by Rick Murcer
He wasn’t sure why, but there was a certain comfort in that. Eternal rest sounded far better than eternal work.
“Rest well, agent,” he whispered then exited the vehicle.
CHAPTER-26
“Maid service. Any one in there?”
Mary Lou Feighner knocked on the door again, this time louder.
No response. She sighed. Why couldn’t folks just put the sign on the door?
Listening intently, like she’d been doing for the last eighteen years, she heard no movement or alcohol-impaired voice objecting to her inquires.
Slowly, she pulled the key ring from around her neck, causing her to wince. Lately, the arthritis in her neck gave her far fewer breaks from the pain that haunted her. Aleve helped. And prescription drugs really did the trick, when her stingy doctor would give them to her. Drugs offered her the only true relief she’d felt in years.
But what was she to do? She was a few months from retirement and as good as the Egyptian had treated her over the years, it was time to enjoy the years she had left. And maybe not alone, she hoped.
Hell, who knew? Maybe she’d find the man of her dreams. God knew she’d found a few that made up her nightmares. The universe is about balance, right?
“But then again, men are so much work,” she said, sighing.
Moving closer to the lock, she slid the card into the key slot, and pushed the door open a foot.
“Housekeeping.”
Again, no one responded with a “what the hell are you doing in here” so she propped the door open with the edge of her lumbering cart, snapped on new rubber gloves, and went inside.
The bathroom light was on, so she took a quick side trip and counted the towels and did an inventory of the hand soap shaped like a sphinx, shampoo bottles, lotion containers, and plastic cups. She frowned. Usually she had to replace something. Folks that visited Vegas weren’t known for their neatness so much as they were known for letting their inhibitions slide south. That included making use of everything at their disposal.
The woman in this room hadn’t touched a thing in twenty-four hours. Mary Lou shrugged. The clean bathroom meant less work for her, so whatever. As she moved out of the bathroom, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She stared an extra few seconds. Slowly shaking her head, she looked away. She still looked good but not the way the younger folks think of good. At sixty-two, there was no hiding the wrinkles and sagging, and not just under the eyes.
She laughed. It was all relative . . . relative to being above ground.
How did this old age thing creep up like this? And did it matter? She was still here and that meant something.
Moving into the neck of the hall that opened up to the sleeping section of the room, she glanced to her left, looked again, and yelped as she grabbed at her chest in surprise. Then she swore.
She’d seen some very bizarre things in this Las Vegas hotel, never mind on the strip, but this was at the very top of the list.
Someone had bought the fake mummy that was for sale in the gift shop and stowed it on her guest’s bed. Probably just to scare the sin out of this poor woman. People were just plain crazy and had way too much money on their hands.
Looking at it again, she moved slowly toward the bed. This was a good one. It looked almost real. Taking baby steps, she inched closer and was hit with the odor. And it wasn’t roses. To boot, she’d never seen those odd shaped jars with the tiny insignias before. Her unease grew.
Moving cautiously closer, the smell grew stronger, like someone had used perfume to mask a more pungent aroma.
Then she saw it.
The small burgundy blood spot that had blossomed into the size of a carnation, located at the top of the mummy’s head.
Great God in heaven.
She backed away, her heart and mind racing. Grabbing her company cell phone with shaking hands, she was finally able to hit the speed-dial button for security as she continued backing toward the door.
She waited for security to answer, her eyes never leaving the bed.
She screamed as something touched her from behind. Whirling like she was thirty years younger and fifty pounds lighter, she came face to face with her supply cart.
“Shit,” she breathed.
“What?”
Security dispatch had answered.
“This is Mary Lou on the tenth floor. You’d better get your ass up here to ten twenty-six. We got a dead mummy.”
There was a brief silence. “You been drinking at lunch again?”
She yelled into the phone. “This ain’t no damn joke. There’s a dead woman, I think, wrapped up like a mummy on her bed.”
“Calm down. How do you know it’s real?”
“Cause I’ve never seen a mummy bleed before.”
“Okay. Okay. We’ll be there in a minute.”
Hanging up, Mary Lou pulled her cart away from the door and leaned against the wall, tears in her eyes.
She wasn’t just crying for the lady on the bed, but for herself as well. Some experiences in life change how one perceives reality.
Room ten twenty-six had done that to her.
CHAPTER-27
Standing a few feet away from Sophie and Dean, Manny watched the traffic meander slowly by in the only open northbound lane on Maryland. There was still some early-evening light, but Vegas was quickly approaching its time to shine.
The LVPD blues were doing their best to keep the congestion to a minimum, and it was helping at least some, and they had dispatched two teams from their CSU to help go over the crime scene. There were fifteen to twenty cops trying not to trip over each other. Manny sighed. The last thing he needed was more people milling in the vicinity where the shot had taken out Agent Frost and detoured them from their planned meeting at the FBI’s office.
Running his hand through his hair, he wondered about making plans in this business. It was like trying to shovel sand against the waves; why bother? Fate had other plans, it seemed.
“What do you think?” asked Sophie.
