Carolina Rain

by Rick Murcer

  J.R. was fixed in a kneeling position looking up at her, tears running down his whiskered cheeks.

  “No more, Lily. Take me instead. No more of my friends. If ya gotta do it, I’m here.”

  What the hell was he doing? For one, brief, almost terrifying moment, she wanted to hug him. Then it was gone.

  She nodded. “Your call, Boss.”

  Raising the knife higher, she brought it down with all of the force she could gather.

  CHAPTER-39

  The lights reflecting on the Cape Fear River stole Manny’s attention as Sophie parked the SUV on the street around the corner from the New Hanover County Courthouse. He exited the vehicle and Sophie came around and stood close to him. There was a slight southern breeze carrying the first wisps of blooming azaleas and he found himself mesmerized by the combination of nature and quiet. Quiet wasn’t part of his job description. Even when external noise had left the building, the murmurs of all that he’d seen were constant companions.

  Looking at the sky, the stars winked back. It was a little colder than the locals were used to, but sixty-two degrees in April felt great. His phone said it was thirty degrees cooler in the fine state of Michigan. Sophie must have been reading his mind.

  “What a night,” she said, slipping her arm through his. “You just don’t get this in Michigan during the spring.”

  “No-brainer there,” answered Manny. “Then again, you don’t get many serial killers posing as mythological goddesses in the cold weather, either.”

  “Are you saying even the sick and warped among us have enough sense to stay out of the cold?”

  He sighed. “It seems so. You know, at any one given hour in the U.S., there are around two-hundred serial killers at work? Practically every one of them is located in warmer states like Florida, California, and Texas.”

  “I’ve heard that. Now we can add Sweet Carolina to the mix. Good God, Williams, we really should do something else with our lives. Maybe run an orphanage or a dog rescue farm.”

  Manny looked at her. “Seriously? Then who would catch the people who give kids and dogs bad dreams—and worse? Besides, I don’t see you and a large building of children making life good for each other.”

  “Oh, come on. Lock them in their room, feed them, give them the Internet, and a bath a couple nights of the week. How hard is that?”

  “Sounds like you’ve put some thought to it,” he said, winking at his friend.

  “Listen, smartass, I know that tone. I’m just saying. It’d be like the typical American family. No one talks; they just do their own thing.”

  “Yeah, that’s working out.”

  “Okay, good point. Maybe we should do the dog thing.”

  “I’m on board with that. But speaking of family, I’ve got to make a couple calls, then I’ll be right up. I think Alex and Dean won’t be far behind, so why don’t you get some fresh coffee brewed and see what Josh and Tanner have got?”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  Sophie loosened her grip on his arm, glanced at her feet, and then headed for the building.

  He’d pulled out his phone when he noticed she’d stopped and was facing him.

  “Agent?”

  “I want you to realize how lucky you are to have a family to call. I know losing Louise must have felt like that would never be a reality for you and Jen. You got a second chance.”

  “I’m thankful for that too, Sophie. It’s not how I would’ve done it, but God knows what he’s doing.”

  He walked over to Sophie and hugged her. “You know, you got family. Just not so traditional, right?”

  “I know. And when I thought you were gone, well, let’s just say more than my heart would have been broken.”

  The streetlight was enough for Manny to see the glisten in her eyes, and the emotion behind it.

  “I know. I know. But I’m here and better for what I went through.”

  “You think so? Maybe. But someday, I’m going to have what you have, even if it means keeping my husband strapped to the bed for thirty years.” She turned her head and grinned. “Come to think of it, there could be worse things for him.”

  Laughing, Manny hugged her again. “Now get your ass upstairs so we can get this meeting set up.”

  She saluted. “Yes sir . . . and thanks for being there.”

  Then she was gone.

  “I should thank you, girl. You help me in ways you can’t imagine,” he said under his breath. He shook his head. More emotional clutter wasn’t what he needed now. He had to concentrate on this case or more men were going to check out and, unless he missed his guess, in even more gruesome ways.

