Red Death

by Alan Jacobson

  “Just a guess. The Punchbowl.”

  “Punchbowl. Not the.”

  I’m never gonna get that right.

  “I’ll see about diverting some officers as backup.”

  “I did say it’s just a guess, right?”

  “Fine. I’ll send officers to the area. You get confirmation, they’ll be in closer proximity to assist.”

  “SWAT was at the huge mall near here. Can you send them too?”

  “Roger that.”

  Vail hung up and handed Russell his phone. “He may be headed this way,” she said, “but that doesn’t mean he’s coming here.”

  “We’ll see soon enough. But I think you’re right. And he might be looking to off himself.”

  “We don’t really know what we’re dealing with. I’m pretty confident in my assessment, but I’m working on the fly here. A lot of intuition. I haven’t had much time to think, not that we have a lot to go on.”

  “It’s okay if you’re wrong,” Russell said as he made another turn and accelerated. “I couldn’t have done any better.”

  “Glad you said that. A few years ago, I might’ve been the one to make that comment. And it wouldn’t have gone over too well.”

  “So you’re mellowing with age?”

  Vail grabbed the dashboard to steady herself around another curve. “My fiancé might not agree with that assessment.”

  Russell chuckled as he approached the entrance to the cemetery.

  “That’s the second crack you’ve made about my age, Adam. How old do you think I am?”

  “Nope.” Russell shook his head. “Not going near that one.”

  57

  Though the crater was formed approximately one hundred thousand years ago, the National Memorial Cemetery was much younger, dating to 1949.

  As they crested the ancient volcano along Puowaina Drive, Vail glanced left and saw a panoramic top-down view of Honolulu, fronted by high-rise resorts and office buildings, and the Diamond Head volcanic mountain in the distance with a glimpse of the beach and ocean beyond.

  “Know what the Hawaiian translation of the name Punchbowl is?”

  Vail snorted. “Doesn’t everyone?”

  “Hill of sacrifice.”

  “Appropriate for a military cemetery.”

  Russell bobbed his head. “Except that the name came way before the memorial. Third century, the crater was used as an altar where Hawaiians offered human sacrifices to pagan gods.”

  Vail chuckled as they drove through the iron front entrance gate. “And fifteen hundred years later, politicians offered human sacrifices—in the form of soldiers—to satisfy their need to conquer and rule over others. Not sure it’s all that different.”

  “Wow,” Russell said, “a skilled FBI profiler and political commentator, all rolled into one.”

  “I’m full of surprises,” she said as they approached another entrance. “People never know what’s going to tumble out of my mouth.”

  “Apparently, neither do you.”

  Ahead were two concrete pillars with signage and brass plaques—but Vail’s attention was snatched by the grandeur of the landscape ahead: a long rectangular immaculately mown grass mall bordered by full, mature medium-size banyan trees. Sitting majestically at the far end was a massive complex: the memorial, built of multiple levels of stairs that narrowed as they neared the top, where a tall sculpture stood against a cream-colored marble wall.

  “You were right. Quite the setting.”

  “We’re now inside the crater,” Russell said as he curved by the landscaped roundabout that featured a maritime-themed flagpole.

  “You’d never know. It’s beautiful.”

  “Any idea where Meece might go?”

  “If I knew what was housed here—other than buried bodies—I might be able to answer that.”

  “Just do some more of your guessing—I mean, what’s it called? Criminal investigative …?”

  “Analysis. And yeah, there’s some educated speculation involved. But it’s rooted in evidence, the offender’s behaviors, and the unit’s database of research. You want to call that guessing, have at it. I usually do a pretty decent job of helping to catch these UNSUBs.” She pointed ahead. “Let’s do a drive-through and let me get a sense of what we’re looking at.”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  “We can stop and get out if we see anything that intrigues us.”

  “Like a fugitive serial killer?”

  “Like that, yeah.”

