by Rick Murcer
“My God. How could it be worse?” whispered Manny. A question he knew no one could answer, not even Argyle.
Josh stood and clapped his hands. “All right. Here’s the deal. It’s 2 a.m. and we’re all beat. The ship has a few rooms left, so we’ll sack out here.” He smiled a tired smile. “Apparently hurricane season is less than peak vacation time for cruise lines.”
“The ship leaves later this morning at 9 o’clock. We’ll meet on the dock at 8:30 and see what the locals came up with.”
“Sounds good to me,” said Alex.
“I’m willing to sacrifice my room and bunk with Josh, for the good of the team,” said Sophie.
“You’re such a team player,” smiled Manny.
“Just trying to do my part.”
“Thanks for the offer, but I think I’ll be fine.”
As they began to trudge out of the room, Manny grabbed the condemning letter and stuffed it in his pocket.
“It’s not your fault. You know that, right?”
Without looking up, he answered Sophie. “I know, at least my head does. The soul is still coming around. I’ll get there.”
She put her hand on his shoulder. “There’s nothing you, or any of us, could’ve done.”
“I know you’re right . . . it still stings. We have to get ahead of him soon. He looks like he’s heading for a spree. Hell, maybe he’s already riding that train. Three murders in ten hours qualify, I guess.” He patted her hand. “I should have sent you to the fence, naked—with Josh. Could’ve worked.”
Sophie rolled her eyes and laughed. “Or scared the passengers and cops away. Maybe even sent them streaking for the other ship for safety. Get that? Streaking?”
“Yeah, it’s late, but I got—” His thoughts suddenly focused on something Chloe had said that Sophie’s joking brought into focus. He called to the others before they moved too far down the aisle.
“What?” asked Josh.
“Remember what Chloe said about not being able to book the same cruise ship at the same time?”
“Yes. It would be impossible to check in more than once because of the imagery software,” agreed Josh.
“But it’s not impossible to book two different cruises with different cruise lines at the same time. Some ships pick up passengers at different ports along their itinerary and then eventually return them to their original embarkation port. This ship will sail from St.Thomas to Dominica, where it will pick up more passengers.”
“So he could be on the Sea Fantasy, the other ship in this port, because the itineraries cross?” Sophie asked, doubt tracking through her voice.
“Think about it. How is he going to get off this island without being caught? Everyone’s looking for him. He can’t leave by air. The Harbor Patrol is on every boat or yacht like white on rice. He sure as hell isn’t going to walk away. And he’s not going to hide under a damn rock.”
“Because he’s started this spree, this ‘look at me thing?’” asked Chloe.
Manny spoke. “I keep coming back to what I would do. I’d try to get out where I wasn’t noticed obviously, but still throw it in law enforcement’s face. Who would suspect that he was leaving on the other ship with 5,200 others? It’s a perfect hiding place.”
The room grew quiet.
Josh pinned his eyes on Manny. “You were right with the police patrol scenario, and if you’re right here, we have him.”
Chloe frowned. “If your theory is true, how do we find him? If we do a door-to-door, especially this late, he might catch wind of what’s happening and disappear.”
“You’re right. We’ll just have to take—” Manny felt his heart jump, and he rose from the table. “He’ll want to out-clever us, to mock us with that unhinged sense of humor.” He turned to Josh. “How fast can we get a passenger/crew list from the other ship?”
“I don’t know. Let’s find out.”
Fifteen minutes later, the first officer, Anthony Amalia, hurried into the room lugging a large laptop, put it on the table, and fired it up.
“We cross-referenced our database with theirs and came up with no matches for Decker or any other alias you gave us. But I think there is something you should see.”
He quickly opened a PDF file and, running the cursor down the list, stopped and pointed his shaking finger at a name and cabin assignment.
The collective surprise was almost palpable as they gathered around the twenty-two-inch screen.
“Well kiss my skinny ass and whistle Dixie,” whispered Max Tucker.
