Caribbean Rain (16 page)

“Let me interject something here. I’m not sure about the who and why questions, but I can tell you about the sound we heard before we got in here and that will explain why the head looks like it does,” said Dean.

“Have at it, Mucus,” said Sophie.

“It’s Mikus.”

After what Alex thought was a brief blush, brought on by a slight smile that Sophie probably didn’t even realize she showed, Dean put his hands in his pockets and then spoke.

“The smell, the one kind of like sulfur, but sweeter, is nitroglycerin, or some close derivative. It’s worse once it detonates. It can hang in the air, especially in a closed area.”

“What? Nitro?” asked Manny.

“Yeah. I’m kind of a geek when it comes to explosives.”

“You? A geek? No way,” said Sophie.

“Let him finish, smartass,” said Alex, frowning.

“Okay. Damn. Still touchy, I see.”

“Anyway, I had a case in LA where the killer, a stripper in one of those high-priced clubs where anything goes, was working her way through grad school as a chemistry major, and she had offed one of her clients after he beat her up. She managed, somehow, to place nitro on the inside of his cell phone, right on the battery, and then when she dialed his number, the electrical charge ignited, or I should say detonated, the nitro. It blew his weenie to Long Beach along with half of his guts.”

“I know that stuff is deadly, but it’s so unstable. How did she manage to keep it from blowing up in her face?” asked Alex, feeling more and more comfortable with his odd, but talented, new partner.

“She wouldn’t say, but I think she got lucky. Besides, although that stuff’s scary, it can be handled safely. She could have mixed it with gun cotton, dissolved it in an acetone and created a thin cord, which is more stable, but will still explode with the best of those mixes.”

“What’s that got to do—?” Alex watched the light go on in Manny’s face and knew this investigation was now hitting the next level.

“Show me what you’re thinking,” said Manny.

Dean shuffled into the stall, wearing blue latex booties, matching hairnet, and latex gloves. Alex glanced at Sophie and almost laughed out loud with her. He snapped a picture from his own camera and knew they’d “discuss” Mikus’s dress code at a more appropriate time, but he did feel some of the tension leave his body. Always a good thing for a science guy.

Picking up the head carefully, Dean reached into the expanded mouth and brought out what was left of a small cell phone. He reached into his back pocket, pulled out a new evidence bag, and dropped the phone into it. “Looks like a cheap pay-as-you-go unit.”

“Good God, that’s gross,” squirmed Sophie.

“Oh, I’ve done worse. Like the time—”

“Later with the war stories, we’ve got a lot of work to do. But helluva job with that one, Dean,” said Alex.

He blushed again. “Thank you, just trying to earn my check.”

“Can you get the number that was used to detonate the nitro from the memory card?” asked Sophie.

“Maybe. It’s pretty bad, though.”

“The killer probably used another pay-as-you-go phone, so I doubt it’ll do any good. But it might help us figure out where the perp called from,” said Manny.

“You’re right. You are learning about this tech world, aren’t you?” grinned Sophie.

“Don’t hold your breath on that one,” answered Manny, moving closer to the human statue. He scanned the stall with those blue eyes of his burning every detail into his brain. Alex thought Manny would have been a hell of a forensic man too, but that hadn’t been his long-time friend’s calling.

“What are you looking at?” he asked.

Manny didn’t answer, but bent even closer to the killer’s version of Frankenstein’s monster.

“Hey, you trancing again?” asked Sophie.

“Trancing? Does he do that?” asked Dean.

“Oh yeah. Big time.”

“I don’t trance. Like I said before, you got to pay attention. Come in here, Sophie, and tell me what you see.”

Whenever he did that, Alex knew it was important. He squeezed close, too.

“I see a lot of body parts put together by some homicidal lunatic who probably wanted to hump his mother.”

“That might be true, but what else?”

“Hell, I don’t know, Manny. It looks like a jigsaw puzzle, that he cut the pieces to fit—oh, I get it. It’s a puzzle, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Each piece was intentional. Each body part came from someone that he specifically chose, so that means something in the killer’s mind. I’m still trying to get my mind around what he’s trying to tell us.”

