by J. M. LeDuc
CHAPTER 19
Ash drove over the Rickenbacker Causeway and onto the pristine, palm tree-fringed streets of Key Biscayne. He edged his way through morning traffic getting more frustrated by the second.
“If these pompous fools knew what you were carrying in back, they wouldn’t look so uppity,” she shrilled. Her bantering was making him anxious. He clenched his jaw and ground his teeth—a nervous habit from his youth—trying to stem the tide of panic.
It had been a few hours since he had choked the life from his canvas, and he wanted to start transforming his canvas before decomposition began.
Traffic thinned and his anxiety lessened as he pulled off Crandon Boulevard and onto a winding one-lane dirt road heading east toward the water. The road abruptly ended at an ornate, rusted gate which bore the insignia of the Water’s Edge Academy. Using the key he kept around his neck, Ash opened the gates and made his way to the back of the complex.
In the late eighties, when the Academy faced hard times, the Board of Governors rented one of its buildings out to a school of mortuary science. It was a building he knew well.
This once elite boarding school was closed permanently in 2004 and remembered by no one but alumni. Ash referred to it as “the compound” because that’s what she always called it.
He drove to the familiar building and backed his truck up to the now defunct ghoul school. It made for easier unloading of his canvas. He unlocked the accordion-style steel delivery door and, wasting no time, backed the vehicle into the building. Using the long chain at the side of the entrance, he closed and relocked the door. It was only after he was securely locked inside that Ash turned on the interior lights. He felt at ease inside this particular building. It was his home—his real home—and his studio.
“What the hell are you waiting for?” she screeched. “If you want your work noticed, it needs to be perfect. You can’t create a perfect piece on a poorly prepared canvas.”
Ash balled up his fist and cracked his knuckles, quelling the irritation.
I know what I’m doing you crazy cow, it was ingrained in me since I was a kid. Ash looked down at his fist—red and inflamed—and slowly unfolded his scarred fingers, a reminder of some of the “corrections” he’d sustained during his youth.
Ash moved methodically yet with speed as he carefully transported Sylvia from box to lab table. He needed Sylvia Lang’s skin to be as pliable and as life-like as possible, so he worked quickly stripping her clothing and cleaning her skin.
Her voice persisted through every step. With every word she spewed, his anger grew palpable.
His hands quivered with rage when she started her ever-present mantra.
“Cruelty has a human heart, and jealousy a human face . . .”
Ash closed his eyes and breathed in through his nostrils, attempting to subdue his emotions. Inhaling the scent of formaldehyde always seemed to calm him. The smell brought him back to an earlier time. As a child, this is where he would come to hide from the other students, the world, but mostly from her.
Hiding now was absolutely impossible. Ash could feel her presence right next to him; an albatross that was set in stone around his neck.
He could hear her whisper, “It’s the face.”
He cringed as he sensed her acrid breath.
“It’s the face,” she repeated. She languished over each word, and her voice grew louder until the pitch and volume became shrill and painful. “The heart, the form, the dress…they mean nothing without the goddamn face!”
Ash was in a hurry to present his newest creation, so he bypassed the embalming process. He spent the next ten hours working. The stages were tedious. The base color had to be mixed to perfection if he was to match Sylvia’s skin tone. Once dried, he was able to place accent colors, the colors that would transform the ugly duckling into the swan.
Finished, Ash felt energized. He checked the time and still had a handful of hours before he needed to leave.
He moved from his studio into the adjacent room where he kept his power tools. He sifted through the scrap metal he’d collected over time, picked up his welding equipment, and began the next part of his masterpiece.
An hour later, sweat-soaked and tired, Ash stood back and admired his work.
Back in the studio, he covered the canvas and went about putting everything else in its rightful place—as if he hadn’t been there at all. Looking around the room, he thought about his next move.
The staging of his work would start hours before sunrise. He needed to get some sleep.
