by Rick Murcer
“About what?” Chloe frowned.
“The Mile-High Club. I mean, how many more chances do you two think you’re going to get? I’ll even stand guard outside the door so no one interrupts.”
“Uh, well. Thanks for the offer, but . . .” answered Chloe, more color returning to her face than Manny thought he’d seen for a few hours.
“It’s good to see you’re as sick as ever,” said Manny.
“Yep, I’m starting to feel like myself.”
“If we ever join that club, you won’t be around to know it,” said Manny.
“That hurts.”
Manny leaned forward, trying to shake at least one of the women’s hands loose. They only hung on tighter. He turned to Sophie.
“I thought you were feeling like your old self.”
“I am, just being a little cautious.”
“So how will you be feeling when we start that landing process?” teased Manny.
Alex, sitting across the aisle, began to laugh. “Oh, I can answer that one. She’s the reason they supplied more puke bags on the Gulfstreams. She’ll toss her cookies faster than an old man on a merry-go-around.”
“You should try that, Dough Boy; at least you’d get rid of a couple pounds. And another thing—”
Just then, Josh emerged from the cockpit area, carrying a stack of papers and folders in one hand, a briefcase in the other. He sat down beside Alex, plopping the files down on the table. He sat the briefcase on the floor, sliding it behind his leg as if he were trying to hide it. Manny wasn’t even sure Josh was aware that he’d done it. But who could blame him for being distracted? He’d found out about his half-brother’s grisly death hours just after he’d almost died in a plane wreck that would have most people walking, or taking a bus, to San Juan.
Talk about a recipe for drinking early—and often.
Manny felt Josh’s stare and greeted it with his own.
“You don’t miss anything, do you?”
Smiling, Manny answered. “I miss more than I catch, but some things just jump out and grab me by the shirt, then shake me. Like sliding that briefcase behind your leg, why’d you do it?”
“Good question. I’m not sure why, but I’ll tell you what’s going on with it later.”
“Damn. I didn’t see that,” said Sophie, a scowl across her pretty face.
“That’s because you’re focused on cutting off all of the circulation in my left hand. If you two don’t let go, I’ll need bionic fingers.”
“Fine. But if it gets bouncy, I’ll be on you faster than a hundred-dollar-a-minute lap dancer,” said Sophie.
“You’ll have to beat me to him,” grimaced Chloe.
“No problem,” said Manny.
The two women released their grip, and Manny shook his hands, feeling the tingling sensation as blood again flowed freely to his fingertips.
“Hey, I’d pay to see that,” said Alex.
“That’s what I heard; you like to watch,” said Sophie.
“I’m not going to justify that with a response.”
“Oh, that one must have hit a nerve. Didn’t it?”
“Okay, you two can finish your conversation on your own time. Let’s get to work,” interrupted Josh. Manny noted the stress in his voice. Again, understandable, but . . . “Listen, before we dive into these murders, I want you three to know that I’m scared shitless to be in this plane. Chloe and I both are, but we talked to the doc, who’s also a shrink, and she agreed that we should jump back into the air as soon as we were ready. And given our job situation, there was no time like the present. That jumping into Manny’s lap thing goes for me too. Hell, I’d even jump into Alex’s.”
“Glad to help,” grinned Alex.
“Just know we’ll be ready. It seems Chloe and I have many of the same personality traits, and the doc thought we could handle the flight to San Juan, mentally.”
“What about the physical?” asked Manny.
“I think we’ll be fine. It was ultimately my call. We’ll both be sore for a day or two, but we’ll be fine. Providing my concussion doesn’t cause my brain to pop a few thousand blood vessels.”
“You okay now?” asked Manny.
“Yep. A little nauseous, but good to go.”
Josh looked around the table. “There’ll be a time to talk about my brother, but this isn’t it. Doctor Gilger gave me a couple of pointers on how to handle his death, but the biggest thing for me is to find his killer. I’m going to focus on that. I want you all to do the same. That’s why we’re going.”