It appeared that Detective Manfred R. Williams was leaving St. Thomas in room 7880 of the Sea Fantasy.
Chapter-18
“It’s done. It wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be. You know, after all those years together?” Stella Crosby shifted the cell phone to her other hand, its small, square screen the only light emanating from the darkened study in the Crosby home, the one she and Gavin had shared for thirty-four years.
“Did you do everything else we talked about?” asked the voice on the other end.
“Yes. I didn’t have to go through security, so explaining the gun was no issue. Besides, the cop on duty has seen it before.”
“Good. You made sure no one else was on the floor and left down the stairwell?”
Stella reached for the cigarette smoldering in the ashtray on the glass coffee table, her hand remarkably steady for a woman who’d just shot her husband. “I did. By the way, thanks for taking care of the security cameras on that level and the lights around the ground floor exit. It was just like you said: unguarded.
“I also locked his office door when I left, like we discussed, so maybe no one will find the sniveling worm until early morning. Although once in a while, the night cleaning crew comes in ahead of schedule. Actually, they could be there about now. Either way, I’m ready.”
Static rolled softly to her ear as her new confidant, one of them, grew silent. She heard soft breathing filter through the handset. It reminded her of rhythmic waves echoing against the ship’s hull while Gavin and she had held each other in their cabin on the Ocean Duchess. Gavin had insisted on leaving their balcony door open as they sailed the Caribbean, and he had been correct; the effect was almost magical. At least he’d been right about one thing.
But that’s where he lost it, wasn’t it? That’s when he stopped being the cop, the man, the protector she had fallen in love with. He’d changed. He was no longer Mike’s hero or her knight in shining armor, her lover and her rock, but instead a pathetic, depressed old man scared of his own shadow. She felt the anger rise like heat in a sauna, her disgust evolving from a crevice to a canyon.
He had failed to protect Lexy, like a good cop would have, and let her die like a slaughtered lamb. Now their son’s life was in shambles. The boy was so far down the well of despondency that he might never crawl out. It made her heart ache like only a mother’s can. But she couldn’t really blame Mike; it wasn’t his fault. Seeing what Argyle had done to his new bride, her precious daughter-in-law, would widen anyone’s path toward insanity.
Stella crossed her long legs and exhaled. She sensed the smoke twirl and waltz, responding to a sonata it alone could hear.
Gavin had failed at his most basic assignment: protect thy family. The FBI, Manny Williams, all of them, were responsible, but Gavin was the patriarch of the Crosby clan. It all fell on him. But not anymore. His reign was over. If he couldn’t handle things, she—they—would. The law had let her down and ruined everyone close to her. It was time to balance that scale.
“You did the right thing, Stella. You know that, don’t you?”
Emotion surprised her with unexpected resolve. It rushed the steel wall of disdain and hatred she had constructed against her husband. For a brief moment, it threatened her newly-discovered religion. She massaged away the lone tear. It had been the right thing to do. Weakness could no longer be tolerated, and Gavin Crosby had come to personify frailty. That made him expendable, husband or not.
She sat up straight and steadied herself. “I know.”
“Remember what we’ve set out to do,” encouraged the voice.
“It’s all I think about. I knew it wouldn’t be easy, but we have a chance to make a difference.”
“I’m sure men like Mitchell Morse and Siggie Ashcroft wouldn’t agree, maybe even Manny and the rest, but they don’t get a vote. Not anymore.”
Stella heard the tiny laugh at the other end and found herself smiling, too. “And the last two nights are only the beginning.”
The land line rang and the caller ID said it was from the Department. “It’s them. We’ll talk later.” Stella hung up.
She let it ring three more times and finally answered in her best “you just woke me up” voice. “Gavin?”
There was a small, pregnant pause, and she heard someone catch their breath. “Mrs. Crosby, this is Officer Swift down at the station. Ma’am, I’ve sent a car to pick you up—”
“Why? What’s going on?” she interrupted, false panic searing through her voice.