“You mean like the twisted messages Argyle sent?” asked Alex, not sure that he wanted to hear what was coming next.

Josh, Chloe, and Detective Ruiz came up behind him and Dean, crowding the entrance of the restroom.

“No, not like that. Argyle
wanted
us to react, to have fear. He thrived on it. This one is telling us something different altogether.”

“How in hell are you getting that from this mess?” asked Ruiz.

Standing, Manny ran his gloved-hand through his hair. “Let me guess. The only body parts that you all found missing came from the rainforest victims? Right?”

“That’s right. Except for Caleb—I had him flown to Miami. All of the other victims have something missing,” answered Josh, never batting an eye.

Alex was impressed with the way Josh was holding it together. It had to be tough, even for Special Agent Josh Corner. Alex didn’t think he could do it. But you can never be sure of what you’re capable of until it becomes necessary.

“That confirms what I thought. We’re dealing with the killer that murdered the people in El Yunque. But there’s more to this one.”

“More?” asked Chloe.

It grew so quiet that Alex thought he would be able to hear a drop of sweat hit the gray-tiled floor.

“I think this unsub is planning to shock the world, and this is the first test.”

That’s when the scream erupted, causing the hair on the back of Alex’s neck to reach for the ceiling. The hair reached even higher the next second as a gunshot exploded throughout the morgue.

Chapter-30

“Parting is such sweet sorrow,” he said out loud, relishing every word as if he’d uttered the most profound phrase ever spoken. Then he smiled. “Well, at least for me.”

Anna had provided him with unexpected pleasure in an evening he’d set aside for reading and enjoying a few glasses of wine while listening to music that no one seemed to appreciate these days, after he’d returned from his “appointment,” of course.

Too bad. As usual, the masses remained clueless regarding pleasures from another place in time. Music, literature, paintings, and sculptures from the masters. They were lost on a world filled with electronic gadgets for every purpose. People missed so much. Take his swords for instance, particularly the Katana. No question about the pleasure it had brought him, and he didn’t even have to plug it in.

He poured more wine and reflected on his new guest, again. From the moment Anna had knocked on the door until he’d left the morgue, his heart hadn’t really stopped racing. Instead, it thumped with a life and rhythm he hadn’t experienced since he stood in front of his first classroom and delivered that lecture on habitat destruction. Not that any of the adolescent shitheads had appreciated or, for that matter, understood the wisdom he’d shared, but standing behind that clear, acetate podium had been a culmination of a dream. And what is life without dreams?

“A little too philosophical for this late in the evening, I think,” he whispered.

Philosophy.

Kingdoms were built and destroyed on philosophies, and everyone seemed to have a different one. His was quite different than the prevalent take, especially when it came to law enforcement, or the lack thereof. He was more than positive on that point of view.

He wondered how the authorities were doing, sorting out the morgue scene. Had they figured anything out? He guessed not. When he considered the tiny explosion that had set his handiwork into motion, he smiled. He hadn’t begun this journey to save El Yunque with the thought of playing any kind of game with law enforcement. Not really. Only a fool would think that his work would go unnoticed. But he and his methods had evolved, just as Darwin had predicted, so he needed to create diversions, such as his display in the morgue. And it wasn’t only a diversion, but a message, a puzzle that the SJPD and Feds had to solve. He wasn’t even sure, at first, why he had taken that step, the one that said
I’ll help you understand my purpose, if you’re intelligent enough
. He did appreciate intellect. But it was becoming clearer that, in the grand scheme of things, he was special. In fact, hadn’t his mother said so? More than once? It had taken time, but he had accepted the assessment, and deep down, he knew he deserved it.

Special.

It sounded so . . . perfect.

Tasting his wine again, he contemplated his newly discovered gift for games. Even in nature, there were certain advantages that the weaker species possessed to stay alive and even thrive. So offering the opportunity to discover him and his intent to the investigators seemed natural, almost instinctive, because they had no chance otherwise. And he was still fair-minded, was he not? Besides, the thrill level went up about a million-fold at the thought of encountering worthy opposition who believed their sole, narrow-minded purpose in life was to protect the lives of others, and at any cost. How archaic.

