returned.
Moving to the front of the mirror, she lifted up her blouse past her breasts and looked at her profile. She’d always been busty, but now the soft, white flesh was falling out of her bra like never before. But that wasn’t her focus. The small bump in her usually flat stomach was where her eyes rested. The idea of being almost ten weeks pregnant with the next member of the Williams family and her own Celtic Franson clan made her hold her breath. Giving birth to a baby changed everything, or so she’d heard. And this one belonged to her and Manny. And in a real way, only to her.
Questioning God about circumstances in her life had been a regular practice for Chloe, but not this time. The gift of this child was beyond questioning.
To say she was overwhelmed with the prospect of bringing this little one into the world was an understatement. She’d been entrusted with the most noble of vocations: motherhood.
She now knew what women meant when they said they’d protect their children even at the risk of death. That was now a given. And Manny felt the same way. All one had to do was see the way he looked at his daughter Jennifer.
Slowly dropping her shirt, she rubbed the baby bump again. She’d thought it inconceivable to love anyone more than Manny, yet she saw the possibility of that truth changing.
“Lucky wee one, you are,” she whispered.
The phone began to play an old Celtic love song, the ringtone that alerted her to an inbound text. She hurried to the kitchen and picked up the phone, eagerly searching the screen for Manny’s first contact of the morning. She was hoping to read that they’d solved the mystery of Argyle’s missing body.
That’s not what she got.
She frowned.
The number where the text originated from wasn’t familiar. It came from an out-of-state area code. She couldn’t put a finger on why, but her angst jumped. She was still an FBI special agent, and Chloe’s training took over. She studied the number, memorized it, then taking a deep breath, she opened the text and read.
As the words tumbled down the screen, Chloe felt her knees grow weak.
Congratulations on your pregnancy, Agent Williams. The Good Doctor is so looking forward to meeting the newest member of your family, up close and personal.
CHAPTER-4
Kicking a clay-covered pebble into the hole that once housed Argyle’s body, maybe, Sophie then glanced at the other members of the BAU. They’d formed a rough semicircle around the empty grave site. Each member of the BAU wore a different expression of what-the-hell-is-going-on, except Manny. Her eyes settled on him. Dean, Alex, and Josh had done the same thing.
It would seem that after ten years of working with, and hanging out with, this man, and after seeing what he was capable of in so many ways, she would be beyond surprised with how his brilliant mind worked.
Guess not.
Sophie crossed her arms. “Okay Williams. I get how this is kind of weird, the whole damn casket being gone and all, and at least we know how. I also get why you might think we need to be here in the first place. Crazy as it seems, you make a point. But what I really want to know is—”
What’s the point of taking the body?” Manny completed her thought.
“Yeah, exactly.”
He started to raise his hand to run it through his hair.
“Hey. I said you need to stop that. You look a whole lot hotter with hair.”
“Duly noted, Sophie.” Then he finished what he’d started.
“Okay. I warned your ass. Bald isn’t funny.” Glancing at Alex, she couldn’t suppress a fast grin. “You’ll end up like Dough Boy over there.”
“Funny, wench. Just stay focused for a change, will you?” said Alex,
giving Sophie the evil eye.
“I got your focus,” said Sophie, pointing to her backside.
Alex rolled his eyes. “I’ll pass, thank you.”
“Good thing you two aren’t married,” said Josh. “Manny?”
“I know the reasons for taking the body seem obvious, whether Argyle is dead or alive. On one hand, if he’s truly dead, we can round up the rest of his followers or whatever the hell we want to call them, and this kind of junk will eventually be over. If he did fool us all and he’s still out there—which I doubt, but say it’s true—then the chase is still on, and that’s what he lived . . . or lives . . . for.”
“So doesn’t that cover it?” asked Dean.
Sophie watched Manny carefully. He’d taught her much over the years, not the least was reading body language in a microsecond. That included the micro-expression concepts that Manny wanted her to bone up on. She was getting there.