Her voice was calm, professional. That usually meant she was nervous but focused. He wasn’t sure he wanted her that way, but she was dealing, like they all were, with how close they’d come to checking out in grand fashion. It was interesting how people dealt with stress so differently. He believed it was part of what made everyone unique.
“Well, since we don’t have any real witnesses yet, I’ll have to go on what we know.”
Dean stepped closer, shutting off his cell.
“We don’t know that much, Boss,” he said shaking his head “I did get a few things from the CSU working the SUV and Frost’s body. The angle of the bullet that struck him was about forty-eight degrees, accounting for a little variance when it hit the window. But not a lot, since it was probably a forty-five caliber bullet that took him out,” he said, gesturing with his hands.
“So that means the angle was window high, so he was probably shot from another car,” said Manny. “Could it have been a random shooting?”
“That’s easier to swallow than to think that he was targeted,” said Sophie.
She leaned closer to Manny and Dean. “It’s a hell of a lot easier to believe that it was random than believe that we were followed and set up at this particular intersection,” she said quietly.
“It’s not a matter of what we want to believe; it’s a matter of what really happened. I don’t want to think that way either, but look what we’ve run into in the past with Argyle and his cult. We can’t be too cautious. We have to consider every angle, and we have to stick to the facts, yes?”
She nodded, but he could tell she wasn’t feeling better just the same.
Hell, neither was he.
“What else, Dean?”
“The LVPD and every available FBI agent are canvassing the area, like you asked, as well as asking the local TV and radio stations to do a public service message and ask anyone who might have seen anything to contact the police.”
“And?” aske
d Manny.
“Nothing yet, but it was only forty-five minutes ago.”
Manny again scanned the area. They’d pulled up to the corner, stopped, waited, and then boom. Frost was dead. None of them had noticed anything unusual, but then again, they were talking and the SUV’s windows were tinted in the back. That would have reduced their line of sight. Agent Wilkins was facing the back, so she wouldn’t have seen anything suspicious.
He shook his head. He should have suspected there could be some kind of welcome party like this, but this was far out, even for a deranged psychopath.
He walked over to the intersection, Sophie and Dean following at a distance, and did a slow three-sixty. There were some low-riding, pale stucco buildings in the direction of the shot, a CVS drugstore, and a tire repair business on the opposite corner, but nothing that would really conceal a shooter who could have lined up with the angle Dean had mentioned.
Moving two feet to his right, he stood where the window had been blown out. Tiny bits of glass grated between his shoes and the road, the sound causing the scene to be even more eerie. Could this have really been a planned hit? It would have been easier if the killer were in a car and maybe even followed them from the airport. He supposed it was even possible for someone to get ahead of them, turn around, work their way south, and take the shot driving in the opposite lane. It would have taken great skill and perfect timing, but it was possible. It would explain the angle and why, so far, there hadn’t been any witnesses.
He reflected on their time in North Carolina, when the truck they were riding in had been hit by a stray bullet meant for a deer. So a stray bullet was a possibility. This area wasn’t the best in the city, and there were signs of gang activity. Yet that situation just didn’t feel true.
The last option irritated his brain, but all things had to be considered. Did the shooter know exactly where they would be, made themselves inconspicuous standing on or near the corner, pulled the trigger, and then walked away?
Damn it. That would mean Argyle would have another contact or damn mole inside the Bureau or the LVPD to know what was going on and when.
But if that were true, why only one shot? One death? Why not get it over with? He supposed he knew the answer to that. Killing the rest of them like that would be too impersonal. This killer liked things up close. Killing all of them with one shot simply wasn’t Argyle’s style. If he were really involved, the game would continue. The killing of Agent Frost heightened the tension, and maybe the stakes, for the psychopath in charge. Manny was sure that Frost’s family and friends wouldn’t care much for that reasoning. He knew he didn’t.
Yet somehow . . .
He felt the hand on his shoulder. His stomach did the tango as he turned to the source. Agent Wilkins stood three feet away. Her eyes were dry, her face hard, determined. She’d put her emotions on the backburner for now and was fully in the moment.
Good. They were going to need her.
“What are you thinking, Manny?” she asked.
Dean and Sophie had moved closer.
“Well, that’s the second time I’ve heard that question in the last five minutes, and I’m not sure I’m any closer to knowing exactly what to say.”
“I’d like to hear it anyway. We’re not coming up with jack shit here and the CSU is ready to pack it in. No shell casings. No smoking gun. No footprints. No witness. No nothing,” said Agent Wilkins.
“She ain’t alone,” said Sophie. “And I know those wheels are turning, Williams.”
He nodded and went over the three likelihoods with the others, leaving out any mention of Argyle for the moment.
When he finished, there were a few moments of silence. He reflected on what he’d just said and how none of the ideas were out of the realm of possibility. Yet none of them seemed exactly right either. And the why of the attack was tugging stronger at his mind than before.
What was the point?
“I can’t think of anything else you haven’t mentioned,” said Agent Wilkins. “It has to be one of those situations.”
She tilted her head, scanning Manny’s face with those hard eyes. “But who would want to kill Frost and why go to such means?”
