by Rick Murcer
“What aren’t you telling me?” she asked.
“The last victim, Paige Madison, had a cell phone on her that wasn’t hers. You knew about that, right?” asked Manny.
Her facial expression changed, and she glanced toward Frost.
Her look told Manny she hadn’t caught that part—there was that no-attention-to-detail quirk.
“It was in the report, Kim,” Frost said matter-of-factly.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t read the full report on the last victim. This isn’t the only thing we have going, and I just figured it was pretty much a copycat of the others. My mistake, but tell me about the phone.”
Manny brought her up-to-date on the text and subsequent call to Gavin Crosby as well and how that related to the reason the BAU was in Vegas. Minus any mention of the Argyle resurrection theory. He believed it best to not reveal that line of thinking. For now, she only needed to know that there was a true psychopathic serial killer hunting in her town. He sensed that might be enough for the moment.
Her face twisted into one of those “oh shit” looks as she sat back on her haunches.
“So you’re right. This isn’t concerning organ trafficking, as far as we can see. This is about something far more. We’re here to prevent the locals from digging in too deep, give them a profile, get their help, then take over the investigation under jurisdictional guidelines for cases like these,” said Manny.
Leaning forward again, she looked at Manny and the others and shrugged. “Okay. That’ll teach me to make sure I read everything in those reports. I apologize for not doing that,” she said. “What’s next after the meeting?”
He was also right regarding her honesty and resilience. Her mistakes were water under the bridge for her, and now it was time to move to what was next.
Agent Frost turned north on Maryland, expertly speeding past a green Lexus in the left lane. The man was good behind the wheel. Not Sophie good, but good. Manny saw from the corner of his eye that Sophie had noticed too.
“We’ll want to get checked in. The fact that there were two bodies found in the area by the Egyptian means the killer could be operating close to there. It’s as good a place as any. Besides, the report from the cell phone company says the call came from within a quarter mile of the tower on that end of town,” said Manny.
“That’s what I was thinking,” said Agent Wilkins.
“Well, one out of two. I feel so much better,” said Sophie, smiling.
“Was that sarcasm, Agent Lee, or petty jealousy I detected in your voice?” answered Agent Wilkins, smiling back at Sophie.
Manny started to speak, to break up the conversation before it got rolling, but decided to let it run its course. Better to face the demon now, than let it raise its ugly head later.
“Neither. Just pointing out that if you screw up in the right situation, we’ll all be dead, and then I’d have to kick your ass in the afterlife,” said Sophie.
“Well, agent, why wait? I mean, I can have Frost stop the truck and you can see if your sparrow ass has overloaded your elephant mouth,” answered Wilkins, never losing her smile.
Sophie tilted her head, glanced at Manny, then Dean, then reached into her bag, pulling out one of her pink throwing stars. “Ever had one of these stuck up your ass, agent?”
“Not since LA.”
The tight silence was unexpected as the vehicle slowed for a red light. Sophie had been caught off guard by her retort, and she struggled to respond . . . without snorting and laughing. She couldn’t pull it off.
Agent Wilkins followed with a full cackle of her own, causing Manny to join them. But not Dean; instead, he creased his thick eyebrows into a straight line.
“Okay, Wilkins. You got me. That was funny.”
“We’re even. I was wondering what that star thing was going to feel like,” Agent Wilkins answered, a glint in her eye.
The tension-release only lasted a moment. The next instant, the driver’s side window exploded and Agent Frost slumped over the wheel, the left side of his face splattered on the dash.
CHAPTER-24
“I’m sorry to take advantage of your goodwill, Chloe, but like I said, my son Mike is in Dallas at a training seminar, and I can’t give my other team of detectives one more case. Hell, they live here as it is,” said Gavin.
“No, you’re not sorry,” she said.
“Okay, you’re right. I’m glad you came in, to rescue an old man.” She sat in the burgundy leather chair across form Gavin, studying his face as he sipped the vanilla latte she’d brought him. Her new boss, at almost sixty, still had a passion for his job. The fact that his wife had shot him at point-blank range and then was killed a few days later hadn’t sapped his spirit long term. Never mind losing his new daughter-in-law on the cruise ship just after her and Mike’s wedding.
He, and his son Mike, had come out of those heart-wrenching situations far better than most. She wasn’t so sure she would have. Father and son had each other, and it no doubt kept them sane.
She admired Gavin Crosby for that, and it was simply one more thing that contributed to her growing affection for him. He’d supported her from the beginning, even when some folks whispered that she and Manny shouldn’t have gotten together so soon after Louise’s death. Manny’s brother-in-law for one. Being a profiler herself, she knew there was probably some draw to Gavin as a father image, since she’d never really had much of that. Chloe shifted in her chair. Little girls needed their dads, maybe more than little boys did, and if they didn’t receive that attention at a young age, they sought it when they were older.
Ending the internal psych session, she finished with one more notion.
Sometimes she overanalyzed. Life threw everyone a curveball from time to time. She’d learned to deal with hers, mostly. That aside, Gavin was a good man. Manny had been right on that one.
“What are you staring at, detective?” he asked, frowning.
