Carolina Rain

by Rick Murcer

  CHAPTER-43

  Chloe inserted the CD that Haley Rose had brought from Ireland into her laptop and waited for it to load. Gavin, sitting across from her at the kitchen table, drank from a thirty-two-ounce cup displaying the Detroit Tigers classic Old English “D.”

  Gavin loved vanilla latte and the aroma was the kind that forced her to pay attention. Glancing at her cup of steaming black tea, which was her norm, she decided that she’d try his drink the next time she had the chance.

  “What are you staring at, girl? You ain’t getting this cup away from me unless you shoot me with that little peashooter you got strapped around your ankle,” he warned. “I went down to the coffee shop at the ungodly hour of six a.m. for this because you wanted me awake.”

  “I’ll just sic Old Sampson on ya, take the plunder that is rightfully mine, and bury your carcass in the back,” she said.

  He snorted. “Damn Irish. Still violent after nine hundred years. But I like how you think.”

  Getting up, he winced and grabbed a cup from the white countertop, poured it full of his latte, and set it in front of her.

  “If you don’t mind a few germs from an old cop, here you are,” he said, reclaiming his chair.

  “Why thank you. Such sacrifice, don’t ya know.”

  “Just think of it as a wedding gift since I forgot to get you one.”

  “Priceless,” she said.

  Chloe sipped the steaming brew and closed her eyes in mock ecstasy, making sounds like it was the most delicious thing she’d ever consumed. Then she opened one eye and watched Gavin shake his head.

  “You’ve either been around the Feds too long, or Sophie—smartass.”

  “Maybe the Feds, but not that one, she’s a bit crazy. Just the same, she can play on my team anytime . . . and this is REALLY good, better than the tea I’ve been drinking for twenty-five years.”

  Just then, her computer beeped, prompting to open any files located on the disc. She hit the ENTER button as Gavin got up and stood over her shoulder.

  The small hourglass did flips for what seemed like an eternity and then it suddenly exploded into a thousand more, displaying every color as miniature hourglasses raced in geometric patterns that pulsated from side to side. It reminded Chloe of a kaleidoscope on speed.

  Suddenly the screen turned red, slowly receding as a portrait began to take shape.

  “Narcissistic bastard, even after he’s been gone almost a year,” muttered Gavin.

  “True to his profile, no doubt,” answered Chloe.

  Fifteen seconds later, Doctor Fredrick Argyle’s chiseled face stared at them, wearing his infamous arrogant grin. The quality of the video was like watching an HD movie. For a moment, it seemed as if he were going to reach through the screen, grab her, then pull her into the surreal cyber world that allowed his existence. He remained silent, simply staring. He had been a master of terror when alive, and, even now, as Chloe remembered his play for her mother, his face raised her creep factor beyond anything she would have expected. She jumped when he spoke, spilling some of Gavin’s latte.

  “My guess is that the FBI’s slutty temptress, Chloe Franson, is the first person looking at this video. It would be a shame to expose the lovely Haley Rose to potential embarrassment by not taking a peek to ensure the authenticity of this communication. Nod if I’m right, Agent.”

  Argyle broke into one of his patented maniacal laughs, causing the hair on her arms to reach for the ceiling.

  “I don’t necessarily believe in demons, per se, but this son of a bitch is the closest thing I’ve seen,” said Gavin softly.

  “I’m with you, Chief,” agreed Chloe, gathering her composure.

  Argyle spoke again, allowing more of his arrogant demeanor to seep into his speech.

  “I know you’re wondering what the purpose is for this memento of my good nature and what it could possibly contain. Interesting that I actually have to create such a thing because you stupid-ass cops still don’t understand, do you? You still can’t comprehend what you’re dealing with. Even Agent Williams hasn’t grasped the full concept of what I and mine are about. Pity . . . for you.”