Manny rubbed his eyes with thumb and forefinger. Smart woman.
“I’m not sure. I want to see the reports on the vehicle and any other forensic information before we go there. Dean will help analyze what the CSU finds, and we’ll see what it tells us.”
She stepped closer. “You have an idea, don’t you? This isn’t a time to be holding shit back, Manny. I’ve got a dead agent here. You’re here not just for the organ-snatching crimes or because you got a text and call that made no sense. You know who’s behind this.”
Just then, another FBI SUV pulled up. The driver got out and looked at Manny, Dean, and Sophie. “Your bags are in the back,” she said.
She started to hand the keys to Manny, but Agent Wilkins snatched them from his hand.
“I know you’re tired and need some rest, but I need some answers,” she said, almost pleading.
Sophie hesitated, then reached over and plucked the keys from Agent Wilkins’ hand and headed around the SUV, Dean in tow. Manny watched as they climbed in, shutting the doors at the same time. He turned back to Agent Wilkins.
“I’ve got a theory, and I think I’m right. Evidence doesn’t lie, however. But sometimes it can take you down a different path, and I’m trying to sort that out. Yes. I think your man was killed for a particular reason. And I may know who’s behind it. But I’ve been wrong before, and it could have been totally random. I have to have those reports, and I need to talk to the two detectives working the organ cases before I can share anything as insane as what could be going on. Does that make sense?”
Her resigned look told him it did. And that the day had taken far more out of her than she’d realized.
“We meet at seven a.m. tomorrow morning at the Egyptian. I’ll get a conference room there. I’ll have LVPD CSU supervisors, detectives, and two of my agents trained in this shit as well. You’ll get your reports and a little time to go over them, but not much sleep, I’m afraid. Like the rest of us.” she said, determination returning to her voice.
“We didn’t come to Vegas to sleep,” he said.
Reaching for her hand, he squeezed, offering a reassuring smile before he got into the back of the vehicle.
“Do you know where you’re going?” he asked Sophie.
“Yep.”
She stepped on the gas, and they roared south on Maryland. As they reached Tropicana Boulevard in silence, he focused on the towering Sphinx almost a mile away. It was well lit in true Vegas style. He thought of his question to Sophie, posed it to himself?
Do you know where you’re going, Williams?
CHAPTER-28
Staring at the analog clock resting on the wall above the HDTV, Alex Downs marveled at how slow time could actually move. Especially in a hospital and particularly the day before your world may revert to one you believed was gone forever.
Shifting in the bed, he glanced at the blue leather chair that Barb had been sitting in just a few minutes before. He could still smell her perfume. Or better yet, the scent that was her.
Funny. He was also hit with how much he wanted her to come back and hold his one good hand. To hear her say, in that confident voice, that he was a stud and this was like falling into bed with her. God knew how easy that had been from the very night they were married.
They were one. Even Manny’s bible said something about that. It was hard to argue the point that true love seemed eternal. Maybe that’s what his good friend and profiler extraordinaire was trying to show them. All of them.
Turning over, he closed his eyes. It was almost midnight, and surgery would be an early riser. Still, his mind drifted.
Love.
Though Barb was at the top of the heap in terms of having his heart, he’d grown to love Manny and the gang too. In fact, his love for Manny and Chloe had put him in this situat
ion. Not that he regretted stepping in front of Chloe and taking the sword that had been intended for her in San Juan. He wasn’t lying when he said he’d do it again. In a heartbeat.
Chloe made Manny happy and the man had dealt with enough of the other shit, the heart-breaking kind, to last most people for a lifetime and beyond. He wasn’t sure if his friend could have taken another blow like that. Hell, Chloe wasn’t even Alex’s lady, and he didn’t think he could have taken it either. He and Manny would have resided in padded cells next to each other for the rest of their lives, maybe.
“Hey. You sleeping?”
Alex looked over his shoulder, then sat up. Josh Corner leaned on the door, looking exhausted, but sporting that infectious smile that endeared him to his staff—and hid his tougher, sometimes tortured side.
“Nah. Sleep doesn’t seem to be on my agenda just yet.”
“I heard that. I tucked the boys in, kissed my wife good night, and proceeded to toss and turn for an hour. So here I am.”
“I thought you were going to be in testing and interviewing until Jesus comes back?”
Josh shook his head. “No. Just until I couldn’t stand another question from a man or woman in a black suit. Damn. You’d think they’d get a sense of fashion around there.”
Alex laughed. “No plaids, huh?”
“None.”
“You’re not done, right?”
“Right. It’ll pick up bright and early, and that’s why I’m here. I just wanted to wish you good luck and let you know that I’ll be over to see you as soon as I can.”
“Thanks. But these surgeons are good, and I’m hoping luck has nothing to do with it.”
Alex saw the expression change on his boss’s face.
“I know this wasn’t exactly the best week for this. For either of us to be away from the BAU, but bureaucratic wheels turn like no other. I couldn’t get us out of this.”
“I know. We should be there, but they’ve got help, and they’re great at what they do.”
Alex unconsciously reached for a hand that wasn’t there. “Did you hear from them?” he asked.
