Deceitful Moon

by Rick Murcer

  Manny watched the color drain from Sophie’s face as she handed the phone to him, tears already glistening in her big, brown eyes.

  “Buzzy. What happened?”

  He heard her sob and then make a heroic effort to get control of the hitch blocking her throat. “I tried your cell a hundred times . . . so much blood . . .”

  Panic punched Manny’s chest. “Whose blood? Tell me what’s going on, Buzzy.”

  There was a brief silence as Buzzy caught some air. “Just get back here. Gavin’s been shot.”

  Chapter-21

  The FBI’s jet lifted from the runway, banking gracefully over the thick, shadowy green of St. Thomas and straightening over the glassy ocean just as the sun began to climb over the eastern horizon. Manny looked away from the window and down to his watch. They had lifted off before the pilots had gotten their FAA-required eight hours of continuous rest. But with the FBI, everyone did what they were told. This time, he was okay with it. Getting back to Lansing was the only thing on his mind.

  “Just get back here. Gavin’s been shot.”

  Putting the cuffs on Argyle had been special, and there was no telling how many lives would be saved because of it. If the profilers could get him to eventually talk to them, which was something Argyle was helpless to resist, he might reveal an insight or two into how these psychopaths thought, how they worked. Even if Argyle talked just to hear himself speak, they would learn something. Manny wouldn’t be there for the first run. Josh, Max, and Chloe stayed behind to brief a crack team of the FBI’s Behavior Analysis Unit, which could lead to an opportunity to learn more about Argyle. Josh wanted Manny to leave the Lansing PD to work for that unit. He ran his hand through his hair. Changing jobs, even for one with the BAU, was the last thing on his mind. He had to get home. Nothing was more important.

  Buzzy had been near hysteria. He had finally talked her into handing the phone to one of the EMTs.

  Gavin had been found in his office with one shot to the chest. He was hanging in there, but barely. “He’s lost more blood than anyone still breathing has a right to lose,” said the tech. “Just keep praying we weren’t too late.”

  Praying was something he could do, and did. He believed that God listened and even intervened from time-to-time to show the world He was God and the rest of mankind wasn’t. This was one of those times, he hoped, that God would listen.

  And what of Stella and Mike? How much more could they take? What Argyle had done to Lexy was hard to digest, maybe even impossible to reconcile fully. A quick vision of how she had looked when she’d been found in her stateroom gouged his thoughts. He flinched. Only animals did that to people, especially to someone as beautiful, inside and out, as Lexy.

  Now Gavin. If he died, and it was past touch-and-go for him, Mike and Stella would lose two of the most important people in their lives just months apart. Talk about a recipe for the loony bin.

  And why did this happen? Who had the balls to do it? A cop makes enemies over the years (he had a few of his own), but shooting the police chief in his office? It was spitting in the face of all law enforcement. Maybe that was the idea.

  He glanced around the cabin. Alex was dead asleep on the sofa. Not a bad idea. They had all been up for over twenty-two hours, and Manny would have to follow suit soon. Sophie caught his eyes, left her seat, and plopped down next to him, looping her arm through his.

  Sometimes, in spite of the smart-ass remarks and the almost fearless bravado that was genuinely her, his partner seemed like a lost little girl looking for a place to hide, a safe haven. But hey, didn’t everyone feel like that, at least once in a while? Maybe more than once in a while.

  “What is rattling around in that slick brain of yours?” she asked.

  “How tired I am . . . and visions of Josh Corner in a red latex tutu.”

  She snorted. “You ain’t the only one.” She squeezed tighter. “What’s really going on in there?”

  “Besides what would happen with Stella and Mike—and the rest of us—if Gavin doesn’t make it?”

  “Yeah, besides that.” She hesitated, swallowing hard. “We had our moments, the Chief and I, but I love the guy like a father. This doesn’t happen to your dad, you know?”

  “I do know.” He patted her arm. “As for your question: Who? Why? How did they get in? The usual.”

  “Me too. What about the unusual? That’s your thing.”

  “I don’t know, girl. I’m tired and not exactly concentrating. You first.”

