by Rick Murcer
Walking over to the bank of three computers, he set the program he needed on ready. He’d only need to push the ESC button to set it in motion. Next, he inspected the three cameras, meticulously checking the angles of each, cleaning each lens and adjusting the tripods. The chairs and the object they surrounded must be in full sync to garner the desired results. They were.
Repeating the complete process from beginning to end one more time left him with confidence that all was ready for the final curtain.
In a few hours, at least by the day’s end, it would be over. For all of them, and for him.
Think like a fox indeed, Agent Williams.
One final look, then he turned on his heels and moved through the metal doors, and into the meager front office. He picked up his last required prop from the desk and exited the building.
As he opened the door to his Jaguar, he watched the sun beginning to show itself over the eastern mountain range and he thought the timing to be more than appropriate. The scene inspired him to recall a quote he’d once heard regarding revenge.
Justice is revenge.
Today would be a new day, and justice finally would be his.
CHAPTER-41
Rubbing remnants of what little sleep he’d enjoyed from his eyes, Josh Corner sat up and reached for the phone that vibrated like an angry wasp on his bedroom nightstand. Glancing at the lit screen, the first thing he noticed was the time. Six-oh-six a.m. The second thing was who was calling. Apparently Assistant Director John Dickman didn’t need any sleep. He’d heard that about some mythical monsters. No sleep gave the monsters more time to think up crazy, minding-grueling, questionable tasks for the people who worked for them.
He lingered on the AD’s last name for a moment. Dickman. How appropriate.
“Corner here,” answered Josh, surprised at how alert he sounded.
“Did I wake you, Josh? I guess it doesn’t matter. I have a big day lined up for you and wanted to make sure you’re ready.”
The ‘asshole’ in the AD’s voice was entirely too obvious. He could almost see the crooked, sadistic smile plastered on Dickman’s face.
“I believe I am ready, sir. I need to get a shower and help get my boys ready for the day. Then I’ll be wherever you’d like me to be.”
The slight hesitation told him that his plans weren’t on the same agenda as his boss’s. Not even close.
“No time for that. You have to be at the training facility in twenty-three minutes. This will be intense and last well into the night. We’ve got to cover ground you’ve not been exposed to previously. What’s coming next will tax you to your limits, Agent Corner.”
It was Josh’s turn to hesitate. He’d promised Alex that he’d be there when he came out of surgery and wait for him in the recovery room.
“Sir, with all due respect, I promised Agent Downs I’d be there when he woke from surgery. And . . .”
“You shouldn’t promise things you can’t deliver, Corner. What is happening here will shape your, and your family’s, future. Downs will either be fine or he won’t. Your presence will not affect that one way or another. Is that clear?”
“It is sir, but he’s on my team, and God knows I feel like I’ve left Manny and the others sitting on some kind of ledge by not being there with them in Vegas.”
“Do I sound like I give a flying-pig’s ass what’s going on out there? They get paid for doing their job, just like you, Agent.”
Dickman’s voice had increased its ‘ass-hole’ intensity. He was growing impatient, maybe even angry, with Josh.
He frowned. This wasn’t quite like him, or at least the Assistant Director he’d known the last few years. Josh was no profiler, but Dickman sounded . . . well, almost anxious. The words of an old song popped into his mind.
Everyone’s hiding something.
“I understand that, sir, but this is my team we’re talking about,” answered Josh, trying to keep his growing frustration in check.
“Agent Corner. You’ll do what you’re told, got it?”
The emotion was entirely gone from Dickman’s voice. Cold hardly covered it.
Josh didn’t care for it. Not one iota.
Without truly knowing why, Josh decided to let his emotion loose. For three weeks, he’d gone through this shit. Even before they’d left North Carolina, Dickman had been planting seeds that there were more important things in the life of a BAU supervisor than his team. The AD had tried to beat home the point that the Bureau was all that mattered, and everything, and everyone else, was there to serve the Bureau’s purpose. Their individual needs, troubles, and joys were of no consequence. Josh had even gleaned from a couple more intense conversations that field agents were expendable, if need arose.
Any field agent.
The idea of Manny or Sophie or Dean or Alex, or even himself, being just an expendable body had two effects on Josh. Bullshit and bullshit.
“I now fully understand, Assistant Director. Where is it that you’d like me to be this morning?”
“Now you’re making sense. I’d—”
“Actually, I don’t care what you want. I won’t be there. I’ve got somewhere else to be. Oh, and you can stick this new project up your ass. I’m no longer interested. I’ve got a team to take care of. My team to watch over.”
He turned the phone off and waited. Only there was no call back. No telling ring or vibration that let him know Dickman wanted to talk. There was an air of unease about that, but the feeling of relief was far more inviting and prevalent.
The hand on his back alerted him that he’d woken his wife, Connie. She ran her long finger down his spine and stopped at the base of his tail bone.
“I guess you heard,” he said softly. “I’m pretty sure I’ll be asked to give my credentials and my gun back to Uncle Sam soon.”
“That’s okay, Josh. I’m proud of you. It was the right call,” answered Connie.
