Deceitful Moon

by Rick Murcer

  “Yes?”

  “Bring extra clothes; this thing is going to get worse.”

  Chapter-30

  Mike Crosby sat on the edge of his leather sofa, fingers knitted together between his knees, staring at something on the hardwood floor that only he could see.

  Manny touched his shoulder, and Mike glanced upward, arresting Manny’s eyes for the briefest of moments. But it was enough. Fear, anger, pain, and confusion were undoubtedly Mike’s closest confidants. He’d been through a lot; maybe more than a person should have to go through in this life, but he’d never seen him like this.

  Manny sat beside him. “How’re you holding up?”

  “Kind of a dumb question for a hot-shot detective, don’t you think? And why are you here, Williams?” asked Mike. The strain in his voice was as palpable as trees in a forest.

  “I asked because I care. I think you know why I’m here.”

  Mike rubbed his bearded face with both hands, still not looking at Manny. “I didn’t shoot the sick prick next door. But I won’t lie. I wanted to. Blake Harris got what he deserved.”

  “Why would you say that? He did his time, right?”

  Mike got up and walked to his kitchen table, picked up a DVD case parked beside two empty whisky bottles, and handed it to Manny, still refusing to look him in the face. Manny wondered what he was hiding. It was something more than the clandestine drinking.

  “What’s this?”

  “Open the cover.”

  He did. There was a pornographic image of two men and a woman on the front, but no title.

  “Warped, but probably not against his parole to buy this crap.”

  “I got it in my mailbox, even though it was sent to him. I was just going to give it to him, unopened, but I knew his background, so I thought I’d check it out.”

  “And?”

  Mike let out a breath. “It’s a rape and snuff video.”

  Manny instantly felt surprise and disgust ripple through his body. He slammed the DVD shut, threw it on the floor, and smashed it with his shoe. “He’d go away for a long time with that in his possession.” Manny stood up and moved closer to Mike. “So you confronted him? That’s what the argument was about?”

  Mike nodded. “He denied it was his. He laughed and then thanked me. He said even if he’d bought something like that, I’d bailed him out by opening it. Then he suggested that I was the one who was a pervert, that all cops have something to hide, and this was my thing.”

  “Then what?”

  “I knocked him on his ass.” Mike stood straighter, head still bowed. “He screamed that he was going to sue me. I told him to go for it, kicked him in the face, and walked out.”

  “What time was that?”

  “I’ve been over this with the blues.”

  “Just humor me.”

  “Whatever. About 11 p.m.”

  “What was he doing when you left?”

  “Bleeding and swearing, but he was alive . . . and no, I didn’t go back and shoot his ugly ass. He isn’t worth going to prison.”

  “The ME thinks he was shot between 2 to 3 a.m. Did you hear anything?”

  “No,” said Mike, looking at his feet.

  Manny put his hands on both sides of Mike’s face, pulling it up so they were eye to eye. Mike started to fight it and stopped. Manny spoke in a hushed voice, one filled with understanding. “I know you’re not telling me everything. There’s something else.”

  “No . . . there isn’t . . . I . . .”

  “Mike, I’m just trying to help, get you out of here, and up to the hospital to see your dad.”

  The tears welled in Mike’s eyes, his face twisting with brief, but powerful, emotion.

  “How is he?” he whispered.

  “He’s hanging in there, but he needs to hear your voice.”

  Mike broke away from Manny and sat back on the couch, shoulders heaving accompanied by loud sobs that might have been pent up for weeks or months. Only Mike knew for sure. He finally looked up.

  “I . . . I couldn’t sleep again and was drinking pretty hard. Sometimes the booze gets Lexy off my mind, but then there are the dreams.” He wiped the tears from his beard. “Anyway, I thought I heard something a little after two, but I was pretty blitzed by then.”

  “Heard what?”

  Mike licked his lips. “A gun shot, but it could have been anything, so I let it go. A few minutes later, I heard the degenerate’s door open and close.”