Sliding the first set of files to Manny then handing out the rest, he motioned with his hand toward the briefcase. “My brother’s preliminary file is in that briefcase, what there is of it, and Manny’s the only one who gets to see it before we land.”
“Why?” asked Chloe.
“Lots of reasons, some personal, but the main reason is that the initial report says there are some different characteristics about the scene and what the killer did to . . . to Caleb.”
He fought to control his emotion after he said his brother’s name and won the battle—this time. But Manny knew, from experience, that it was a matter of time before Josh wouldn’t be able to control it.
Josh continued. “Anyway, I want Manny’s first impressions. Nothing personal to the rest of you, but that’s why he’s making the big bucks.”
“You thinking trance?” asked Sophie.
Looking around the table, a small smile tugged at the corners of Josh’s mouth. “Trance would be good.”
The five agents grew silent, all feeling the same thing, Manny guessed. Josh had expressed a dozen ideas in those four words. Not the least was a silent thank you to his crew, his friends.
Josh cleared his throat and did what he did best: he took control. “The crime scene files you have, except for Caleb’s, are a little sketchy, but the crime scene photos are as graphic as anything I’ve ever seen, including the work of Fredrick Argyle.”
“Freaking great,” whispered Sophie.
Opening the file, Manny felt his eyes grow wide, and his stomach turn south. The first picture of victim number one was beyond sick. The head of the fortyish man was hanging from what looked to be a clothesline. His face was partially eaten by whatever scavenger decided that human face was on the menu. The next showed the precise display of the body’s four limbs, a six-inch gap between each one, spread like he was preparing to make a snow angel. Each cut seemed smooth and clean, not jagged or torn.
What the hell could have done that?
The man was void of clothing, but oddly, his belongings were stacked near his right hand in a neat, orderly manner. The next two photos were close-ups, showing two of the numbered yellow tabs that indicated possible evidence areas near the victim’s right foot. Squinting, he was pretty sure both areas displayed small pieces of leather. The next few photos showed the body from different angles, and he saw nothing that jumped out at him until he turned to the last page. There was a long, creased gouge on one of the Yagrumo trees that he wanted to see for himself.
He fingered through the other three files, all telling the same story in a different setting. The two victims in the Mount Britton Tower seemed to have been more hastily displayed, like the killer was in a hurry.
Looking at the next file, he closed his eyes and ran his hand through his hair when he reached the photos of the young lady whose body had been found in her tent—the images were far past sickening. She’d been a beautiful woman enjoying her honeymoon before this deranged son of a bitch had hacked her up like an animal in a slaughterhouse. His gut tightened even more. She’d had a future, a husband, a new life to create and enjoy. It struck home even more when he saw Amanda Griggs’s birthday on her bio. She was only five years older than his daughter Jen.
He looked up just as Chloe slammed the last file shut, her color once again gone from her face.
“You okay?”
“Hell no, I’m not okay. Are we looking at the same files? Just when I
think I’ve seen the worst . . .” she answered, biting her lip.
“She’s got a point, Manny,” said Sophie quietly. “This is way out there. Talk about a snake in the garden.”
“I agree, but we’ve got to do the drill in order to take the next step.”
“You’re right, of course, but this stuff is disconcerting as hell. I thought looking at Liz’s body in the morgue on the cruise ship was bad,” said Alex.
Josh cut in. “I know these pictures and reports are over the top—like you all have mentioned, beyond horrible. But I need your ideas now.” Four sets of eyes turned to Manny.
Letting out a breath, he began. “All right. This person, like Sophie said before, is pissed. The unsub’s rage has probably been brewing since he or she was a child. This kind of violence and spree-killing escalation indicates the unsub has recently gone through some event that triggered the latent anger.”
“So that makes him more of a spree killer than a true serial killer,” said Chloe.
“I think you’re right. My guess, based on the first pass, is that the killings are a result of revenge or some type of goal.”