“Yeah, I guess it was. Maybe your mom won’t mind if we move in for a few years,” he said, still not facing his wife.
“Could be. But at least we’ll get you back. All of you. And besides, maybe the boys and I will get to finally see you more than a few minutes a day. Maybe even meet this Manny Williams and his friends.”
He turned toward her, kissed her, the scent of her never more alive than it was at that moment. “That would make me the happiest agent on the planet. And they’re special folks and friends. But I’ve got one more thing to do before I get my total tit in the wringer.”
“I figured that.”
She kissed him again. “Just remember that and what’s waiting for you when you get back.”
“I never really did forget, you know.”
“I do know.”
With that, Josh got dressed, looked in on the boys, both sleeping with their covers on the floor and facing their Marvel superhero posters. The smile led to teary eyes.
A minute later he was outside. He jumped into the SUV, glanced at the clock, and sped toward his next-to-last destination as an FBI special agent.
CHAPTER-42
At Manny’s gesture, Sophie slammed the SUV into reverse and backed away from the flashing red and blue lights pulsating from the three ambulances parked in an ominous row.
The EMS units were lined up directly in front of the gated doors of the brick, low-rise building that served as the FBI’s Las Vegas regional office. It was hard to ignore the resemblance to a three-casket funeral.
The well-maintained building faced north, but hints of the rising sun from the east got Manny’s attention, at least for the moment. They had endured another night with minimal sleep and the pileup of dead bodies—apparently an integral part of working with the BAU. He’d heard that the sun rose early in the west, except a few minutes before five a.m. was far sooner than he’d expected.
A lot like the phone call he’d received from Agent Wilkins. The killer had been bold, unpredictable, and arrogant. Argyle-like, to say the least. The Good Doctor had been almost this bold
in Saint Thomas just before they’d captured him on the cruise ship. He had killed several people, including two local cops, and had beheaded one woman. He still got to experience that one in his mind’s eye and in a nightmarish deep sleep every so often.
Now this son of a bitch had killed another young agent and—
“Manny, let’s go. I think they need us in there,” said Sophie, giving him the curious look she brandished when she was counting on him to make the next call.
“I know. I’m trying to get through the killer’s motivation for this. But I suppose it’ll come to us.”
“It usually does, one way or the other,” said Sophie. She opened the door and stood outside the SUV.
“I think we have an inside track,” he said, getting out of the vehicle.
Dean followed behind Sophie and Manny as they walked in silence past the LVPD blues teaming up with several agents to secure an area that was past the need for it. Reaching the red brick steps, they climbed and started through the open door just as two EMS techs emerged from the shrubs, protecting the front of the building. They were carrying a young lady whose neck was tilted in an unnatural angle. Her dark and dead eyes were open, forever holding the last vision she’d beheld before leaving this world. He stopped. It was painfully obvious she’d been killed by strong hands. The bruising that was forming around her chin and neck verified what he’d suspected.
The killer, her killer, had tossed her away as if she were an old rag doll or an empty beer can that had served its purpose. Furthermore, she’d had no idea that this day would be her last.
These young people signed up for the sexy part of what the Bureau had to offer and it didn’t dawn on them that they could be dead before they drew their first paycheck. He still remembered that feeling of invincibility when he pinned his badge on for the first time. He also recalled how fast that feeling had evaporated when, on his second day, he was the shooting target of a drug-induced bank robber. This agent probably never had that experience.
She never would.
Another day, another body. The fun never stops.
Manny turned away and moved through the doorway. He saw Agent Wilkins sitting on one of the sheet-covered gurneys on the right side of the hallway. Detective Teachout was resting on the other end, receiving attention but not really wanting it. A moment later, a second gurney appeared. It was carrying Detective Lane, but the man wasn’t sitting up. The enormous, bloodstained bandage running from his eyebrows to chin told part of the story. The unbridled concern of EMS personnel told him a bit more. The expression of stark horror that suddenly appeared on Detective Melanie Teachout’s face finished the trifecta.
Detective Teachout didn’t move; she could only stare. Manny suspected she had to wait for the reality of the moment to strike.
It did.
“Brent? Brent?” she said softly. Her panic was way above the scale for a working partner. Not that partners couldn’t care for each other deeply, he was keenly aware of that. She was trying to control it, failing miserably.
She spoke to him again.
Nothing.
In a flash, apparently her patience at the very end of its delicate rope, she was over him, her face near his, tears streaming. She gripped his bloodied shirt with both hands and shook him ever so slightly.
“Brent. I’m talking to you.”
No response.
A member of the EMS team reached for her, trying to pry the LVPD detective from Lane. Teachout brushed one tech away, but the other one had gotten close to her. “Detective. We’ve got to get him to the emergency room now. Do you understand?”
Teachout stood up, wiped at the reoccurring gush of tears, and nodded ever so slightly. “I’m going with you.”
The second EMS tech returned her nod. “Let’s go then.”
They positioned themselves to roll the gurney out the door, when a hand rose feebly into the air.
Manny watched as Teachout quickly grabbed his hand. “I’m here, Brent.”