  “How do you know it was his?”

  “The walls in this place are like paper . . . and maybe I was honed in on him. Hell, I don’t know for sure. I thought maybe he was headed out for a good time or something, and I wanted to nail him for a parole violation.”

  “You thought that, even though you were drinking pretty hard?”

  “I know. It sounds crazy, but it’s true. It was like instant sober, almost.”

  “What did you see?”

  Mike turned away, tapping his foot on the floor. “A woman. I saw a tall woman walking down the hall, away from his door.”

  Manny’s pulse stepped up a notch. “Did you get a good look at her?”

  Gavin’s son bit his lip. “The hallway isn’t well lit . . . I’m not sure . . .”

  “All right. What do you think you saw?”

  Mike tugged nervously at his beard. “She looked kind of familiar and then she was gone. So I went out on the balcony to see if I could see her leave. She came out the front walking close to the building, then she moved under one of the streetlamps.”

  “Familiar?”

  “I need a drink.”

  “No more drinks. Talk to me.”

  “I could have sworn it was my mom.”

  Chapter-31

  “This is not going the way we thought it would,” said the short woman with the powerful body and platinum blond hair. She sipped from her vanilla latte as the two women sat in a secluded booth in Mack’s Coffee Emporium. “What do you want to do?”

  The taller woman seated on her right smiled. “Things are pretty much going the way we hoped they would. Crosby not being out of the picture is the only thing we’ve not counted on.”

  She scanned the other woman’s face. “And that will most likely take care of itself.”

  “And if it doesn’t?”

  “She’ll handle it. Have faith. Remember that we’re all in this together, and she won’t let us down,” answered the tall woman.

  “I remember. I just hope Stella does,” replied the blonde.

  “What does that mean?”

  “Let me lay this out for you. He saw her. He knows who shot him. If by some miracle, he makes it, and without brain damage, we’re all going away for a long time.” She put her hand flat on the table. “Ballistics will eventually match the gun used at each crime scene. Even though we used hollow point ammo, they’ll probably still get enough fragments to put it together, which was part of the plan. We want them to think one killer is at work here. Crosby still breathing could ruin all that.”

  “But won’t they think Stella was the shooter?”

  “Probably. But because she offed that pervert at the Royal Life, it puts a strain on the time line of the other two we took care of last night. Dropping off a gun to each other is a lot easier than doing these three pieces of shit alone, especially in a five-hour period.”

  “Four shootings. Don’t forget Crosby,” added the tall woman.

  “Whew. Busy night. But given the locations, the LPD is going to think it was feasible. They’ll believe it to be a spree thing,” said the blonde.

  “Williams might not think that way.”

  “If not, we’ll deal with that if, and when, we have to,” answered the blonde. “He’s good, but we’re better. For example, these wigs . . . better to be safe than sorry.”

  The tall woman grinned. “Always wanted to be a redhead. I think my ex would have liked it too.”

  “Men are so easy. A little leg, a little boob, some lace, or maybe leather
, and they trip over their dicks to do whatever you want, just to get laid,” answered the blonde. “And so far, it’s working for us.”

  The tall woman reached for the hand of her partner. “Be strong and hang onto the vision. Stella was with us from the beginning, and she’ll hold up her end. Okay?”

  The blonde nodded. “It makes me nervous, that’s all.”

  “All right. Now I have to go drop the gun off at our spot, then go to my dentist appointment.”

  “What? You still have the gun?” asked the blonde, a trace of panic in her voice.

  “Yes. I picked it up after you dropped it off, after you and Stella were finished with your little meetings. What’s the problem?” questioned the tall woman.

  “What time was that?”

  “About 12:30 a.m., during my dinner break. You’re freaking me out. What’s wrong?”

  “I picked it up at about 10:30, after Stella was finished with Ashcroft,” the blonde whispered, harsh emotion straining her face. “You’ve had it ever since 12:30?”