His scowl had come and gone, and he had shifted his feet. Nervous or gathering his wits? She believed a bit of both.
“It would seem like that would be the only two viable options, Dean, but there’s another possibility, no matter how remote.”
Anguish and Sophie had played tag more than once since they’d met Argyle. It always got a little worse when she contemplated how Argyle’s first true lackey, Eli Jenkins, had almost killed her on the cruise ship. Watching Manny, she felt that familiar torment spike higher than usual.
“You know when they say that imitation is the most sincere form of flattery?” asked Manny.
“Yeah, like some kind of hero worship that makes . . . oh shit, Manny. Are you saying this is some copycat sicko?” said Sophie.
He hesitated, and then slowly shook his head. “No, not like that so much, but in the ballpark. Back in 2008, a killer, Derek Brown, butchered two young women from the Whitechapel area of London, then disposed of their bodies, which were never found. He was caught before he could spiral out of complete control and emulate his hero, or essence of the hero, and his nauseating obsession completely.”
“Jack the Ripper?” asked Josh.
“Yes. Brown said that he wanted to be known as a notorious serial killer and placed into that same category. He was totally consumed with the idea of recreating that same air of terror and intrigue, yet he was different. He’d been a sex offender for years, so his twist on the killings were his own.”
“Like?” asked Sophie.
Manny performed his own version of pebble-kicking without looking up. “The obvious trait was hiding the bodies. Derek Brown’s seven or so run-ins with the law in England had taught him, consciously or subconsciously, that he’d be better off if no one found the bodies. That way it would be harder to convict him. Jack was quite the opposite. He either didn’t care if someone found the bodies of those women in 1888 or he wanted to display his ‘work’ for the world to see.”
Raising his disconcerting gaze toward Sophie, she could see those complex, almost supernatural, wheels turning.
“The Ripper mocked Scotland Yard with letters and practically dared the authorities to catch him, which never happened, by the way. No matter who thinks they know for sure who Jack the Ripper was, he’s never been identified. Brown wanted to remain low profile too. At least until he was ready, which, given his unpredictable psychology, may never have happened.”
“Why?” asked Alex.
“Ego mostly, I suspect. The fact that they begin copying someone leads to comparisons of what they do and what their ‘hero’ did or does. They soon realize that the public isn’t as enamored with their antics as the crimes of the copycatted killer. I think that’s when they deviate and find what works for them and gives them their own trademark, as sick as that sounds.”
“Okay, so what does that have to do with this?” asked Sophie.
“What if this copycat, so to speak, doesn’t care about notoriety? What if he or she only wants to continue the game?”
“So one of Argyle’s protégés cut from the pack and thinks he or she can continue where Argyle left off,” stated Josh.
Manny shook his head. “No. A protégé would feel like they had to do what the Master required. He or she would be lost without direction. That’s why they hooked up with Argyle in the first place. I’m talking about someone completely out of the fold. A person who studied everything relevant concerning Argyle. All of his theories, his actions . . . hell, even his personal habits. And of course, all of his enemies. This one person could be so deep into that psychology that they might believe they see and talk to Argyle or even think they are Argyle.”
“So they don’t have their own agenda, they just pick up where Argyle left off?” said Sophie.
“That’s it, in a nutshell. It’s very extreme but not unheard of. There are people in hospitals and prisons today that claim they are Jack the Ripper, Genghis Khan, Lizzy Borden, or whomever. Crazy or not, that belief makes them dangerous.”
Josh moved opposite of the grave from Manny and Sophie, and she watched as he scanned Manny’s face. She saw the glimpse of doubt, and a little something more.
“That would also mean, if your theory is right—which I’m struggling with—that this killer would not want to invite any of us to tea and crumpets,” said Josh, looking at Manny with curiosity.
The quick smile Manny flashed seemed to catch Josh by surprise.
“You’re a little worried about my psychology, yes?”
“Ahh shit. I hate working with a freaking mind reader. But yeah. I’m wondering if you are a bit obsessed by ‘all things Argyle’ and shouldn’t step back some.”