  “Oooo. All right. Me first. Why only one shot? And how did someone get close enough to him for that?”

  “So you think he may have known the shooter?”

  She nodded. “Also, don’t most shooters click off more than one round, just to make sure?”

  “True. They do.”

  “So maybe this is someone who has never done this before and didn’t know any better. Or maybe doesn’t quite have the stomach for blowing someone away.”

  “You may be on to something. If that’s true, then it makes it tougher for us. If the shooter left any trace DNA or fingerprints, they won’t be in any database, and ballistics won’t get a match.” Manny frowned.

  “I felt that. What are you frowning about?”

  “We need to see more evidence, but this almost feels like—”

  “Like what?”

  “Maybe a woman perp. There doesn’t seem to be any rage, no overkill, and he was shot in the chest, not the head. More than half of male shooters go for the face or head. It could be a woman.”

  “Say you’re right. He wasn’t fooling around or anything, correct?”

  “I don’t think so. I think the whole family was still struggling with what happened to Lexy. No inclination for extramarital affairs. Besides, he’s not exactly Don Juan.”

  “Yeah, that’s true, but it takes all kinds. Trust me, I know.”

  “Things I don’t need to know.” He shifted to look at Sophie. “But maybe the wife, the sister, or maybe a daughter of someone he put away thought it was time to even the score.” Manny rubbed the stubble on his cheek. “But I’m just spitting into the wind until we get there and look at everything.”

  Sophie let go of his arm and reached into her pocket, where her phone was vibrating.

  “I’m starting to hate this universal communication stuff. Maybe being a Luddite like you is a good thing.”

  She opened up her phone, read the text message, and handed it to Manny. “When the dam breaks, it really breaks.”

  The text was from one of the detectives, Frank Wymer, who had taken over the Mitchell Morse case at the White Kitty: GLAD YOU’RE ON YOUR WAY BACK. EVERYTHING THE SAME WITH THE CHIEF, BUT WE HAVE ANOTHER PROBLEM. WE HAVE TWO MORE VICS LIKE MORRIS. THE SAME MO. MORE WHEN YOU GET HERE.

  Manny leaned his head back against the seat. Three makes it official; they definitely had a serial killer on their hands. Just what they needed. “Shit. Does it ever stop raining?”

  “And why don’t we have a damned umbrella?” sighed Sophie

  Chapter-22

  “I’m going to go freshen up. A girl has to look good, even when interviewing a deranged serial killer,” said Chloe.

  The three FBI agents had just entered the St. Thomas police facility, such as it was. The pastel-blue building had been annexed with new construction, combining the old with the new, and making it at least interesting. It was hardly what she was used to seeing. But this was the Caribbean and the place was buzzing, especially for 4 a.m. Argyle was surely the most high-profile killer arrested in St. Thomas since the pirate Anne Bonny.

  “You look fine,” said Max.

  “Ah, thanks, but I gotta pee too.”

  “Pee? You can’t go to the head while on duty—that’s FBI regulation 601, section b-u-l-l-s-h-i-t, I think,” answered Josh.

  Max looked at Josh. “Man, you need some sleep or more coffee. That was lame, even for you.”

  “Really? Lame? I take pride in my sense of humor.”

  “
You know what they say about pride before a fall?” pointed out Max.

  “So, what are you saying?” smiled Josh.

  “Do I have to explain everything to you?”

  Chloe shook her head. “I’ll see you two in a few.”

  She walked through the heavy, steel door adorned with a sea-shell lettered sign telling her it was the Big Girls’ Room and put her leather purse on the black granite counter. She splashed water in her face, dabbed away the excess, and stared into the mirror to make sure she got it all. The stare lingered. It had been a strange fourteen hours, and it hadn’t ended the way she’d anticipated, with Argyle in chains. Courtesy, mostly, of Detective Manny Williams, or maybe she should say future FBI Special Agent Manny Williams.

  She leaned closer to the mirror. He was another reason the day hadn’t ended as she had expected. In fact, he was the biggest reason today was a total enigma.