  “Yeah. So?”

  “According to the police scanner, the first officers arrived at the Royal Life about 6 a.m. The CSU reported that the psycho she took care of was killed between 2:00 and 3:00 this morning.”

  “So what did she shoot him with?—oh shit.”

  Pointed reality dawned on the tall woman as unavoidable truth slapped her across the face. The two women sat in stunned silence.

  Finally the blonde spoke. “They’re going to know there are two guns involved in these shootings and two guns most likely means two shooters.”

  “That’s not the worst. What if the gun she used is registered to Gavin or her? They’ll know she had access to it.”

  “Damn it. Let me make one thing clear. I’m not going to prison because she acted like a twit.”

  “What does that mean?”

  The blonde woman sat back in the booth, crossing her legs. “It means, after tonight, there’ll only be two of us left.”

  Chapter-32

  “Mike, are you positive? Stella? Your mom?”

  “I know it sounds crazy, and hell no, I’m not sure . . . it could have been her. But like I said, I was drinking, it was dark . . . it might have been . . . hell, I don’t know.” Mike shook his head and went silent.

  Manny looked at the ceiling as doubt whispered in his ear. He had known Stella for seventeen years. She simply wasn’t capable of this kind of thing. In fact, she had a serious disdain for guns, almost a phobia. Gavin had joked that if anyone ever broke into their home, she would talk them to death before she could ever shoot them.

  What reason would she have for shooting a man like Harris? How would she know him? That was like Mother Teresa having some dark communion with Charles Manson.

  Mike was mistaken. Maybe he felt guilty for not being in his parents’ lives the last few months, and seeing a woman that vaguely resembled his mother caused him to jump to some subconscious conclusion.

  Nothing like a little pop psychology.

  Whoever shot this guy had a beef. When it was all said and done, it would be the mother of one of the depraved jerk’s victims. Or maybe even a victim who decided to confront the source of her nightmares. It wasn’t Stella Crosby.

  But the look on Mike’s face forced Manny to consider what he’d said. He raked the thought from his mind.

  “Go see your dad.”

  “So, I’m not a suspect?”

  “Not to me.” Manny opened the front door to the hall and motioned for the two uniforms to leave. “After you go see your dad and talk to your mother, then head over to the office. It’s time to finish the department’s psych evaluation so you can get your ass back to work.”

  “You think I’m crazy? That I’m seeing things?” Mike clutched his hands together. “I’m not having some psychotic episode or whatever the hell it is that people go through from some stressor. It’s just that I can’t get Lexy off my—”

  “I don’t think you’re crazy, but it’s time to get back in the saddle.”

  His eyes grew moist. “Manny, I don’t know if I’m ready. I still miss her so much. Most days, nothing matters, and I see her face everywhere.”

  “You’ll always miss her, but there’s no way she’d want you to keep doing this. The man she married was strong, confident, able. Not someone who wallowed in whiskey and pity.”

  Mike’s eyes came alive with anger, and then it left as fast as it came. He sighed. One of those sighs that said I know you’re right, but it isn’t going to be easy. “I don’t know . . .”

  “One more thing.” Manny walked to the kitchen and grabbed the two unopened bottles of liquor standing arrogantly on the counter, opened them, then poured them down the drain. “This is over. No more drinking.”

  Mike stood, and Manny saw something he’d not seen for months: Mike Crosby and a smile holding hands.

  “Yes, dear. But do me a favor. Don’t quit your day job to become a counselor; one of your patients might kick the shit out of you.”

  “No problem there,” Manny laughed.

  Mike looked like his mother when he smiled like that. Always good to see.

  Manny walked out of the room and headed to the car. Sophie had decided that she was tired of being his secretary and had gone to the cell phone company that supplied phones and service to the LPD to get him a new phone, an electronic tether that would bring him to the cutting edge in PDA technology. Great. Something else he had no time for.