Eyeing his creation one more time, he mumbled as he opened the delivery door, “The human face a furnace sealed.”
CHAPTER 20
Sin was awoken by the irritating sound of her phone ringing a little before seven a.m. Vision blurred from lack of sleep, she struggled to focus on the caller ID.
Rand.
“What the hell,” she groaned, rolling onto her back. “Agent O’Malley,” she said, “how can I help you, Captain Rand?”
“You’ve got it wrong, O’Malley. I’m helping you this morning. Wake up and get down to Waterfront Park. Your killer has struck again.”
Sin met Jack and Gonzales at the scene.
She made it to the park before the clock struck half-past the hour, rode her bike up over the curb and parked on the sidewalk in front of the park on the fringe of the crime scene. Removing her fingerless, black leather gloves, she unsaddled her bike, and tied her hair back in a ponytail.
Just past the ugly yellow tape, she spotted Rand and a handful of officers standing near a veiled object. C.S.I. had already begun to process the perimeter.
“Captain,” Sin said, “I appreciate you securing the scene.” She swallowed her pride, and continued, “The FBI could use the FDLE’s help this morning.”
Sin watched as Rand scanned the park and the sea of city cops. He looked back at her with a jutted chin and pumped up chest. “There seems to be plenty of Miami city cops around. Use them.”
Sin stared at him incredulously. “Seriously?”
“Unless you want to relinquish command of the investigation.”
You smug bastard, Sin thought as she stepped toward Rand to give him a piece of her mind. Just as she was about to unload a verbal assault, Jack and Gonzales walked up.
Jack stuck his hand in between the two of them and looked directly at Rand. “Nice to see you again, Captain.”
“Yeah, you too, McGuire,” he responded in a curt tone. “My men answered the 911 about forty-five minutes ago. We were just finishing up securing the perimeter when,” he nodded toward Sin, “she showed up.”
“She?” Jack said. “Do you mean Special Agent O’Malley?”
“Yeah, her.”
“Well, on behalf of the rest of the Federal Government, let me thank the FDLE for your help.” He looked around at the uniformed officers of the Miami Police Department. “It looks like we can take it from here.”
“Pff,” Rand huffed. He eyeballed Sin as he waved his men back to their cars. “The offer still stands, O’Malley. Anytime the big leagues get too tough for you, give me a call.”
“Big leagues,” Sin mumbled when Rand was out of earshot, “Find me a bat and I’ll shove it up his home plate.”
Gonzales snorted. “You do have a way with words.”
Jack dropped his sunglasses down, blocking out the sun. “You have no idea.”
Sin heard the sound of a vehicle approaching and saw the M.E.’s van heading toward them with Quincy behind the wheel.
“Sorry it took me so long,” he said. “Damn van wouldn’t start.”
The passenger door opened and Evelyn stepped out. “It’s a good thing I was close and able to give him a jump.”
Quincy stood in front of everyone and eyed the veiled object. “Time’s a wastin’. Let’s get started.”
As they were talking, a high-pitched voice shouted from behind. Sin turned to see Tiffany Swenson storming straight at them with her cameraman in tow. She was
already broadcasting as she stomped through the grass in her three-inch heels.
Sin pointed at two of the uniformed officers. “You and you, don’t let her or any press come anywhere near here. The entire park is now considered a crime scene. All unauthorized personnel are restricted to the street or sidewalk until I say different. Gather some men and tape off the entire park.” She nodded toward Gonzales. “Agent Gonzales will assist you.”
Gonzales shook the officers’ hands and introduced himself. “Tell me what you would like me to do.”
The conversation soon switched over to Spanish and the three walked away jabbering as if they were the best of friends and quickly organized the other officers to set up the proper perimeter.
Sin and Jack were mumbling back and forth while watching Gonzales when Quincy interrupted, “Are you two dancing or do we have a body to process?”