Once, he understood that life was sacred, and still did. But the life, the total living organism he was concerned with—El Yunque—had taken on an elevated importance. What were a few human lives compared to her? One thing he’d learned, and eventually accepted in the world of science, is that sacrifices were unavoidable and necessary. Over the centuries, people had died for the good of the species. Individual humans succumbed to groundbreaking research that could save someone in their very own future generations. Sacrifice was a commendable attribute that many humans shared, and at the ultimate price of losing their lives. He simply helped some of them make that decision, knowing full well that not everyone would agree with him. In fact, he was a member of a very significant minority.

Thus the cops, the FBI, relatives of his supposed victims, and even the Park Ranger staff no doubt wanted his ass out of commission, in jail, or, he guessed, more likely, on one of the same slabs in the morgue that he’d just visited.

Finishing the glass of wine, he rose, inserted his CD of Tchaikovsky’s greatest compositions, and returned to his chair, more serene, more confident than when he’d risen. There would be a full-fledged investigation, of course, and he’d have to be more careful, at least a while longer. As much as he hated the coming conflict, he also welcomed it.

What is living if each breath has no purpose?

Purpose he had, no question about that. But this other “feeling” he hadn’t considered.

Loving, almost needing, the sound and sensation of the sword slicing through the air, and through living flesh, had more than surprised him. It was a by-product of doing the right thing. Was there something to the thought that God gave people the blessing to enjoy the calling of a special destiny? He brushed the idea out his mind. This was pure biology. Personal gratification isn’t divine but discovered through trial and error. Random genetics, not some intelligent design fairytale, explained deviant sexual behavior, why some people preferred steak over chocolate, and his new, special lust.

Again his mind focused on Anna. She was a perfect example of his theory. Would a God create such a soulless, uncompassionate, unfeeling individual?

I think not.

A moment later, he heard a tiny sound coming from his spare bedroom. His smile grew wider as he rose from the comfort of his chair and strode to the room’s door, putting his ear close to the thick mahogany. There it was again.

Grasping the antique brass knob, he turned it slowly and entered the almost dark room. Moving to the nightstand, he pressed the switch of the teakwood lamp.

Glancing at the bed, his eyes grew wide. His prize, his inspiration for the evening—young, beautiful Anna—was not how he’d left her. If fact, she wasn’t there at all.

Chapter-31

“Where’s Detective Crouse?” asked Manny.

He pushed through the others, rushing in the direction of the scream and accompanying roar of gunfire that had the same effect on him as a stress test, the jackhammer rhythm in his chest said so. He pulled his Glock, looking for Julia and what she was firing at.

Turning left, the others close behind, he heard the second shot, then the rush of hard shoes on tile as the blues ran from the front of the morgue in the same direction Manny was headed.

Damn it. Have we missed something, or someone, again?

He exited the morgue’s double doors and immediately smelled the expended gunpowder prancing through the air. A second later, he saw Julia Crouse in the far corner of the lobby facing away from him at a slight angle. She was on her knees, hunched over someone, blood staining her khaki slacks at her right knee. The detective had her gun raised high in the air, ready to bring it down like she was pounding the last nail of a casket. She was speaking Spanish in a loud, panicked voice. She brought the gun down, hard, and the thump of metal against flesh was intense, then she raised it again.

“Muere hijo de puta, muere! Muere hijo de puta!”

Manny understood a couple of the words, but he couldn’t see who she was screaming at, this son of a bitch that she wanted to see dead. He ran faster.

To his right, three blues stopped ten feet short of Crouse, weapons pulled. A moment later, the first one lowered his, and the others did the same. All three began to laugh.

Crouse turned to the three, an intense snarl on her face.

“What the hell are you laughing at?”

The first blue spoke. “Sorry, Detective, but isn’t that a little extreme? I mean it’s only a—a”

“I’ll let you know what’s extreme and what isn’t. Get your asses back to the front door,” she ordered, a combination of anger and fear in her voice.