  “In the file marked HELP, I’ve listed all of the people that have bought into my way of thinking. Not just names, but addresses, phone numbers, and of course, what I’ve instructed them to do, if they’re willing. You see, I can only suggest, with great conviction, what is pure truth. If that truth penetrates a mind already germinated by the sometimes unfortunate circumstances surrounding a life, well then, they make the step over the line willingly, as I said. Much like your Max Tucker who I suspect, by now, is dancing to a different drummer, when he entered that mental institution. Because one never knows.”

  “At any rate, unless you figure out the password to open that file, many more people will die and that will be on your collective heads. You’ll have three guesses. If the third is incorrect . . . let’s just say you’re in for an interesting revelation. Oh yes, by the way, did I mention that you’ll have seventy-two hours? Ta-ta, for now.”

  Saluting like an obedient cadet, Argyle’s face vanished and was replaced with a large, boxed password screen.

  It winked out, then back in, turning blood red in the progression.

  Setting her cup back on the table, Chloe turned to Gavin and saw the concern in his eyes.

  “What do you want to do?” she asked.

  “I want to figure out the password for one thing. And just maybe he’s full of shit. Maybe his head game is just that,” answered Gavin.

  Manny’s old boss didn’t sound convinced, however.

  Neither was Chloe, and she shivered. “Maybe it’s not.”

  CHAPTER-44

  Dean Mikus sat next to Sophie as the Gulfstream V lifted off the tarmac and swung north. Her small hand reached for his and locked his fingers firmly. He knew that flying was low on her totem pole of things to do, it just made him feel great to have her hand in his. It was a good thing for him that, just for a tiny bit of time, he could be strong for her. Weakness and fear weren’t traits prevalent in Sophie.

  She must have sensed what he was thinking even with her head tight against the seat, eyes closed, and small beads of perspiration popping out on her upper lip.

  “Don’t get your hopes up, Mikus. This ain’t a date, especially since you’re still wearing those green-paisley bell bottoms, but I’ll say this; your hands are stronger than I thought. I suppose I’d know that if you’d groped me when I was sleeping.”

  “I know. And I was joking about the groping.”

  “Really? Tell me you weren’t thinking about it. This a great rack and it didn’t come cheap.”

  “Of course I wasn’t, well, not really.”

  “If we’d been stranded on a desert island, you wouldn’t have even thought twice. I know men, although, admittedly, you’re a wee bit different.”

  “I have much more respect for you than that.”

  “Yeah, I’ve heard that one before.”

  “I bet you have just not from old Dean Mikus.”

  She reached up with her other hand and pulled gently on his beard.

  “What?”

  “Just wanted to make sure all of you was real. Mostly because you don’t talk like any man I’ve been out with.”

  Shaking his head, he was about to respond when he noticed Alex looking at him over his reading glasses, new crossword book resting on his lap. He gave Dean a subtle nod and turned back to his book. Dean was struck with two emotions brought on with his boss’s simple gesture.

  Firstly, he was grateful for the encouragement and acceptance. Not that he’d ever really felt anything else from Alex. However, insecurity is a national pastime in America, especially for an LA boy that played the game a little differently. The nod said he was on the right track, with Sophie, and this BAU gig.

  The second emotion had to do with the pain Alex must have been experiencing. The last nine or ten weeks hadn’t been easy, then to hear that Max Tucker was no long
er among the living had to have an effect on Alex. He’d seen the look on Alex’s face when Josh announced they’d found Max’s body. Friends, past and present, left part of themselves with you; Dean knew that as well as anyone. Alex would remember the part of Max that had been a good friend, not the betrayer he’d embraced at the end.

  “What? You’re not talking to me?” asked Sophie. She was looking at him now that the takeoff was over and they were traveling smoothly at thirty-two thousand feet.

  “I’ll always talk to you, Princess. Just thinking, I guess.”

  “Well, don’t think when you’re holding my hand. It creeps me out. I need to be around men of action . . . well, except Williams, he’s a hybrid, so that’s okay.”

  “Yes ma’am. I’ll do my best to be a thoughtless man of action wrapped up only in the moment and instant gratification.”