  No doubt about that.

  Josh had talked about Williams, what had transpired on the cruise. It had sounded a little concocted, but she should have known better. Agent Corner didn’t work that way. What he didn’t bother to mention was how good-looking the Lansing detective was. How wide his shoulders were, and how his eyes looked like they were torn from the bluest sky on record.

  “I guess he wouldn’t have, would he?” she grinned to herself.

  Chloe had known good-looking men before, dated several, a couple she had even liked. But it wasn’t just his looks, those eyes, those shoulders, but it was how he carried himself, who he was. It was how honesty seemed to exude from his pores—a certain vulnerability and strength from the emotions he wore so well on his sleeve. She felt herself growing a little warmer.

  After they’d shaken hands, she felt the electricity shoot directly to her heart, causing her pulse rate to jump. That had never happened to her. She read about it, even fantasized about it, but those things didn’t happen to women like her. The thought of jumping him right there, in front of everyone, had run briefly though her mind.

  Not a great way to broaden my career path. But . . .

  Reaching into her bag, she took her cinnamon-shaded lip liner and went to work. She had done her best to hide it. She’d been trying not to stare too long or move too close, but it hadn’t worked entirely. Even Josh had seemed to detect—something. More importantly, Manny had noticed. She knew that much was true. One too many glances her way, his smile was a little too friendly, even the brief glance at her mouth. He wasn’t the only profiler in the group.

  Part of her was embarrassed; the other part, however, didn’t give a rat’s ass. There had never been, for her, a fascination, an attraction—or whatever the hell you wanted to call it— like this in only six hours’ time. She released a small sigh. It was disconcerting to know her luck with men hadn’t changed over the course of her thirty-one-year life; he was happily married.

  Married men weren’t off limits for some women. In fact, a few of her friends preferred the no-attachment thing. They said it made the sex better and the gifts amazing. But her mum had raised her with good, old-fashioned, Irish values. She’d rather live alone than be the reason a family was destroyed. She brushed her long hair back behind her ears.

  Detective Manny Williams had momentarily shaken that value with just a touch of his hand. That excited, breathless feeling fluttered from somewhere deep in her core. But she’d do the right thing, be the right kind of woman, just as soon as she got him off her mind—and as long as he never touched her again.

  She straightened her jacket, picked up her purse, took one last glance in the mirror, and walked to the door.

  The wild yelling coming from the smallish, dimly lit hallway startled her as she instinctively reached for her gun, clutching the door handle at the same time.

  That’s when she heard the first gunshot, quickly followed by another.

  Chapter-23

  Stella Crosby rose slowly from the sagging, red-vinyl chair positioned mere feet from her husband’s bed in the ICU of Eagle Memorial Hospital. Her hazel eyes burned a hole into her husband’s face. The rhythmic sound of the breathing pump and three beeping monitors featured quiet, soughing echoes. The newest technologies were designed for only one purpose— the desperate attempt to keep Gavin Crosby from meeting his Maker, to advance to the proverbial “better place,” whatever that saying truly meant. She was sure the syncopated noises would drive her crazy. That and the smell of arbitrary hospital odors she’d never been able to quite identify. She bent closer, staring harder, as if she could will him into the afterlife.

  None of this would be an issue if he would have cooperated. Why couldn’t he just die like he was supposed to? The pansy-ass couldn’t even do that right. Who lives with a shot to the chest, at point blank range no less? But she was no expert, at least not yet, and shooting him twice would have been wise.

  Learn something every day.

  And why was she agitated? Because he wasn’t dead? Guilt? Because she had just shot her husband and people who did that went away for life? Stella shrugged. None of those scenarios seemed to fit exactly. Maybe it was a combination of everything.

  Getting caught wasn’t a major concern, which would take some time, and if the cops did put things together correctly, dotted those damnable “i’s” and crossed the “t’s,” it would still be too late. They had planned too well to get boxed in. She supposed that’s what everyone who intentionally danced on the wild side of the law thought, but they weren’t just anyone, were they? Their purpose was . . . noble, just, and right. Maybe that was it. The law wouldn’t recognize that what they were doing possessed any of those attributes. They would be branded as people who couldn’t play by the rules.