Jack slapped Quincy on the shoulder. “It’s always nice to see you Quince. But we need to start meeting in happier locations.”
Quincy smiled and nodded.
The exchange seemed strange to Sin until she remembered that she was the odd man out. Everyone else here was assigned to Miami.
Quincy was about to have his team pull the tarp from the body when Sin stopped him.
“Hold up,” she said. Sin drew everyone’s attention to the swarm of press trucks and cameramen with telephoto lenses.
Quincy nodded and had some of his people grab a bunch of sheets from the van. They quickly formed a circle and used the sheets as a wall of protection from the ever-present media.
Everyone gloved up and stepped inside the makeshift tent.
“Okay, we’ve waited long enough, let’s see what we have,” Jack said.
Sin stepped forward along with Quincy. They each took a corner of the tarp and gently removed the covering.
“Damn!” Jack said. “What the hell is that?” He pointed at the victim’s head. It was surrounded by a gilded frame.
Sin followed the angle of his arm until her gaze zeroed in on where he was pointing. “Damn is right.” Her words echoing Jack’s.
The victim appeared, at first glance, to be female—same approximate age as Vivienne—dressed in high fashion and seated on a chair similar to the last vic. What grabbed everyone’s attention was her face or lack thereof.
“What’s covering her face?” Sin said.
“It looks like a weird welder’s mask,” Jack said.
“I was thinking a jousting helmet that a knight might wear,” Quincy commented.
Evelyn stared and turned a greenish hue. “I think I will go see if Alejandro needs any help.”
Sin nodded and continued to stare. As she focused, she was able to take in the entire scene. “Our perp is staying true to his art. He’s drawing our attention to what he sees as being the most important part.”
Jack walked around the victim, continuing to ogle the metal contraption around the head. “If he wanted to draw our attention,” he said, “he has accomplished his mission.”
Quincy began thinking out loud. “When he framed the chest, his note mentioned the heart.”
Sin was one step ahead of him. She walked around the scene until she found what she was looking for. “Evidence bag,” she yelled.
One of the crime scene officers handed her a bag in which she dropped an envelope identical to the last.
Snapping out of his fog, Quincy started shouting commands. “All right everybody you know the routine. Let’s gather all the evidence and transport the body back to the morgue.” He clapped his hands together. “Let’s move it.”
Once the scene was cleared and the body was loaded into the morgue van, Sin and Jack walked back to where they parked. Nearing the perimeter, they were accosted by reporters. Tiffany was leading the attack.
Sin held up the crime scene tape so she and Jack could duck under. “It’s time to do what you do best, McGuire.”
“And what’s that, O’Malley?”
“Spew bullshit and make the young girls swoon.”
Tiffany shoved the mic in Sin’s face as she swung her leg over her Harley. Sin didn’t take the bait or give Tiffany the time of day. She simply looked back at Jack and cocked her head toward the pert reporter. “Start here.”
Jack held his hands over his head to quiet the reporters and nodded at Sin. Taking his cue, she kick-started her bike, twisted the throttle, and quickly parted the crowd.
Through her rearview mirror, she saw Jack engage Tiffany and the other reporters. Maybe his being here was a good idea. One for Frank, she thought as her bike rumbled onto Brickell Avenue.
Punching the gas, Sin tore over the I-395 Causeway toward South Beach. She needed to clear her head of the images she had just seen and the ocean seemed like the perfect place.
CHAPTER 21
Ash sat on the edge of the couch watching the live news report with nervous anticipation. He watched as the camera fanned from the crowd to his newest creation, and began biting his nails as the camera zoomed in on the reporter.
“This is Tiffany “Tiff” Swenson reporting for Action News. If you just joined us, I am standing on Brickell Avenue in front of Waterfront Park where another victim of the Painted Beauty Killer has been found.”
She went on to describe the scene while the camera panned out. That’s when Ash saw the men holding sheets to hide his creation.
“They’re not going to show your work!” she screamed.