  He dialed and waited for Chloe to answer.

  “Hello, Big Boy, about damn time ya know?”

  “No small talk, just tell me what you’re wearing, or not wearing?”

  “Agent! That kind of thing could get you arrested. But I’ll send a picture if you like. Whoops, I already sent it.”

  Just then his phone vibrated, and he glanced at the screen. Chloe’s picture filled the screen. Manny’s eyes grew large.

  “Okay, I got it. Man, I’ve got to get home.”

  “Yeah. You do. That’ll be motivation for ya?”

  “Mission accomplished.”

  They talked for a few more minutes. He told her to watch Jen and how much he loved them both. She told him she loved him and that there were a couple more things to discuss, but they’d talk tomorrow. Fine by him. His mind knew it was time to go back work . . . like he had a choice anyway.

  As he headed up the steps, he thought that maybe Sophie had a point. Leaving Chloe and Jen for this seemed like the least fairest of tradeoffs. Except how does one dodge his fate?

  Ten minutes later, the nine cops who had met some four hours earlier were back in the same place, with one notable exception. Ginny Krantz had gone back to her hotel room but not before doing a video on all she had to add to the case. Unusual, but Manny understood. Only a fool wouldn’t.

  Dean and Alex had spreadsheets and three stacks of FBI folders sitting neatly between them and were ready with the preliminary forensic reports. They were in a deep conversation with Dana on the reliability of a newly-released study dealing with hormonal secretions of violent killers. Sophie sat to his left with her notebook open, scowling at the page. Tanner and Josh huddled opposite of him, talking softly, concerned looks on their faces. Ben Garcia was setting up the DVD player so they could review the video shot by Moss Jackson.

  It occurred to him that no criminal in their right mind would think they could get away with what was happening in New Hanover County. They had technology, profiles, DNA, fingerprints, and spectrographs that could read minute traces of gases in the air to identify the very deodorant a person wore. They had experience, history, common sense, witnesses, and the mistakes the killers left behind. Killers always made mistakes, always. But the variable above all of that was the will in this room, and rooms like this all over the country. Good cops were determined to win and this building was full of good cops.

  Standing, Manny cleared his throat. “Folks. I know this will be a long meeting, but we need to get going. Our Goddess of Love is escalating her privilege and, I think, she’s about to take her lovemaking to a place she’s not been.”

  “Why would you say that?” asked Tanner, frowning at Manny.

  “She’s changed her methods. Subtle changes, but changes nonetheless.”

  “He’s right,” said Alex. “We’ve got a photo presentation ready to show some of the differences from the first murder to the one we just left. We had another case where the blades for cutting were used with different pressures. So, thanks to Manny, the FBI created a database that compares cut or incision pressures with blade type. Hoping, that as we add data to the research, it will help us determine gender, blade type, and even state of mind of the attacker.”

  “Thanks, Alex,” said Manny. “In this case, she’s changed how she carves the flesh into the web design on the shoulders, f
ace, and legs. It’s like, hell I don’t know, like she’s more concerned with what she’s getting out of the end product than the process. I believe that’s a change for her. I think Morgan and Ginny’s husband, along with the third victim, were a type of spreading of her wings. For those killings, it was important for her to be precise. Kind of like exploring an unknown land and making sure she left breadcrumbs behind in the event she got lost. Her step-by-step method would accomplish that. Except in one of these killings, she found something else to motivate her. Thus the impromptu video and the Aphrodite label she’s adopted.”

  “So she’s found something akin to love? Is that it for her?” asked Josh.

  “I think that’s a certainty. We’re probably dealing with a psychopath as pure as the term could identify. She has no remorse, no emotional fixation or baggage, and has probably spent a great deal of her life researching why she doesn’t work like others. What is broke? What does it mean to really feel something? It was probably an obsession masked by her ability to disguise herself as normal. Invariably, these people are geniuses, or a notch below, so figuring out what works in social situations was as simple as observing others.”