Manny leaned forward to get his bottle of water just as the plane hit a small pocket of turbulence. Josh’s lips and face were equal shades of white as he grabbed the arms of his leather seat. Chloe slid her hand under Manny’s.
“It’s okay, guys, just a bump,” soothed Alex.
“Yeah, well, a bump to you, hell to us,” said Josh. He waved to Manny. “Keep going.”
Manny nodded. “Then, if my first assumption is true, this has Mission Serial Killer tendencies painted all over it. The killer wants to rid the world of some segment of population.”
“So we have some asshole hybrid spree- and serial-killer?” asked Sophie.
“I think so, and that’s not all. There are too many prepared details to think this one is unorganized. That fact, except maybe for the tower killings, where I think the killer was hurried, means the unsub is extremely intelligent; not to mention, the killer took time to finish what he or she started. I think that means they know the area. Sprinkle in the desire to display the bodies, either to show us that he or she has all of the power, or that all things must have an order. And this murderer is just the one to do it. Put that all together, and we’ve got a serial killer that is more deadly than any we’ve encountered. The fact that there isn’t any apparent social or physical link with the victims, at least yet, makes these murders more pointed.”
Releasing his grip on the seat, Josh exhaled. “In my book, this reeks of unpredictability.”
“It does,” Chloe agreed, adding, “Not exactly a formula for a fun trip.”
“The thing about someone like this is that they are fearless, but cautious at the same time. They won’t make any mistakes,” said Manny.
“Alex, what about the forensic reports?” asked Josh, sounding more and more like his old self.
The CSI shrugged. “I need more info, and I need to get to the scenes. I think the big question, and it might be a key, is what is the method, the weapon or weapons? There are no gunshots, doesn’t look like any chloroform indicators on the faces, yet he was close enough to dismember them, and at least some of it looks like antemortem.”
“A guess?” said Josh.
Alex searched his hands, scowling. “I saw some cuts similar to this made with a meat cleaver, but they were always a little jagged, based on the power used to make the swing. Hell, I don’t know. A sharp machete?”
“How about a sword?” asked Sophie, her eyes coming alive. “When I was a kid, we used to go to these shows where experts with swords did some pretty amazing stuff. One time, the two men got too close to each other, and one of them lost part of a hand. It happened so fast that at first, I thought it was part of the hocus pocus, but when the blood started spurting, I realized what had happened.”
Raising his eyebrows, Alex grinned. “That could be it. Not bad for an Asian with a boob job.”
“Why, thank you, Dough Boy.”
“Shit. Damn it!” swore Chloe. “I think I know this woman. I’ve seen her before.”
Manny turned to her and watched as she traced Amanda Griggs’s bloodied face with her finger.
“Are you sure? Where?”
“Just a minute.”
Chloe dug for Amanda’s bio on the next page. After reading it, she pointed to Josh.
“We’ve got big trouble.”
Chapter-19
“What the hell do you mean we’re not headed for the rainforest? That’s where she and shit-for-brains were going to stay for two weeks.”
“Da signal says ta go west, not to da east,” said Braxton.
Leaning forward, his large hands clasped together, Fogerty fought to control his monstrous temper. If the tracker was broken, it wasn’t Braxton’s fault, but he needed to blame someone. He’d never told Amanda about the GPS chip he’d had imbedded under the birthmark on the back of her left arm. No reason to. He may have, as she grew older, and if she hadn’t developed such a blatant disregard for his warnings of caution. Damn kids, anyway.
“Let me see that,” he gritted.
Fogerty flipped the off switch on the small but powerful receiver, then turned it back on. A moment later, the tiny light began to blink green and display the western direction that Braxton had read.
His eyes were beginning to reflect his temperament. “Is the damn thing broken?”
“No sir, Mr. Fogerty. We had it tested before da wedding, like ya said ta do. It’s working fine.”
“What the hell are they up to?”
“Maybe dey come ta town ta get a good meal or some supplies. It’s gettin’ dark, but dey got time to get back to da jungle.”