  As they cruised slowly along the right side of the long edge of the rectangle, Vail rolled down her windows. “What the hell’s that noise?”

  “Birds. Lots of ’em, living in the banyans. They’re always here. Kind of amazing. They make music all day, every day for the fallen.”

  “Nice thought.” Vail glanced around. “Looks like all the structures on this site are clustered around the memorial itself, up ahead.”

  “Correct.” He pointed with the index finger of his hand that was resting on the steering wheel. “That central area, there’s a terracing of levels and stairs leading to each level. On each side of the stairs is a landscaped planter—those bushes and small trees—and then beyond that, moving laterally, are individual memorials. Courts of the Missing, they’re called. Rooms without ceilings. Names of thirty thousand soldiers missing in action or lost at sea are engraved in the stone on the walls.”

  “So lots of places for Meece to hide.”

  “If he’s trying to hide, yeah. I thought you said he’s here to kill himself.”

  Yep. That is kinda what I said.

  “Can’t be sure what he’s doing here. I might be right, I might not be.”

  “That’s comforting.”

  “Hey,” Vail said, “remember the sixty/forty rule.” She gestured with her chin. “Let’s check with security.”

  Coming into view was a silver SUV with a police badge painted on the doors. It sat parked off to the right, in the shade of one of the large banyans.

  Russell pulled in front of the Jeep. They got out and walked over to the deeply tinted windows. Vail cupped her hands and leaned in for a look. “Shit.” She grabbed the knob and yanked open the door.

  A uniformed female security guard was lying across the armrest, her torso slumping in the passenger seat. Vail felt for a pulse. “Dead.” She did a quick pat down and cursed again. “Holster’s empty. Handgun’s gone.”

  “So,” Russell said, rotating his head in each direction, looking up at the steps to the massive monument. “Would you say we’ve got confirmation?”

  “Affirmative.”

  “And now he’s armed. To kill others? Or himself?”

  “He kills by poisoning. I see nothing indicating he needs to change that. He does it that way for a reason. And it’s been successful for him.” Vail moved back out of the Jeep. “Then again, he killed the security guard. And he didn’t use poison. There was a substantial blow to the nose and left eye, but that’s not what killed her. He probably incapacitated her with a vicious backhanded punch. But she was suffocated. Choked.”

  “So asphyxiation—just another method.”

  “No,” Vail said, looking out at the landscape, hoping to see Meece. “This is very different. Remember, women use poison to kill because it neutralizes a male’s advantage. But it’s also less ‘in your face.’ It’s harder to stab someone repeatedly to kill them, to choke someone, to break someone’s neck.”

  “It’s up close and personal.”

  “Exactly.”

  “So what gives? Why the switch to physical violence?”

  “Necessity. The guard was a threat and he took her out. Had to be something he could do by reaching into the SUV. Beautiful day, she probably had the window open, he surprised her or engaged her in conversation, diverted her attention and then bashed her in
the face. There was a softball-size rock on the floorboard.”

  “That bought him a few seconds to get the door open and grab her by the neck.”

  “He didn’t let go until she bought the farm.”

  “Very violent for him, no?”

  “Yes. And that could be an indication he’s going to take his own life. Nothing else matters. Nothing to lose. If she got the upper hand and shot him at close range, problem solved.”

  Russell nodded to a parking spot about thirty feet to their right, where several stalls were carved out of the grass. “That the car he jacked?”

  “Sure looks like it.” Vail glanced around, thanking the deity above that there were very few tourists or mourners onsite. “Let’s call this in. Sergeant Aldridge is awaiting confirmation. He was sending officers to the area. Let’s have them surround the cemetery. Quietly. Cover all avenues of exit—just in case he’s not here to kill himself and he plans on trying to leave.”

  Russell pulled out his phone and hit redial. “I’ll see if I can get some plainclothes in unmarked cars posing as tourists to help clear the cemetery.”