  “What do you mean pure?” asked Ben Garcia, sitting up a little straighter. “You make her sound like she’s different than other serial killers, other than being a woman.”

  Running his hand through his hair, Manny organized his thoughts.

  “When a predator hunts, they usually hunt to eat. Nothing personal, just survival. They don’t wait around to consider the morality of what they’re compelled to do. They just know they have to eat and, in many cases, feed their young. They don’t lack a sense of instinct or even emotion toward their families, they just do what it takes to survive.

  “Human killers, serial killers, usually have an underlying motivation to what they do, no matter how trite. They are trying to scratch a psychological itch and, somewhere along the line, lost the concept based in reality on how to accomplish that. Killing someone, and in the way their mind sees fit, has no moral implication, thus no remorse. They’re driven by the end game, no matter what that means to them and regardless of who is hurt in the process.”

  “I get that because I read some of your articles. I don’t see the difference here,” said Garcia.

  “Fair enough. I’m saying this one has no agenda like money, power, or revenge. She kills to get a rise. The difference is fine, but a difference, nonetheless. I believe she killed just to see what would happen. No benefit, no reward, simply a pure killing machine. Except—”

  Sophie interrupted. “That might be true, Manny. But at the root of the killing, doesn’t she expect something in return? Some benefit? I mean, even to kill someone just to see what happens carries a purpose, right?”

  “Great observation, Sophie. It does. That’s where the ‘except’ comes in. She probably didn’t realize she was seeking a way to get in touch with that—a”

  “Let me finish that one for you, Agent Williams.”

  Manny turned to the source of the voice and felt the shock ripple through his frame. Aphrodite stood in the doorway, covered in blood.

  CHAPTER-40

  He stared at the screen, stroking his chin absently, then punched the ENTER key and waited for the next image to appear. It did, and his mood changed. He felt more alive, more meaningful, than he had at any instance during the private slideshow that held at least some semblance of a life-timeline for him.

  Pouring another glass of amber Puerto Rican Rum, he sniffed it gently, took a hit, and set the crystal down near the wireless mouse. He pressed ENTER again. Another black and white, appearing more like yellow and gray, image appeared on the screen. His thoughts quickly rolled in another direction as his anger rose to the surface.

  His father.

  Most people had some positive memories, somewhere, to go with the man that helped shape their lives. His old man wasn’t one of them, however, was he?

  “Positive, my ass,” he said softly.

  The man had been one of the worst sorts of people. The kind that sucked the life out of you with looks, innuendo, sarcasm, and a brand of berating that couldn’t be matched this side of an interrogation in some third-world prisoner-of-war dungeon. The warped prick never had to lay a hand on him to instill an almost psychotic fear of good old Dad. In fact, he would have rather had the beatings and none of the verbal abuse. Lucky him, he got both. Even after he, his mother, and sister had left Father, moving hundreds of miles away, his father’s imprint remained.

  He shook his head, tapping the keyboard. The next portrait caused him to stare burning holes into the screen as the memories of his father disappeared into the void. His disdain, even borderline hatred, for his father had no doubt generated an anger issue or two for him, ending four years ago when he had captured a completely different philosophy regarding life. But this man on the screen, this hypocrite, brought his rage to a different level.

  Gripping the mouse, it began to make sounds as if it were being crushed in a large vise. He released it, closing his eyes as he captured his runaway emotions. They did little to enhance his work and weren’t useful, given what he did for a living. Still, he was only human, was he not?

  He looked back at the screen. The man in the photo was laughing and had his arm around his wife, oblivious to the photo shoot he was starring in. The old saying that suggested one couldn’t judge a book by its cover came to the forefront of his thoughts. Looking at this scene, who would have guessed the violence the man was capable of? He espoused morals, loyalty, faithfulness guided by an invisible God, but never thought twice about shooting a man in the head and ending his life. Wasn’t that the ultimate sin? Taking another man’s life, no matter the circumstance?