“I’m not sure how to say this, but the Chief has been shot.”
Chapter-19
“You’re not as bright as I thought, are you, my fine Detective?” said Dr. Fredrick Argyle, wiping away the last of the temporary blond dye that had covered his now wavy, brown hair. He dabbed at a few last streaks watching the slow, confident smile spread over his chiseled face. They would never put it together. He was going to sail out of St. Thomas, free as a bird, and move forward with the end game he’d so meticulously put together over the last three months. Too bad. He would have preferred the other contingency. Plan A would’ve been ideal.
So this is the best law enforcement available? No wonder the country was going to hell in a handbasket. But then again, who was like him?
He stretched to his full six-foot-four frame, ogled the mirror, and marveled at his physique. Gods had to look the part, too, and he certainly had accomplished that. There was no match mentally, and he could hold his own with anyone physically. God was a good word.
After one last look, Argyle moved back to the bed, finished unpacking, and then moved to the balcony facing the harbor and Charlotte-Amalie. The waxing moon appeared to be almost full, sending glittering moonbeams off the ocean. It was beautiful by any standard. Yet, dichotomies like the deceitful moon existed everywhere. Shining beauty hid the dark, cold, unseen, and even deadly persona that everyone possessed. He was just more honest than most. More real. More god-like.
But he did recognize beauty when he saw it. The misconception that men like him were incapable of such appreciations was not entirely true. Most of the social interaction was an act, a lesson in mimicry. But appreciation wears many faces, and he did enjoy the island qualities; it seemed to enhance his fairly new journey from prison drudgery to absolute liberty.
He felt the blood rush through his body. He could do anything he wanted. The lack of inhibition, of any dictated moral compass, allowed it. Freedom. The very word resonated truth. So what if there was collateral damage? A small price to pay to see his genius manifested.
Shifting his feet, he frowned. Men like Manny Williams failed to understand, but he would do his best to help with the detective’s education, and soon. After that, when he was through with Williams, his family, and the rest of the Lansing idiots, he’d make an unexpected visit to an FBI agent or two. The attractive Chloe Franson could be an endeavor worthy of his attention.
Worthy indeed.
Then he would dedicate himself to a more far-reaching purpose, one worthy of his vast abilities. His disdain for politicians in general could be cultivated to include some serious accountability for the corrupt, the crooked. Maybe a face-to-face with the President could be arranged. What about getting an audience with Billy Graham or even the Pope? The things they could “discuss.” But who knew for sure? The world was his oyster, and there was no one to stop him. Life was good, his life.
Argyle strolled in from the balcony and removed his shirt, turned out the lights, and spread out on the bed.
His overloaded mind began to unwind just as the knock came to his door. Ah. It was time.
He sat up, realizing instantly that someone had figured out his location . . . and that Manny Williams couldn’t be in two places at the same time. He smiled.
Let’s see how good they really are.
He slipped on his shirt, grabbed his bag, took one last look around the room, and went to the verandah door. He would simply swing down or over to another balcony and make his escape that way. They really were dense to think he didn’t have this part of the game planned. He’d give Williams kudos the next time they met. No one else would have gotten this far.
He slid the glass door open, and stepped directly into the barrel of a Glock .40. Two more weapons pressed against the side of his head and chest.
“Good evening Dr. Argyle, you have no idea how nice it is to see you again,” taunted Manny.
Chapter-20
Three thirty a.m. never felt so good. Manny watched as Argyle, surrounded by armed and ready local officers, was folded into the backseat of a small police cruiser. As the taillights of the miniature convoy disappeared en route for the island’s police headquarters, he simply couldn’t stop grinning. His body was fully alive, awake, like he had drunk a little too much coffee right after a chocolate rush. Adrenaline will do that to you, but he thought it the best feeling he’d had in years.