“I was just wondering how long that grumpy-ass look will stay on your face before you smile. And how can I be a detective? We haven’t filled out paperwork. I’ve not done a psych evaluation, and where’s my badge and gun?”
“This look stays until I hopefully see your mom tonight. As far as the other details and they are still details, I’ve invoked the Gavin Crosby quick-hire option.”
His frown disappeared and a quick smile flashed, but just for a moment.
With that, he reached into his drawer and pulled out a gold shield and a holster fitted with a Glock 22, identical to the one she’d handed over to Josh Corner with her letter of resignation and FBI ID. Gavin slid them across the desk to her.
“You can sign the employment paperwork sitting on your desk and get it over to personnel later. Any more questions?”
“Why, yes, I do have more questions, don’t ya know?”
“Shoot.”
“Where is my desk? For one. And tell me about this case. You simply said on the phone it had to do with murder.”
She liked how that sounded coming from her mouth. It felt good to actually be back in the saddle, as they say. Baby or not, she had been looking forward to returning to work more than she’d guessed. Stir crazy was still stir crazy, FBI or not.
Gavin’s demeanor reverted back to the man-in-charge persona he wore well, accompanied with a brief, but obvious, glimpse of sadness.
“Your office is around the corner from my office to the left next to Mike’s.”
Pulling out a file from his top drawer, he hesitated, then reached over and handed it to her.
She looked down at the file. She didn’t recognize the name, but the stamp that said UNSOLVED in bold, red letters stood out like a flashing neon sign. The folder and the papers inside held a musty, old scent that told her they’d been compiled over time, maybe a long time.
Opening up the folder, the first thing that stood out was a picture of a young man in his early twenties. The yellowing borders of the snapshot couldn’t hide his bright-blue eyes. They held a certain gl
immer that told her he liked to have fun. He had long, auburn hair, and his complexion showed traces of acne. A good-looking kid with a full life in front of him. She glanced at the date on the top of the file: 1996.
She then turned the page and felt her jaw drop. Beginning on the left side of the folder and continuing to the other side were a series of six smaller pictures featuring the young man.
These images from hell contained no hope of life, however. He’d been murdered in a manner that was far from humane. The savagery and mutilation were almost beyond comprehension. Someone had stabbed him dozens of times in the neck and chest to the point that his head was almost decapitated. For good measure, the killer had driven a pair of matching screwdrivers into each eye.
Closing her eyes, she gathered her composure and then scanned the horrific portraits again.
His body had been found in a sparsely wooded area, lying on thick grass, but near what looked like a narrow sidewalk. In the fourth picture, she could see the edge of a large, silvery swing set. Her profiler instincts kicked in. The killer had uncontained rage issues and had made it personal just by the number of stab wounds. She suspected that the victim trusted the killer and maybe they’d agreed to meet in this park setting or had run into each other there.
The killer had been strong. Several of the ribs were broken by the stab strokes. To nearly remove someone’s head like that took a fair amount of strength.
Usually when a killer does something to another person’s eyes, it means the killer has a sense of guilt and doesn’t want the person to see them. She didn’t think this was true here. This was a final statement and may have been done to punish the victim further. Maybe even for something they’d seen. She’d have to read over the reports, but she prayed the eyes were stabbed postmortem. If not, this young man suffered greatly before his end came.
Slowly, she closed the file and looked at Gavin. He seemed to have grown older in the last two minutes.
“Who was he?” she asked softly.
“His name was Alan Gordon. He was found like that after the first football game of the season. He’d come home from college to go to the game with his best friend, and after they’d parted ways for the night . . . well, this is how his friend saw Alan the next time they met.”
“His story checked out?”
Gavin stood and looked out his wide office window toward the white dome that served as Michigan’s capitol building.
“Yeah, he checked out. In fact, the young man is now a Lansing cop. Seeing his best friend like that made him want to make a mark in society. To change things,” said Gavin. More of that sadness filtered into his voice.
“Well, at least I don’t have to go far to find him. That’s as good as any place to start.”
Chloe started to ask his name, then it occurred to her that she already knew.
She stood up, walked around the desk, and then put her hand on Gavin’s arm.
“When will Mike be back from his training trip?”
CHAPTER-25
The SUV veered to the right, shot across two lanes, glanced the side of a red Ford pickup, then bowed back to the left—into oncoming traffic from Charleston Avenue.
After being tossed against the door, Manny balanced himself and lunged over the seat to grab the wheel, his face inches from Agent Frost’s semi-decimated head. The smell of blood and a strong odor of seared flesh invaded his senses, but he had no time to dwell on that reality. They would all be tangled in twisted metal if he didn’t get complete control of the vehicle.
Agent Frost’s foot was pressing the accelerator toward the floor. His body must have stiffened in reaction to the quick-kill shot. A glance at his leg told Manny that was true. It was almost fully extended and now they were roaring west in the eastbound lane. With all of his strength, trying to work around the headrest, he pushed Frost to his right so he could get both hands on the wheel.
Frost didn’t move. Manny did it again, and this time the body gave, and he could get his right hand on the wheel too.