  He himself operated under no such moral allegiance, and death was a way to further the big picture, at least for him and his. Max Tucker would agree with him. The thought that this particular man could be driven to compromise his values just to protect a loved one fascinated him in several ways. It defied logic, at least as he saw it.

  Rising from the table, he moved to the balcony on the second story of his oceanfront home and watched the sun begin to rise above the endless Atlantic. Folding his large hands together, he leaned over the weathered railing and contemplated what was next and the timing of it. And, after all, timing was everything.

  “Let’s see how good you really are, Agent Manny Williams. How good, indeed.”

  CHAPTER-41

  Manny sat unmoving on the opposite side of the table from the young woman who’d turned herself in some eight hours prior. Lily A. Cruz—a.k.a. Aphrodite—hadn’t raised her head in over three hours, choosing to sit quietly, her eyes open and her hands resting in her lap. She’d been booked, cleaned up, had DNA samples and fingerprints taken, and then had dressed in an orange jumpsuit that was entirely too large for her. Through it all, she’d only given the locals her name and hadn’t delivered on her promise to finish the statement Manny had started . . . but she would. Her body language at the time she’d entered the meeting room last night and the interrogation cubicle this morning said so. He couldn’t recall having seen someone so desperate to talk, but just as reluctant to hear the words come from her own mouth. Odd, particularly from a serial killer who had completed what Aphrodite had. The usual repartee for these creatures had much more to do with narcissistic, confident answers and lies. Not Lily. This one had a sense of self-control that was beyond anything he’d encountered.

  “Coffee?” he asked, again.

  Her dark hair twisted to the left with a slight shake of her head, then Lily raised her face, shocking Manny with her expression. Her large brown eyes glistened with tears and the internal pain etched on her pretty face wasn’t anything he’d expected; far from it. Her expression wasn’t typical serial killer MO. Anger. Rage. Confidence. Condescension. Contempt, for sure. But not remorse or regret.

  Something had changed, drastically, in Lily’s thought process. Unless, of course, she matched the
theatrical ability of most psychopaths and was feeding him complete bullshit. It didn’t feel like that. He’d know when she started to speak. And what if she was sincere? What if her face, lined with despair, was a legitimate poster child for the contrite? Then what?

  There was a theory, perhaps an accurate one, that the reason serial killers are typically under forty-five years of age is that the brain develops—particularly the prefrontal cortex, the part that helps control emotions—as people grow older. The urges and emotional imbalance that controls serial killers becomes normalized with age, at least within reason. Many experts believe that could be the very reason some killers stop completely and are never heard from again.

  “Your wheels are turning far too loudly, Agent,” said Lily softly, moving her hands to the top of the table.

  Her voice possessed a trace of Latino accent. It wasn’t heavy. More like she’d been raised in a bilingual home, but he already knew that, didn’t he? Her eyes now latched onto his face with a somewhat unnerving stare. Not threatening or condemning, but curious, like she was seeing something for the very first time.

  The would-be monster awakens.

  He nodded, meeting her gaze. “I’m not the only profiler in the room, I see.”

  “I’ve been called many things, worse things. I don’t suppose you’re far off from that one. You know, doing what I did, you have to be able to read people, study them for strengths, weaknesses, and interpret what their words don’t tell you.”

  A faded smile tugged at her mouth. “But I don’t have to tell you that, Agent Williams. People say you might be the best true profiler on the planet, according to my research.”

  “I’m not sure about all of that, Lily. But thanks for the compliment.”

  Test number one.

  He waited.

  She hesitated, glanced at her hands, then looked up. “You’re welcome.”

  Incredible. She’d pulled it off and had passed the first test. Acknowledging something as small as saying ‘thank you’ was out of character for most psychopaths. It meant the focus was off from them, and that usually didn’t sit well with people from Lily’s world.