They had done it. Dr. Fredrick Argyle would never hurt anyone outside of a prison again. The FBI’s field agents from San Juan would pick Argyle up in a few hours, process the paperwork, (there was always paperwork), ship him to Miami, and then in a few days or a week, to Lansing where he would stand trial for the murders of Sylvia Martin, Liz Casnovsky, Lexy Crosby, and Eric Hayes. No case was ever open and shut, but this would be as close as it came.
“So, you going with me to interrogate this creep?” asked Josh.
More grinning. He looked to the others standing in a loose huddle, talking in excited, low tones. Then back to Agent Corner.
“I wouldn’t miss it, but I doubt he’ll say much. He’ll talk when he chooses to. It’s part of the whole control thing.”
“I know, but it’ll be fun to watch the son of a bitch squirm. Maybe we can even piss him off.”
Manny grinned. “That would be worth the effort.”
Chloe left the others and stepped close to Manny, maybe too close. “That was some of the best profile work I’ve ever seen. How did you know?”
“Don’t encourage him; it’ll go to his head,” said Josh.
“Let me guess; it was a ‘feeling?’” grinned Chloe.
“Something like that. You know how this stuff goes; you just try to put yourself in the guy’s head, that’s all. He did what I might have done, or at least one of the things I would have done. Alex and Max believe it’s a subconscious gathering of facts . . . but they’re science geeks. They don’t believe in the Way.”
“Well, I have to admit, I’m more of a believer than before. Okay. What was the other thing?” asked Chloe.
“Run like hell.”
“What?”
Manny winked. “It’s just me, but I would’ve run like hell.”
Chloe gave him the best smile he’d seen from her, and it was dazzling. When she relaxed like that, laughed, she was more than beautiful, and he wasn’t sure she realized it. But that something remained underneath it all, that reason for guarding herself. On the outside, she appeared to be a hard-charging professional ready to climb the ladder at the Bureau. Except she was driven by a need, perhaps a pain, a hurt hidden deeper than any psychological exam the Feds had administered. He was sure about that. But she was handling it by burying herself in her work. He knew that one. Not always healthy, but a defense mechanism that would keep her out of the nuthouse. He knew that one too.
Manny found himself fantasizing about finding out what that pain was and helping, even getting to know her better. He shook it aside. This feeling
would pass. He’d experienced infatuations before. That’s all this was. Right?
“That would have been my choice, for sure,” said Josh, giving Manny a curious look.
Just then, Sophie left the two CSIs, shaking her head. “Those guys need to get a room.”
“Why?” questioned Manny.
“All that science talk. Damn. I think they’re getting horny talking about particulates, DNA, bodily fluids, poly-something evidence bags, and new kinds of latex gloves.”
“Yeah, well it’s not like Alex has a lot of people like Agent Tucker to talk with,” said Manny, happy that Sophie had interrupted Josh’s attention. Manny had stared at Chloe a little too long.
“Whatever. They seem entirely too excited about that stuff,” Sophie moved a little closer to Josh. “What do you think about latex?”
Josh frowned. “Gloves?”
“Gloves could be part of it, boots for sure, but I mean in general. You know. Like black or red . . . camisoles . . .”
“Sophie!” warned Manny.
“What? I only wanted to know what he thought.” She blinked at Josh. “Still do.”
Josh stepped closer to Manny, away from Sophie. “Ah. I think it’s time to go. Let’s get down to the station, talk with our special guest, and then see about getting some rest.”
Manny watched relief landscape Josh’s face as he changed the subject. But there was little doubt Sophie would pick up the matter again at the first opportunity.
That’s twice she had flustered Josh, and she seemed to be enjoying the hell out of it. Still, they would have to talk about professional conduct. But not today. For the moment, life was too good to go the downer route.
Just then, Sophie’s cell began playing a tune from Phantom. She scowled, looked at the number, then up to Manny.
Thinking back, he had no inkling how quickly the good mood would change. How one call could disrupt not only the moment, but turn part of his world upside down.
“It’s the office. Hello—whoa. Wait. Slow down, Buzzy.”