His eyes grew large as Sophie screamed, “Look out!” He swerved to the right as the scrape of metal on metal told him he’d just missed hitting the Buick Lacrosse head-on. But there was no time to relax as the vehicle moved even faster.
Guiding the SUV over one more lane got them going with the traffic. That bit of comfort evaporated quickly. The stoplight a couple of blocks ahead had just turned yellow.
Shit.
Leaning as far over the seat as he could, he reached for the key. But it was just out of his reach. He strained again. Same result.
Shooting a look to Agent Wilkins, he could see she was still in shock at what had happened a few seconds ago. She had to get over it, now.
“Agent Wilkins, you have to turn the engine off. I can’t reach it.”
Unmoving, she simply stared at her dead partner.
“Agent Wilkins. Move your ass NOW!” he yelled.
She blinked, shifting her eyes between Manny and Frost, and then dove over the body of her friend and switched off the engine. Manny had braced himself for the loss of power steering, but it was more difficult than he’d believed it would be. Still, he held the SUV in a tight line.
Glaring into the late afternoon sun, he saw they were less than two blocks from stopped traffic as the light had turned a bright crimson. Worse than that, they were sprinting their way toward the larger-than-life, polished rear end of a gasoline tanker.
Panic whispered in Manny’s ear.
“Kim—”
He didn’t need to tell her. She’d recovered fully.
Moving quickly, she had twisted her body so that her feet were over Frost’s, smearing blood over her jeans as she did, and reaching for the brake as she tried to kick his feet out of the way. His right foot was still blocking hers by a fraction of an inch.
By then, Sophie had reached over the front seat and was pulling on the body of Agent Frost. He heard her swear as her hand slid over his moist face. She yanked again, and then again. Finally, Agent Frost slid a few inches toward Agent Wilkins; Sophie’s effort had been enough. Agent Wilkins stretched a tad more, and he felt it as her foot connected with the brake.
The brakes had lost power, but the emergency ABS system restored some of it. The vehicle lurched and began to slow.
Slower.
Slower.
Looking up, Manny held his breath. It wasn’t going to be enough. He could swear that his life passed in front of his eyes as he made an all-or-nothing decision.
Risking everything, he let loose of the wheel, forcing himself between the door and the dead Fed and found the emergency brake pedal with his hand. His fingers closed over the cold pedal, and he pushed with all the strength he possessed. He felt the pain shoot up his shoulder as he strained against the pedal. That was it. It was all he had.
Closing his eyes, he wondered if he’d get to see his new child in this life, or whether he and Louise would be talking about other things in the next.
The screech was immediate as the SUV slid sideways. It fishtailed, hit the curb, bounced back toward the ten-wheeler, then rose up on two wheels, still careening toward the silver tank.
He opened his eyes and read the California license plate of the truck as the SUV wavered in midair, as if it were deciding the destiny of everyone in the vehicle. To Manny, that microsecond seemed like a lifetime.
Destiny, or providence, Manny wasn’t sure which, smiled on them, and the vehicle began its descent to all four wheels, scraping the large, steel bumper of the truck and landing with a thump. The SUV remained perfectly still, which is far more than Manny could say for his insides.
All Manny heard was the sound of four people breathing hard, almost in harmony, each realizing, he suspected, that they’d cheated death . . . for now.
Sitting back in the seat, he felt Sophie’s leg under his, but neither moved. He was too drained to consider it, and his shoulder hurt like hell.
Finally, turning toward Sophie and Dean, he shook his head slo
wly.
“I need to open a flower shop,” he said softly.
“I’m in,” said Dean, trying to catch his breath.
“Me too,” said Sophie.
“Everyone all right?” he asked, exhaling.
Agent Wilkins nodded.
“I think so,” said Dean.
“Yeah, I guess,” answered Sophie. “What the hell was that? And Dean, you can take your hands off my ass now.”
“I was just trying to help you over the seat. I couldn’t reach around you, so I did what I could,” he said, pulling his hands back from underneath her.
Manny turned toward Sophie. “I don’t know what exactly happened.”
Sophie nodded then motioned with her head.
Peering back over the seat, he watched as Agent Wilkins drew herself away from the driver’s side area, took another look at Agent Frost’s gaping wound, then brushed at the tears that came with no shame. Manny felt his heart break for both of them, but they’d have to deal with that later. Life in law enforcement had taught him that much.
Placing his hand on hers, he squeezed. She looked up at him wearing that uncompromising mask of pain—one he recognized far too well in himself but had learned to hide when necessary.
“We need to get out of the car. We can’t help him now. By the sounds of the sirens, help is on the way, and we have to get back to that intersection.”
Her eyes locked onto Manny’s as the thin smile came and went. “He was here just two weeks. Two weeks, Manny. Hadn’t even been assigned an official case yet.”
He watched as she pulled her jacket from the floor and covered his face. She then swung her door open. It creaked and opened grudgingly, but she squeezed through.
Dean and Sophie climbed out the other side as Manny opened his door to escape. He hesitated, as the blood spatter laced across the windshield demanded his attention. An old quote came back to him that had been spoken by some long-dead philosopher.
For the dead, there are no more toils.