  “Now you’re talking,” she said.

  Then Sophie leaned her head on his shoulder. He thought he might burst with joy; the pure kind. But all things come to an end as Josh and Manny emerged from the back, followed by the man mountain, Braxton Smythe, who had hitched a ride because it was time to clue them in on what he’d found. He had also needed a ride back to DC and would accompany Josh after the plane dropped the rest of them off in Lansing.

  Braxton stood, leaning against the small table across the aisle, as Josh and Manny sat down. A moment later, five pairs of eyes zeroed in on Manny. Uncanny, but it happened every time the BAU sat down to discuss a case. The man exuded strength . . . not to mention that ability he had to size up a situation in a nanosecond.

  Manny ran his hand through his hair. “I think I speak for those of us who knew Max, the real Max, that we’ll all miss him. Not what he’d become, just what he’d been with us. Having said that, we can talk about that side of him later over a drink, maybe more than one. For now, we have to get above that and find out what’s truly going on here. It appears Max was shot in the same fashion that Michael Garity was and, by the preliminary report and photos, with the same caliber gun.”

  “What?” said Alex. “Are you saying this was the same killer?”

  Manny looked at his hands and didn’t answer right away. Dean felt his stomach twist.

  What the hell?

  “I’ll tell you what I think as soon as Braxton has briefed us on what he’s found,” said Manny.

  If ever you could hear a pin drop, Dean thought it was now. Sophie gave him a brief glance and squeezed his arm as if she were telling him to pay attention because he was in for an education. She was right.

  CHAPTER-45

  Leaning against the Arcadia, he took in the details of the New Hanover County Courthouse as he waited. The clock tower and the two smaller identical gables that framed the tower reminded him of New England architecture from centuries past, yet their condition was immaculate. The red paint seemed fresh and the clock ran accurately. That was something not always seen in the Podunk towns he was forced to visit during the course of his professional journey.

  Except he wasn’t here for a lesson in building appreciation. Far from it. His “assignment” was far more—interesting and, once he pulled it off, as usual, there would be an episode on some crime and mystery TV show reflecting the incident. Plus media coverage that would send people scrambling for the TV, shaking their heads. After all, these shows only pursued the brazen . . . and he had brazen for them.

  Ten minutes later, the front door of the building swung open, and the one he’d been waiting for shuffled down the cement steps, then hesitated at the bottom, stretching and rubbing his back. He remembered a saying he’d heard once about age being a prison without escape and he smiled. Ah, but there is an escape; one simply had to open one’s mind.

  The man headed across Third Street to the county cruiser parked directly in front of his SUV, placed his briefcase on the asphalt, and dug for his keys. He must have sensed that he was being watched because he glanced in his direction, then opened his car door.

  He waved and walked over to the man just as he was sliding into the seat.

  Perfect.

  He surveyed the intersection, scanned Princess and Third quickly, and saw no one paying attention to him. In fact, there was virtually no one on the street and, at seven thirty-four a.m., that wasn’t all that unusual. Not that it would have mattered. His timing had always been perfect and he discerned it was again. Approaching the window, he leaned his tall frame over and rested his left arm on the door frame outside the window. The cop looked up at him, sighed, and rolled the window down completely.

  “Excuse me, officer. I’m looking for the closest house of ill repute. Rumor has it that you know where that is and can give me directions.”

  The officer rolled his eyes. “Are you just a jerkoff, or are you trying to get your ass kicked this early in the morning?”

  “Well, sir, neither. I had something else in mind.”

  “Yeah, I bet you did, smartass punks these days anyway. What are you really doing here? You should be out doing something constructive or still in bed.”

  “Excellent points, both of them. But, like I said, I’ve got something else in mind, sir.”

  “Then do it someplace else. I don’t have the patience for your silly-ass games, especially after last night, freaking Feds anyway. Now go do what I told you to do last . . .”