  She would wait for him to pick her up, and then they would get to the office in time for a meeting with Alex’s department. Apparently there was some disturbing evidence concerning the two new bodies. Just what they needed. And how could it get more disturbing than the first victim? He’d be glad when Josh and his crew got here. This was getting crazy, fast.

  He ran his hand through his hair, hoping to shake the nagging, persistent words Mike had spoken.

  “I could have sworn it was my mom.”

  Mike had been a great cop and was going to be a good detective some day. He wasn’t prone to exaggerations or illusions. However, he wasn’t exactly the same man he’d been a few months ago. Manny had seen his share of cops who had lost it—and not just because of booze and drugs. Seeing what cops saw, like the total disregard for life with these crimes, sometimes clouded perceptions of reality.

  Still . . .

  He pushed at the troublesome pictures in his mind that were forming a portrait of Stella Crosby. This time, they pushed back.

  Chapter-33

  “Here’s your new phone. Try not to turn this one into electronic roadkill, at least for a few days,” Sophie said, putting both hands on the top of his desk.

  “You said it was a good throw,” answered Manny, turning his new smartphone over in his hand.

  “I was just trying to be supportive. You’ve lost at least five MPH off your fastball, and I’ll bet the curveball hangs there like a big old balloon, just begging to be hit out of the park.”

  “I could still strike your ass out on a bet.”

  “You think you can blow three of those little girl pitches by me? Oh, just bring it.”

  The talk of baseball reminded Manny that the Williams family had tickets to Comerica Park to watch his beloved Detroit Tigers play against the hated Minnesota Twins on Sunday, only four days away. He couldn’t wait to see the look on his daughter Jennifer’s face when they settled into their seats.

  Louise and he had gone about a zillion times. She had been a big baseball freak before they’d even met. As much as Manny loved the atmosphere of a Major League park, he thought Louise loved it even more. (Another reason she had been the perfect woman for him.)

  She knew every Tiger player from the last twenty years and could recite most of their stats . . . and how good each of them looked in their tight-fitting home uniforms.

  The smell of roasting hotdogs and sausages, the vibrant color of the perfectly manicured grass, the indescribable excitement that seemed to spread from the v
ery structure itself was special. And of course, the little boy or girl dressed in his or her Tiger hat, matching jersey, and new glove, standing a seat or two away hardly able to contain themselves: all of this made a trip to the ballpark what it was always intended to be, pure joy. He wanted Jen to get into it too. Time would tell.

  “Earth to Williams. Hello?” Sophie said.

  “Sorry. Just thinking about the game we’re going to on Sunday,” he sighed, “if we get this mess sorted out by then.”

  “You should go anyway. You know how important family time is. And don’t give me crap about that whole workaholic thing you’ve got going on. Just go.”

  He grinned. “Thanks for the encouragement—I think.”

  “You’re welcome. What are partners for? Oh, and don’t think I forgot about that wet noodle of an arm you’ve got. We’re going to settle this on the field when the time’s right.”

  “I don’t know what fantasy world you live in—well, a few of them—but that’ll be like taking candy from a baby . . . a TINY baby.”

  “It’s a date, rag arm.”

  “Whatever. Tell me about this thing that I have in my hand—and keep it simple.”

  “First, let me tell you that all of your contacts have been programmed in, so that’s just like before.”

  “Yeah? Then I’m good to go.”

  “That’s not all.”

  “It’s a phone, right?”

  “Yes, but it also—”

  “And phones are used for? You guessed it, talking with other people who have phones.”

  “Manny—”

  “I don’t need anything more.”

  Sophie rolled her eyes. “Listen, techno-phobe, this phone can do things to save lives, catch the bad guys we all think so fondly of, and even order dinner, so heads up and pay attention.”

  “Your eyes really get big when you get pissy. Ever notice that?”

  “I’m ignoring you . . . do they really?”

  “Yep.”

  “You’re not getting around this.”