“That’s a fair statement,” said Manny. “Especially since Chloe’s pregnant and Jen’s getting ready for college. But you’re off base, Josh.”
Then Manny walked around the grave and stood a foot from his good friend.
More than once, Sophie had been on the receiving end of the look that Manny was now dealing out to Josh. Not pretty.
“I’ve got a lot to protect and even a workaholic’s mind can work overtime. But you’re out of your damn tree if you believe I want to be thinking the way I’m thinking. I need to see all of the possibilities, like it or not, and no matter how goofy-ass or improbable, that’s what I get paid to deliver to you and the Bureau. And you don’t get to tell me how to do that and just how deep I go. Are we clear?”
Sophie watched the commander of the BAU tilt his head as a tiny grin flashed and then disappeared.
“Clear enough. That still doesn’t change my opinion that you should step back some. But I don’t suppose that would happen even if I ordered it. But there is one more thing.”
The two men glared at each other. Sophie wasn’t sure what was coming next. She moved toward them.
Without turning away from Josh, Manny raised his hand in her direction. She stopped and waited.
“What would that be?” asked Manny.
Josh reached over and pinched Manny’s cheek. “Do you realize how much your eyes sparkle when you get pissy?”
Dean laughed out loud almost immediately. Alex followed suit.
Sophie didn’t. She simply released a pent-up breath, then smiled to cover her true thoughts.
Josh knew what he was doing by breaking the tension. That’s why he led this group, but she also recognized truth, at least in part, when she saw it. She hated the feeling that Josh might be the slightest bit correct in his assessment, but he was. Then again, why wouldn’t Manny be a little paranoid? Since they’d encountered Argyle, none of them had lost more or felt more pain than Manny. Not the least of those events was losing his first wife, Louise. Argyle hadn’t been directly responsible, but if he hadn’t been such a distraction, according to Manny, Louise would still be here.
Sophie had reminded him that he was just guessing and threw his famous words back at him: all things work for a reason. He’d nodded, said something about wrestling demons, and switched subjects. That’s why they called Manny the Guardian of the Universe—he always put his emotions on
the backburner and concentrated fully on a case, like he was doing now. But no one was free from the past. No one.
Sophie snapped back to the present when she heard “smartass.”
This time, it wasn’t directed at her. It was for Josh, from Manny with a smile.
“Hey, just had to remind you who was in charge, sort of,” said Josh.
“Okay. Now that you two are done comparing weenies, what’s next?” asked Sophie.
“Yeah, I guess we should get to that,” said Manny. “And I didn’t realize we were comparing weenies.”
“I don’t even know if that’s in the Bureau’s handbook,” added Josh.
“Okay, now you two need to stay on track,” said Sophie, feeling relief at their lighter tones.
“When Alex called to tell me about the missing body,” said Manny, “I had him check to see who had been buried in this cemetery over the last week on the off chance that this was just some major screw-up by the city workers. There were four folks buried here during that time frame. We checked on the names and locations and found the plots, but that wasn’t all we found.”
“What does that mean?” asked Sophie, that sinking feeling returning to her gut.
“We found five fresh graves,” said Manny.
CHAPTER-5
Rehearsing her smile one more time, the one Paige Madison had been practicing since she pulled up to the front of the old office building just off Fourth Street, she then got out of her car and brushed at her dark dress.
Scanning the old building, she frowned, and then let it go. Las Vegas had its glitz, an understatement to say the least, but it also had buildings like this one that reminded her of the other side of the tracks. But she wasn’t ready to complain. Just getting a job interview in today’s market was a lucky break.
Paige walked through the door and waited. The man behind the desk in the far left corner of the fairly bare, rundown room looked up, smiled, and then motioned for her to sit. She did.
His piercing eyes never left her as she sat down. She felt it. Yet he didn’t speak. He watched her settle into the old leather chair, and then turned back to reading something hidden in a manila folder.