“Maybe you’re right. If so, we got lucky. We won’t have to traipse through the damn trees to bring her rebellious ass home. Plug that location into the GPS and we’ll give her and shit-for-brains the surprise of their now-over-with honeymoon.” He shook his head with disgust. “Honeymoon, my ass,” he said under his breath.
Lighting another Cuban, he reflected on how much this little escapade to San Juan had cost him. Delays, meetings, lessons to be taught, and of course, it all added up to gouging his bottom line. His daughter would pay for his losses, out of her allowance and, if he had a mind for it, out of her hide.
If they were lucky, he’d get back to Barbados before ten o’clock or so, and he could get a few things done before tomorrow's schedule made a twelve-hour day feel like a vacation.
“Sir?”
“What, Braxton?”
“Um. Dis ain’t so good.”
“What does that mean? Spit it out.”
“Dat address where dat chip and Ms. Amanda are ain’t good.”
“Shit, she’s in a seedy part of town?”
“No sir.”
Randall’s instincts kicked in, and they told him there was a problem. “Like I said, spit it out.”
“Da address is in Toa Baja.”
Moving faster than men his size do, he grabbed Braxton by the shirt, pulling him within an inch of his face. “I said, SPIT IT OUT, you moron.”
“Sir, dat address goes to da city morgue.”
Chapter-20
“What the hell do you mean ‘we’re in big trouble’?” demanded Josh.
Chloe placed her hands palms down on the table. “This girl, this Amanda Griggs, isn’t just someone who was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“What does that mean?” asked Manny.
“When I was working the terrorist unit in New York, our caseload diminished a wee bit, so I volunteered to work with the DEA and our own drug-enforcement division. We were working on a huge sting, focusing on the cocaine flow from the east coast to the west coast and how it got into the US from South America. There were plenty of creative smuggling methods, don’t you know. The stupid ones always taped the bags to their ribs or some dumb-ass thing; the clever ones, well, let’s just say an enema got us the evidence we needed. Hell, w
e even tracked mini submarines transporting shipments off the coast of Miami. Very ingenious and expensive, but effective.”
There was another air bump, but Chloe barely flinched this time. The woman was tough, another reason he wanted her in his life. “Now, that wasn’t so bad,” smiled Chloe.
“Speak for yourself,” said Josh. “Keep going.”
She continued. “Anyway, we kept coming up with a connection from Bolivia, an up-and-coming cocaine producer to the Caribbean, particularly Barbados. We came up with a few possibilities, even arrested two of them, but suspected the big fish had made himself untouchable, and we were right. This big fish, this man, this Randall Fogerty is better at covering his tracks than most. He is as deadly as a cobra and has less of a conscience. He thinks nothing of offing people who try to compete with him, or even his own people. Three times the DEA sent in undercover folks. None of them were ever seen again.”
Rubbing his chin, Manny spoke. “Let me guess. This girl is related to Fogerty, right?”
Chloe raised her eyebrows. “Oh, more than related. She’s his only child.”
“Oh man,” groaned Josh. “So this could be a hit job?”
“I think it could,” said Chloe.
Alex leaned forward over his paunch, elbows on knees. “And the rest of the killings are to cover up the real purpose for that hit?”
“I suppose that makes sense, but isn’t that going way out there to disguise one drug-related murder?” stated Sophie.
“Maybe, but it’s not unheard of, given the enemies this asshole has made,” said Chloe.
Josh sat back in his seat, frowning at the ceiling. “So my brother may have been just some kind of collateral damage in a freaking drug-war hit that went south?”
Chloe shrugged. “Maybe.”
“What do you think, Manny?” asked Alex.
“I think anything is possible, especially with people who have done what this unsub has done. Having said that, I think there’s a slight pattern change with each new victim.”
“What pattern change?” asked Sophie.
Manny got up, reached behind Josh’s leg, and took the briefcase containing Caleb Corner’s file. “I’ll let you know in a few. There’s something here that we’re missing.”