  Vail nodded. “If we’re lucky, he won’t notice. Don’t want to freak him out. Speaking of which, see if SWAT will fall back and let us handle it.”

  Russell snorted. “SWAT here is no different than it is anywhere else. They’ll tell us to fall back and let them handle it.”

  “Then don’t bring it up. I have no intention of twiddling my thumbs while SWAT goes through their protocols and procedures.”

  “You dissing SWAT?”

  “Not at all. They’re the best. But I want a chance to talk with Meece. And if SWAT takes over the scene, and if Meece is here to kill himself, I’ll never get that chance.”

  Russell grunted. “Fine.” He made his call and turned to Vail while keeping his gaze moving about the area. “If he is going to kill himself, why not just jump off the roof of the building where he was staying? Why come here?”

  “Good question. My answer—which is more guess now than analysis—the sixty percent part, in case you were wondering—is that this place has special meaning to him. Maybe because of his brother Phillip. We don’t know the depth of his relationship with Phillip so right now we can’t say. Remember, he may not be thinking clearly. We don’t know what’s going on inside his head, so what doesn’t make sense to us may seem logical to him.”

  “No offense,” Russell said, “but I like my job much better. Find evidence. Look for motive and opportunity. Interview witnesses and suspects. Make an arrest. You? You people are into all sorts of psycho shit that I just don’t understand.”

  “That’s why you brought me out here. And right now, we’ve got a serial murderer somewhere on this property. He’s armed and dangerous, possibly delusional and likely depressed, maybe psychotic. We already know he has a working knowledge of explosives, so we can’t be sure what we’re walking into.”

  “As if that’s not enough,” Russell said, “we have to find him and keep him from hurting himself.”

  “Or anyone else. We don’t know what he’s doing or what he’s got planned. It looks like a spontaneous thing, but he could’ve been planning this for years. We’re going in blind.”

  “And he’s armed with a gun. He thinks he sees the devil, or whatever, he doesn’t care who he kills. We do this wrong, we could have more bodies.”

  “No,” Vail said. “No more bodies. I’ve had enough.” She looked up at the monument and seven flights of the grand staircase before them. “Too many places to hide. Let’s split up and do a grid, meet at the top if we haven’t found him before then.”

  “The Court of Honor,” Russell said.

  “Come again?”

  “The top, where you want to meet. That courtyard’s called the Court of Honor. Part of the Honolulu Memorial. At the far end of it is a huge statue.”

  “I see it. The woman.”

  “Lady Columbia, yeah. A symbol of justice. She represents all grieving mothers.”

  Vail looked in its direction, into the sun, and shielded her eyes.

  “Strangely ironic,” Russell said. “Don’t you think? Scott Meece is avenging the evil his mother imparted against him—we think—by killing women. And he’s coming here to take his life under the watchful eye of something that represents grieving mothers.”

  “Ironic?” Vail said. “Sad.” She gave one last look around and then faced Russell. “Let’s do this.”

  “Be careful,” Russell said as he pulled out his pistol. “If he’s suicidal, he’s got nothing to lose. He won’t hesitate to kill.”

  Vail held her Glock out in front of her. Great. Then nothing’s changed.

  58

  They moved up the fifty-foot-wide grand staircase, Vail taking the right and Russell the left. Vail maintained a quick but cautious pace, watching for trip wires and other potential jerry-rigging. She texted Russell and cautioned him to be aware of improvised booby traps.

  After clearing each individual monument, she emerged from the partially enclosed rooms and made eye contact with Russell. They then moved up another flight to the next level and checked the memorials there.

  Vail counted five on each side, with a wall at the top before they made it to the Court of Honor on the uppermost floor, where the primary structure was situated.

  As they crested the next landing, Vail heard a rumble behind her. She turned and saw a double-decker yellow tour bus stopping in front of the plaza at the base of the stairs, where the road ended.