Ash snapped his head toward the voice. “Shut up!” His face reddened in tune with his angry emotions. It was the first time he acknowledged the voice verbally. “I’ve taken care of it. Just like I took care of everything else.” Picking up a cup, he watched as it splintered into shards when it struck the wall.
Ash dropped to his knees, covered his face with his hands, and rocked back and forth as her laughter filled the room. He wiped his tears and turned his attention back to the television.
The camera zoomed in on the makeshift tent and Ash got a good look at Agent O’Malley, the medical examiner and two others, before they disappeared under the sheets.
“That’s the one you’re going to have to be careful of,” she whispered. “That FBI agent is more than she seems.”
Ash, glued to the screen, subconsciously nodded in agreement.
“Keep your friends close and your enemies closer,” she murmured.
Time seemed to stand still while he watched the action unfold on the screen. The local news cut pieces of the crime scene into the broadcast, and Ash bit his nails to the quick waiting to see his artwork. He watched a clip of the morgue van driving away and only then did the sheets come down.
Ash reveled in the reaction of the crowd when they saw the empty chair, and he felt slight redemption. If that has their attention, wait until they see the real artwork.
The camera panned back to Tiff who was now walking and trying to talk at the same time.
“I’m going to try and get a word with Special Agent O’Malley and find out exactly what the FBI is keeping from the public,” she huffed.
“Look at the sleazy whore,” she shrieked. “Teetering in her stilettos and trying to talk at the same time. Hell,” she laughed, “this is almost worth the price of admission.”
Once the newscast was over, Ash went to his closet, found the garment bag he needed, grabbed the manila envelope off the kitchen table, and headed out the door.
“Nothing gets in the way of the art,” he mumbled.
“That’s right,” her voice had softened, sounding more like it did when Ash was just a boy, “nothing.”
Driving to his destination, the two of them repeated their mantra, “Cruelty has a human heart, and jealousy a human face; terror the human form divine, and secrecy the human dress.”
CHAPTER 22
The smell of the sea and the feel of the warm breeze helped clear Sin’s head as she rode along Collins Avenue. She rode down to South Point Beach and parked her bike on the boardwalk that hugged the sand. She stared out at the turq
uoise waters hoping to unsee what she had just witnessed, and called up a strong memory that would perhaps bury the new horror under the one layer of her past that continued to haunt her….
Sin and Jack were working a drug smuggling case in Louisiana. They had arrested a few of the middlemen in the operation but no one would talk. It was obvious that they feared whoever was in charge of their illegal world far more than they did the FBI.
During a warehouse bust, Sin found three young girls who were scared to death. She was able to gain their confidence, and soon they began to spin a wild tale of how they were taken from their homes in the mountains of Nicaragua and used as drug mules. Sin later found out that the girls—ages eleven to thirteen—had been sexually assaulted and brutalized.
Sin and Jack went back and interrogated the captured men in ways that definitely went against the Geneva Convention, not to mention all state and federal laws. Their findings led them to a human trafficking ring and a lowlife named Veloz. He used the ports along the east and gulf coasts to bring in both girls and drugs.
Listening to the tranquility of the ocean, Sin wondered how Man could take something so beautiful and use it for something so ugly. She laughed as it suddenly occurred to her that she was starting to sound like her father. Her quiet was interrupted by the sound of a police siren.
Short blasts attempting to grab her attention.
Startled, Sin turned to see an officer on a bicycle. Beach Patrol was written on the cross tube of his bike.
“I didn’t mean to scare you, but I’ve been sitting here for the last five minutes trying to get your attention. There is no parking on the boardwalk, Miss. I need you to move your motorcycle.”
Sin was going to flash her badge, but she realized that he was just doing his job. Smiling and nodding she was just about to start her Harley when the officer dismounted his bicycle and walked over. He smiled at her and then his eyes roamed, not over her frame, but over the frame of her machine.