The delayed, unexpected response was stunning.
“Great. That’s awesome. I think I need a drink, though. And could you get me a straw?” he answered. His voice was weak and distorted from the swelling in his face, but Brent Lane was coherent enough to talk and even joke.
Manny felt his emotion rise in tune with the rest of the room, especially with Detective Teachout’s state of mind. It seemed the good guys had won, at least for now.
Then the EMS team was out the door, followed by Detective Teachout, her own bandage taped to the side of her head.
“Detective, wait,” said Manny.
She stopped, swinging his way. “I have to go, Agent. He needs me.”
“That’s true, Mel, but right now we need you more. These people will take good care of him, and there’s nothing you can do until they let you get into the same room. That’s not true with us. You can help us get this guy.”
“Manny, I can’t just let him go without me.”
She was adamant, but the look on her face told him she was already beginning to lose the fight to go with Detective Lane.
“I know how you feel. Only with all of us talking together, we can get our one version of what happened. Help us to put this freak away. All I need is ten minutes of your time. Then you’ll be free to get to the hospital.”
The hesitancy in her step, and confusion on her face, told Manny she understood exactly what he was saying. Yet, separating the heart from the logical wasn’t an easy formula for anyone to accept. Manny found himself hoping that would always be true. Conflict like hers told him that humanity still had a chance to be better, something bigger than taking care of number one.
“We’ve got him until you get there, Detective,” said one of the EMS techs.
Taking a tentative step toward Manny and Agent Wilkins, she quickly did an about-face and kissed Detective Lane on his gauze-covered lips. Then she stepped back into the hallway.
“Let’s talk,” she said.
CHAPTER-43
Dodging the intermittent spikes of late-spring rain, Chloe reached the front stoop of G’s Coffee House, pulled open the door, and settled into the early-morning line. Gavin had agreed to meet with her for a bagel and coffee so they could discuss the cold case.
Her new boss’s schedule, he’d said, was going to be crazy for a day or two, but he’d relented when she told him she had a few questions regarding the procedural part of the investigation. His voice had stiffened. She pictured him bristling at the thought, like most good cops who had their investigative skills brought into focus. Still, Gavin had kept his composure, pretty much. He hadn’t been able to completely rid the indignation from his voice. She understood.
She’d been grilled nonstop for hours over a decision she’d made while in the Terrorism Unit. She’d shot a suspect they’d been trying to capture alive. He would have been a great resource, but she would have had to let two agents die in the process. She’d done the right thing, but paid a certain professional price. The thing was she’d slept well knowing that those two people would be able to keep going home to their families.
Surprisingly, the flip side of her actions had haunted her for a few months. Would the Bureau have been able to save more lives if the suspect had been captured? Perhaps, though there was no definitive way to prove it. Besides, what was done was done. She still felt like she’d made the right choice, but. . . .
“Good morning, detective,” said Gavin.
She’d been deep in her own world and hadn’t seen his approach.
Turning toward the voice, she smiled. “Mornin’ yourself.”
“I’ve got a table in the back corner. We’ll have some privacy. Follow me.”
The stiffness hadn’t completely left his voice and the wide grin that he used to greet her, on most occasions, was absent. It caused the one she greeted him with to disappear. This wasn’t going to be a pleasant conversation, except she’d already guessed that, hadn’t she?
They reached the back section of t
he shop, past the large stone fireplace, and settled into chairs at a two-person table. Her decaf latte was steaming (the aroma was still one of her favorite) as she sipped it during the first sliver of silence.
Gavin folded his rough hands and his eyes were fixed where they joined together. “Chloe. Do you know why I set you loose on this case?”
Reaching into her carry bag, she pulled out two folders and a yellow legal pad with neat notes chronicled in the order she deemed appropriate. She placed them on the table and then put her hand on his.
“I think so, Gavin. You probably were too close to it, and, in my estimation, it may have caused an error or two in judgment . . . or I’m just not seeing what you saw, if we’re being perfectly blunt.”
Sipping his coffee, Gavin was shaking his head ever so slightly. “You’re right on both counts. I was too close to this one. Alan and four or five other young men were always at the house. He and Mike were good friends. But it wasn’t just them. There were three other boys who hung out. I’ve gotta tell you, it was crazy, and no creature on the planet eats like a teenage boy. But Stella and I loved it. We knew where Mike was practically every moment.
It’s not something you think about much when you say yes to becoming a cop, but there are some stupid-ass people out there that wouldn’t mind making you and your family suffer for putting them away. We’d even get a threatening letter every so often but, mostly, we felt safe.”
He drank again, and Chloe stayed silent. Gavin’s take was going to be important, so she had to pay attention.
“The parents of the other lads were ecstatic that they were hanging around with a detective’s son, and at his house to boot. I think it made them feel that their kids were safe.”
Gavin’s speech had quieted, grown more reflective. Chloe could see him struggling to keep his emotions at bay. Even grizzled old cops like Gavin fought to stay attached and detached at the same time. She knew from experience that such a balance was nearly impossible. Still, a cop had to try.