  She attempted to wave the driver off but before she could determine if he had seen her—or understood her frantic hand signals—a plainclothes detective was at the vehicle and directing it to the outer loop roadway that ran along the grassy mall, leading to the exit.

  Well, at least there’s one cop here. Hopefully we’ve got more.

  As that thought evaporated, she saw the unmistakable SWAT vehicles drive onto the periphery of the property.

  Time’s running out.

  They moved higher, one level to the next, but did not find any signs of Meece.

  If we hadn’t found the dead guard, I’d wonder if I’d gotten this wrong.

  After checking all the memorials—and a handicap elevator on Vail’s side—they convened at the top, as planned.

  Directly ahead was the Court of Honor, consisting of a couple of large planters in a hardscaped triangular-shaped plaza. At the point stood the thirty-foot-tall sculpted figure of Lady Columbia, mounted on a marble wall.

  To the left and right were open-air wings, covered walkways that housed what appeared to be mosaic tributes to different battles that took place in the Pacific.

  “I’ll go left,” Russell said. “You go right. Meet me in the center, in the chapel.”

  “Chapel?”

  “It’s not that big, maybe four or five rows of pews on each side of the center aisle, if I remember right. Fifty people max. Why?”

  “That could be where he’s going to do it.”

  “In a place of worship?”

  “Symbolic.”

  Russell noticeably tightened the grip on his handgun. “That would really suck.”

  “I hope you realize I’m flying by the seat of my pants here a little bit.”

  “I didn’t really buy that sixty/forty bullshit. I figure you’ve been making it all up since you got here.”

  Vail had a comeback ready, but instead winked at him and moved off, headed to the rightmost portion of the open-air atrium.

  59

  Scott Meece looked at the handgun. It reminded him of Phillip, of the day he returned home from his first tour and went out and bought a forty caliber Glock-23. He told Scott that he really enjoyed target shooting and he wanted to stay sharp while away from his unit.

  He asked Scott to come along a few days later to the range with him, but Scott declined. �
�C’mon. When you’re old enough, I’ll take you to the gun store and we’ll get you one of these. The Glocks are nice and light, easy to handle.”

  “I’d rather have a watch. Like yours.”

  “This? Nothing special. It’s a G-Shock. Lots of guys are starting to use it in Special Forces. Holds up well, even with all the vibration from shooting.”

  “Can I put it on?”

  Phillip laughed, realized Scott was serious, and he unhooked the strap.

  Scott fastened it around his wrist and admired it. “I like it.”

  “Keep it.”

  “No. Are they expensive?”

  “Not too bad.”

  Scott handed it back to Phillip. “Okay.”

  “Okay what?”

  “I’ll go with you. To the range.”

  That afternoon, they stood at the line, ammo and magazines laid out in front of them, goggles on and ear protection hanging around their necks. Fortunately, they were the only ones there, which made talking much easier.

  Phillip put the unloaded weapon in Scott’s hand and taught him the proper stance. He explained to him with the patience of a teacher how to line up the sights, what to expect when he squeezed the trigger, and the dangers of using such a weapon irresponsibly.

  He then taught Scott how to load the rounds into the magazine and shove it home into the pistol’s handle.

  “Think about the power you’re now holding in your hands. It’s like playing God. When you point that weapon at someone, you control life and death. A steady hand and good aim, and the person in front of you will almost certainly die. If you so choose.”

  “I get it,” Scott said.

  Phillip studied his face. “No offense, bro. But I don’t think you do. You can’t. Until you’ve seen someone die, you just can’t relate. It’s …” he looked off into the distance. “It’s life changing. It’s something you don’t forget.”

  Scott looked at him. “Did it change you?”

  “Yeah.” Phillip bit his lip. “Seeing someone die …” He cleared his throat. “You can want them dead in the worst way because they’re the enemy. But they’re not any different from you. They’re fighting for a cause, for their country. For their honor. Killing someone …”