  Before the officer could finish, the first bullet caught him between the eyes and the second tore into the left side of his face, blood spattering throughout the interior of the cruiser, and leaving little of his profile. Walking calmly away from the vehicle, he climbed into the Arcadia and headed north, away from the bloodied car and toward a little hole in the wall that served the best breakfast in North Carolina. He was ravenous and had grown quite fond of grits and shrimp smothered in cheese sauce.

  There was simply nothing like a good breakfast to get the day started.

  Almost nothing.

  He wondered if Captain Jeb Tanner would agree, if he were able.

  CHAPTER-46

  “I’ll take that as a cue to tell you what I’ve found with a bit of da help from my friends,” said Braxton, glancing at Manny.

  “I think we’re ready. It’s a little strange shifting gears from a case and a confession like Anna’s. That’s one down and we have couple to go, so fire away,” said Manny, feeling a little more alive than an hour ago.

  He’d always had issues with working too much and too many cases, but nothing made him feel like he did when they were in the midst of the chase. He reasoned that there were all sorts of adrenaline junkies out there and, as he waited while Braxton gathered his thoughts, it dawned on Manny that this whole cop gig just might be his drug of choice. He’d never really put that piece on the table before, but he also understood denial. In fact, he was probably an expert on that subject. Something else he could confess to his therapist who doubled as his new wife. Then again, maybe not. He wanted Chloe around for a long time. He supposed she knew about his downfalls before he did. Louise had had that same ability, and without profiler training. So someone like Chloe was probably just waiting for him to confess another infirmity. Poor woman. Did she really know what she was in for during the next forty years?

  “Hey, glassy-eyed one? Are you ready?” said Sophie.

  “Sorry, already thinking ahead.”

  “Yeah, I’ve seen that look before. You’re either feeling guilty or wanting to, right?” asked Alex.

  “We can talk about that later. Braxton?”

  “Well, I’ve got good news, not sure news, and bad news; I’ll start with the good news.”

  Manny frowned. His Caribbean accent was now more or less completely gone, just like when they spoke in San Juan. After the meeting, he was going to find out why.

  “The tracking device in your vehicle was a dual signal device, meaning that it could be tracked with a GPS receiver or by a GMS signal via a cell phone. It had an extended life battery and was expensive, and I know where it came from.”

  “H
ow?” asked Josh.

  “It was purchased by our US Marshal’s office in Charlotte, North Carolina. It was checked out by one of our deputies. Apparently, he placed it on the wrong vehicle, at least that’s his story, and it makes sense. He’s working on something sensitive in that region.”

  “Seriously, Braxton, you expect us to believe that?” asked Josh, his eyes alive.

  The big man shrugged. “I can’t find anything to say differently. I’ll agree it’s not a mistake he’s proud of, but I’ve got nothing else. His boss won’t let me talk to him because he’s afraid I’ll blow his cover. He assured me that he couldn’t care less where the FBI is playing cops and robbers. Why would the US Marshal’s office care? Besides, if he really wanted to know, he’d call Josh’s boss, Assistant Director Dickman, for an update. Apparently they went through some training together and became friends.”

  “Does this Marshal’s assignment have anything to do with why you’re in the Carolinas?” asked Manny, tapping his pen on his pad.

  Braxton laughed out loud, shaking his head. “That’s why I love you Manny. Always asking questions even when you know the answer. You know I can’t answer that. Nice try, though. And, for the record, what I’m doing here has to do with some military issues. I’m clueless to what this operative is up to and, frankly, don’t care. I’ve got my hands full.”

  Manny’s level of comfortable hadn’t gotten improved. He thought Braxton was telling the truth, as far as he knew it, but there was something off. He supposed this wasn’t the time to go off into some conspiracy theory. Maybe it was his paranoia running amok. This one didn’t feel right, yet they had little choice but to move on.

  Josh Corner must have felt the same way. “I think we’ve beaten this horse enough. Since you think it’s a nonissue, we’ll go to the next case. And, honestly, this one needs our immediate attention. So, what can you tell us about Garity’s and Max’s murders?”