  To hell with the rules. Rules didn’t help Lexy.

  In all of her years as a cop’s wife, she had heard Gavin slam the vigilante mentality that was growing in America’s fractured, frightened society.

  “The law, the cops, will find them, get it done. People have to be patient,” he would say.

  She rolled her eyes. Law enforcement bellied up to the challenge so much that only half the murders in America remained unsolved. Yeah, that’s getting it done.

  Why did more than sixty percent of rape victims fail to go the police? Not just from the embarrassment, but the knowledge that nothing would be done, or that the victims must have somehow brought it on themselves. What bullshit. She felt the rage rise again. She took deep breaths, like the Yoga instructor told her to do when her anger threatened to blow her out of the calm into the fire. It helped.

  Stella moved to the third floor window and watched the sun’s earliest rays begin to usher away the predawn darkness. It reminded her that all things were new in the light of another day, and that a fresh radiance could put a new slant on her problems. And she had a big one: Gavin was still breathing.

  The hand on her shoulder made her jump. She whirled, grabbing her chest.

  “Whoa. Easy,” said the ICU nurse.

  “You startled me.”

  “I see that, and I’m sorry. But you have two visitors, and they seem anxious to see you.”

  “Who are they?

  “They said they’re friends of yours and just want to see how you’re doing.”

  Stella’s pulse rose a higher. This wasn’t good. They weren’t supposed to meet like this. She gathered herself. “Okay. Thank you. I’ll be right out.”

  Straightening her blouse, she stood taller and left the room. Her friends, partners, were standing in a secluded corner of the waiting room. She moved toward them, butterflies doing the fandango in her stomach.

  The two women hugged her. “You hanging in there?” asked the tall woman.

  She nodded. “But what are you doing here? This isn’t supposed to happen.”

  “Relax. We’re here as friends only trying to console our hurting compadre. And if you hadn’t screwed up, we wouldn’t be here, at least together.”

  “I know. I thought he was—”

  She was interrupted by the shorte
r visitor. “You’ve got to fix this, you know that, right?”

  Stella stared at the floor. “Yes. Just trying to figure out how.”

  “Don’t figure too long. We’ve worked too hard to get here.”

  “I know. It’s not that easy in here.”

  The tall woman leaned closer. “We don’t care how you do it. Smother him, pull the plugs, shoot him again, screw him to death for all we care. Just do it. Besides, tonight’s your night to keep things rolling.”

  The shorter woman touched her arm. “And try to look like a grieving wife. There are no tear streaks on your face. You’re not wringing your hands or acting like you’ll break down any minute. You’re not doing any of the stuff we discussed; a cop like Williams will notice that.”

  Stella started to answer, but the loud siren exploding from Gavin’s room interrupted her, causing all three women to jerk their heads in sync. Several nurses and doctors sprinted into her husband’s room. She looked to the others, moving away. “Maybe I won’t have to worry about it. His damned heart has just stopped.”

  Chapter-24

  Chloe opened the heavy door and swiveled to her right, then left, gun poised and ready for anything. Her first thoughts had been that Argyle had tried to break free and was lying in a pool of his own blood. She was half right.

  Argyle was spread flat on the stained, tiled floor in front of the Big Boys’ Room. Josh Corner, Max Tucker, and a huge, maybe 300-pound, USVI cop sat on various sections of Argyle’s body. They were surrounded by seven other officers, all with guns pointed directly at the killer’s head.

  She lowered her gun. Talk about a Kodak moment. She quickly pulled her phone from her purse and shot the picture that she was sure would mysteriously circulate through the bureau’s intranet.

  “So, you boys having fun, are you?”

  “He tried to take . . . my gun . . . even with full . . . lockdown chains and cuffs,” heaved Max. “Had to . . . smack him . . . and in the excitement . . . my weapon . . . discharged.” Max glanced up where two holes, side-by-side, had torn small rifts in the white hanging ceiling.